#shoe after shoe keeps dropping and i have a permanent lump in my throat

[dwarveslikeshinythings]

So, I love directing so much but this show I'm currently working on has ended up giving me so much anxiety I'm beginning to seriously doubt if I'm ever going to do it again.

[cuttoothed]

Day 7 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "You are my reason". Still living in post-200 AU land.

*

There comes a day when Jon doesn’t wake up afraid.

His alarm goes off before the sun rises; he wakes tired, but feeling a little thrill of anticipation, because he and Martin have plans today. Nothing earth shattering, but they’re both off work, and the weather is due to be nice, so they’re going hiking up in the hills. Jon’s been looking forward to this all week; he's even okay with being up at dawn on his day off.

The hike is challenging, but the views are worth it, as the morning clouds part into sunshine and leave them gazing out across the craggy, verdant landscape. At the crest of the trail, they sit on a boulder to eat sandwiches and drink tea from a flask; Martin spots some cows on the hillside below and points them out with delight. By the time they get back to the car, they’re exhausted, and they agree that nobody’s going to be cooking tonight, so it’s takeaway from the Indian place near their flat.

That evening they eat too much curry, and drink red wine, and end up curled sleepy and sated on the sofa together, watching nonsense on telly.

“This was a good day,” Jon says; Martin only hums in agreement, so it’s probably time to get him to bed.

It’s only as he’s brushing his teeth that Jon realizes that he hasn’t thought about the end of the world all day. He usually wakes up from dreams of the ruined world; at the very least, it’s always in the back of his mind, guilt and fear and grief tapping at the windows of his consciousness through the day. He’s never had a day where he didn’t think at all about what happened—about what he did.

The realization jolts sharply through him, like a missed step in the dark; it makes something drop like a stone into his stomach, though he doesn't understand why.

He tells his therapist about it at their next session, couched in the careful untruths he’s crafted to convey the vast weight of it all without mentioning the literal apocalypse. Stuart listens, nodding, as he describes what happened, and then when Jon is finished he says:

“You know this is a good thing, right?”

“S-sorry?”

“Trauma plants its roots deep, Jon. It’s pervasive, like chronic pain. The days you have without pain in your leg or your hand, those are good, right? Even though they don’t mean that you’re permanently healed?”

“Yes,” Jon admits, flexing his fingers.

“This is the same. Your trauma isn’t gone, but the fact that you were able to enjoy a whole day without thinking about what happened—that’s really, really good.”

“But I can’t just forget—” Jon starts, and he’s not sure what he’s trying to say; I can’t forget what happened, I can’t forget that it was my fault, I can’t stop looking over my shoulder for what’s coming next.

“Of course not,” Stuart agrees. “But part of healing is letting what happened move into the past. Not forgetting it, but recognizing that it isn’t part of your present. That you can move on.”

Except it is the present, in the thousands of worlds he unleashed the Fears into. It isn’t something that can just be forgotten, that he can move on from. They’ve seen and felt no trace of the Fears in this world yet, but even that doesn’t mean they won’t come; it may just be a matter of time. Jon feels his chest tighten with that knowledge, that fear.

“The people I hurt,” he says carefully. “It’s not in the past for them—they’re still hurt by my actions today.”

“That might be true,” Stuart says. “But from what you’ve told me, you can’t change that. And your guilt doesn’t help them. All it does is punish you.”

“Maybe I deserve to be punished,” Jon snaps angrily, but Stuart only smiles, his face kind.

“Nobody deserves to be punished forever, Jon. Eventually, you have to forgive yourself.”

They’re nice words, but Stuart can’t possibly understand what he’s asking Jon to do. He’s been responsible for immeasurable pain and fear, the unchecked torture of billions of people; he will be responsible for so much more, across thousands of worlds. His whole life has been nothing but a means to a horrifying end. How can he just absolve himself of guilt, enjoy this charmed life he’s somehow gained while damning countless others?

(How can he believe that the consequences will not find him, someday.)

Martin must notice his mood when he gets back from therapy, because it’s not five minutes before a mug of tea and a packet of Jon’s favorite biscuits are placed on the coffee table in front of him.

“All right?” Martin asks, sitting down on the sofa with his own tea. He never asks Jon questions about his therapy —just as Jon respects the privacy of Martin’s sessions—but if he thinks Jon is upset, he’ll ask an open question like this, so Jon knows the offer is there to talk about it.

Jon considers. He hasn’t told Martin about what happened—or rather didn’t happen—the day they went hiking, not wanting to spoil it for him. But Martin’s the only person in this entire world who can possibly understand how Jon is feeling, and he’s the person Jon trusts most. Jon doesn’t want to hide things from him, not anymore. They’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.

So he tells Martin what happened, and how it made him feel, and what Stuart said, and how that made him feel. At the end of it, Martin gives him a fond, teasing smile.

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re feeling bad for not feeling bad,” he says. “That is...so incredibly you, honestly.”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Jon protests.

“I know it is. And I’m not trying to dismiss how you feel. I promise. It’s just…” Martin pauses, his brow furrowing as he considers what to say. “Sometimes, when I feel sad for no reason—when parts of me go sort of...numb, I start looking around, expecting to see the fog curling in under the windows. But it isn’t, because the Lonely isn’t here, and I have to deal with the fact that there’s no—no fear monster making me feel that way. It’s just me.”

“Martin…” says Jon, his heart aching. Martin doesn’t often talk about the bad days, after they’ve passed; he prefers to save it for his therapist, since “that’s what I pay them for”. He reaches for Martin’s hand, and Martin laces their fingers together.

“I think you’re the same,” Martin says. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been waiting for something bad to happen. For all of it to—to catch up with you. But it hasn’t. There’s no Fears coming after you, and there’s no...universal justice, or whatever, to punish you. It’s just you, Jon.”

Jon feels a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging. Has he been waiting all this time for something bad to happen, for the other shoe to drop? Has he thought of this as only temporary—a longer respite than that three weeks in the cottage, but just as impermanent? He shakes his head.

“That doesn’t take away from what I did,” he says. Martin nods.

“It doesn’t,” he says. “And nothing takes from the fact that I didn’t kill Jonah Magnus when I had the chance, either. We can’t change the past. We just have to find reasons to live with it. To carry on living. Now, as we are.”

“You know what my reason is,” Jon tells him, his voice thick with emotion; he told Martin a long time ago. Martin ducks his head, smiling, and his fingers squeeze around Jon’s.

“I know,” he says. “But it’s okay to have other reasons too. A nice hike in the hills, or going to the pub with some friends, or petting the many cats you seem to have befriended in our neighborhood. It’s okay to just...be happy, Jon. I promise.”

“I-I’m not sure I can,” Jon tells him; he’s not sure he deserves the chance to be.

“I know,” Martin says. “I know it’s difficult. But you do deserve it. And I’ll be here to keep telling you that until you believe it. I’ll be here to help you keep getting better, like you help me. As long as it takes.”

Jon feels a sob rising in his chest, and dives in to stifle it against Martin’s shoulder, burying his face in the solid expanse. He can feel the tears wetting his cheeks, soaking into Martin’s jumper, but he knows Martin won’t mind. Martin’s arms go around him.

“I hope you’re okay with the long haul, then,” he mumbles against Martin’s shoulder. He’s not sure what he’s done to deserve this, probably nothing, but he has it, and he doesn’t want to let it go. Martin chuckles warmly, petting his hair.

“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be your reason, if you’ll be mine.”

“That’s the deal, then?” Jon says; he’s not sure if he’s laughing or sobbing, but he knows he loves this man with all his heart.

“That’s the deal,” Martin agrees. And Jon might not deserve a deal like that, but he’d be a fool not to take it.

[comfortwriting]

Prompt 13 - G.W

Prompt 13: Tears streamed down your face

George Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, cock warming and swearing.

About: The Reader and George are dating and George keeps pranking her, one of his pranks embarrasses her and gets her into trouble, making her cry. The reader decides to break up with George as a prank but he takes it so seriously he does anything to get her back - when she tells him it was just a prank George storms off and then they have cute, cuddly slow sex.

Masterlist, Prompt List, Request Rules

Sitting in the cold and gloomy dungeon, you tried your best to concentrate on everything Snape was teaching but every now and then you swore you could feel something crawl from inside your shoes and up your leg. 

Instead of making a scene or drawing attention to yourself, you ignored the crawling sensation, only for it to get worse. Squirming in your seat, you could hear quiet laughs from across the room. 

Your boyfriend, George Weasley sitting next to his brother Fred and his best friend Lee, had his eyes locked on you, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t you dare.” you mouthed, glaring at him. 

Being the girlfriend of one of the twins was all fun and games until you were the one in the line of fire. George would take it upon himself to prank you in the most cruellest ways, but he was pushing your boundaries today.

He knew how you felt about creepy crawly insects, you were terrified of them and they made you sick to your stomach - you and his younger brother Ron had that in common, especially when it came down to spiders. 

“Miss Y/L/N.” Snape drawled, the whole class now staring at you.

You withdrew your focus from George and focused on your professor, his intense stare making you shrink in your seat. 

“One more disruption from you and you will find yourself in my office tomorrow evening. Fifty points from Y/H.”

You bowed your head and stared at your empty cauldron and potions book, ignoring the stares and laughs from George.

The crawling sensation intensified and spread all over your neck and back, you reached back and pulled the centipede from your neck, realising what was crawling all over your body, you began to screaming and jump out of your seat - feeling the number of insects multiply the more you freaked out.

The nausea pooled in your stomach and you could feel bile piling up in your throat, your heart pounding, tears streamed down your face whilst you hyperventilated.

Snape’s furious expression burned into you, the whole class roaring with laughter and pointing at you, George instantly regretted what he had done, seeing you in such a distressed state wasn’t funny.

“I’ve had enough of you, Y/L/N.” Snape walked over to you and tapped his wand against your shoulder, permanently putting a stop to George’s little prank. 

The centipedes and spiders went limp and fell to the floor. 

The whole class fell silent, the only noises they could hear was you crying and Snape’s heavy breathing. 

“Get out!” Snape raised his voice, surprising everyone as he wasn’t the type to shout. 

 Grabbing your potions book and clinging onto it for dear life, you rushed out of the cold dungeon, pushing past students in the hall.

“Whoever practiced that little experiment will find themselves in detention.” Snape stared at George, deducting points from Gryffindor House.

Still shaken up from potions yesterday, you stared at your plate of breakfast not wanting to make eye contact with anyone out of embarrassment. 

George entered the Great Hall and ran over to you after you avoided him since Snape kicked you out, sitting next to you he tried to put his arm around you but you flinched. 

“I’m so sorry my love.” 

You shook your head “leave me alone, George. I’m bloody mortified and I’ve got detention now thanks to you!”

George frowned and tried to take hold of your hand, you pulled your hand away quickly and decided to give him a taste of his medicine.

“Can you stop trying to comfort me?” you snapped “I’m not your bloody girlfriend anymore, alright!” 

George’s heart skipped a beat, his hands started sweating and a lump formed in his throat, tears pricked at his eyes.

“w-what?” 

“I’m not your girlfriend.” you hissed “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

Standing up you grabbed your books and continued with your day, trying to ignore George the best that you could.

Throughout the day George kept trying to make things up to you, if you were struggling on a paper or didn’t have the right ingredients for your cauldron, you would suddenly have the answers you needed when you returned to you seat.

George tried to catch your gaze, trying to bewitch you with his loving and longing glances but you ignored them, shaking your head and laughing at him.

Scrubbing the large grimy cauldrons piled up in the dungeons without magic, George tried to speak to you every chance he could when Snape would get interrupted by other professors and students. 

“Please take me back” he pleaded, wiping another cauldron clean “I said I was sorry and I’m doing everything I can to make it up to you.”

You bit your lip, you did feel bad for toying with him, especially after he got caught bothering the house-elves for your favourite treats by Mr Filch. 

You blew a strand hair out of your face, breathless and tired from all the scrubbing and elbow grease. 

You sighed and stopped scrubbing, facing George. “It was a bloody joke.” 

George’s soft face dropped and turned hard “you what?”

“I didn’t actually break up with you, it was a prank.” You admitted.

George stopped wiping the cauldron and stared at you, he shook his head and stood up.

“I can’t believe you, you rotten git.”

Snape walked back to the desk and tried to stop George from leaving as he pushed past him.

“Leave now and you’ll be here again tomorrow evening, with an additional one hundred points deducted from Gryffindor.”

“Shove off” George replied, storming off.

You felt a heavy weight sit on your chest, feeling guilty for hurting his feelings.

Turning around you continued to clean up, working twice as hard to fill in for George’s absence, Snape’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

George laid in his bed, messing around with his wand.

Sneaking through the dorm rooms, you finally reached George’s room and sat on the end of his bed.

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, stroking his soft hair.

“It’s fine.” He answered sternly, turning around to face you. “This doesn’t make us even though.”

You cocked an eyebrow at your stubborn boyfriend. “Will this?”

Climbing on top of him, your lips softly grazed against him, kissing him softly. Your hands got tangled in his hair, the kiss getting heavier and sloppier.

George’s hands quickly landed on your waist, messing with the hem of your skirt. Your hands moved away from his hair and down to the buttons on his shirt, undoing his tie and little buttons.

The room became more cold as you removed more layers of your clothes, George peppered kisses all down your neck and sucked on your collarbone, causing you to moan.

The two of you now naked, pulled the covers over you. George’s long salvia coated digits rubbed between your folds, then circling over your clit before he started to finger you teasingly.

You took his hard cock into your hand and pumped gently, his pre-cum leaking out over the head.

George bit his lip and removed his fingers now coated in your juices, letting go of his cock, George pulled you on top of him and he lined up his hard cock to your entrance.

“Ready when you are” he breathed out, smirking up at you.

Biting your lip, you blushed and slowly sat down on his cock. The feeling of George filling you up caused two of you to moan out in pleasure, your sex face turning George on even more.

“You’re so bloody beautiful.” He moaned.

Riding George slowly, the room filled with your moans, one of your hands resting against his cheek - tracing circles into his skin with your thumb. You moved your thumb over his bottom lip, stroking it softly before George took it into his mouth, sucking softly.

George rocked your hips back and forth with his grip on you, moaning as you arched backwards and picking up your pace, his big cock rubbing against your G-Spot. 

“You feel so good” you moaned out.

George blushed and quickly pulled you down to kiss him, he slowly pushed you off him and pulled you to lie down next to him.

“turn around” he ordered. 

Turning around, your back facing him, George rubbed his cock teasingly against your folds before pushing himself inside you, his arms wrapped around you.

“feels so much closer like this.” he breathed out, kissing your neck, moaning softly.

George’s cock twitched inside of you with every thrust, causing your walls to tighten around him. His warm embrace made you feel safe and warm.  Continuing to fuck you, you pushed your lower half out even more, crying out with each slam. 

“I’m so close.” the heaviness forming within your lower stomach.

George grunted “me too love, cum all over my cock.”

Letting go and releasing all of the building pressure from inside of you, George also released inside of you, both of you a hot, worn out, sweaty mess. 

You tried to pull away from him but he stopped you, still inside of you.

“Don’t move” he breathed out “I’m enjoying the cuddle”

You giggled and kissed his arms that were locked around you. 

“Are we even now, Georgie?” you asked.

You could tell a grin had spread across his face “I reckon we are, yeah.”

[imaginethathaikyuu]

kinktober - day twelve

futakuchi kenji - reunited 

kinktober faq kinktober prompt list NSFW warning including: kind of possessive i miss you sex, thats it baby Just Sex other tags: angst! super angst!, a little fight, reunited at last, should-be high school sweethearts, getting back together after a break up, tfw university causes u to break up with ur bf</3, Selfish Kenji, reader who doesnt need a man but Wants One fem reader

(sorry this is late! i’ll get back on track sometime this week!) 

word count: 2913 -

“You’re pretty.” 

A deep breath. 

“Really?” 

Spoken through a dry throat, “Yeah,” with an nervous nod. Kenji had no idea what he was doing there. 

Your perfume smelled the same. Your cheek was still soft underneath his thumb. He could still tilt your head to look up at him with ease. 

“I’ve always thought so.” 

What was he doing here reveling in the familiarity of you and calling you pretty and wondering if your lips were as soft as he remembered? Why was he putting himself through this again? 

“You’re only saying that.” 

“You know I’m not,” he said.

He needs to learn to shut up sometimes - to say no to going down paths that never lead anywhere good. But when it comes to you, nothing would stop him. Not even rough roads or unsavory destinations. 

“You know I don’t just say things.” 

“You do to me.” 

“Not anymore.” His nose brushed against yours and it killed him to be so close to you again, so close but still not having you. He thought about how badly it hurt the first time to feel you slip between his fingers like sand; you could do it again, and he couldn’t stop you. He wouldn’t. But still, he told himself it’d be different now. “This isn’t high school anymore.”

“I know, Ken.” 

And his heart started throbbing again; he felt that old pain all over. “Don’t…” 

“Kenji…” You were speaking under your breath, whispering on purpose so he had to listen. So he had to hear you. “I missed you.” 

“I miss you,” and he could cry, because he’s shouted these words before while wishing you could hear them. “I missed you more, baby.” 

His hand was still on your face, your lips were still too close for comfort. He wanted them. All he’d have to do is pull you a bit closer and they’d be his. 

He’s played through this scenario in his head dozens of times over the years; he knew a reunion between the two of you was inevitable, and he also knew it probably wouldn’t end how he wanted it to, just like his first go around with you. 

But you two were high school sweethearts. Your old classmates said it themselves hours ago at the Date Tech Class Reunion - nobody could believe you two weren’t together anymore. You were meant to be. They said it so much that Kenji started believing it himself. 

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He wasn’t going to hold back and just let you slip away from him again; he wanted to kiss you - he felt like he needed to, so he was going to kiss you. What was there to lose? 

But really, you were the one who kissed him; he was too lost in the shock of feeling your lips again to be able to kiss back. 

He couldn’t believe it. If you told him he’d time traveled and he was in back high school, he’d believe you, because there’s no way in hell he’s gone five years without this. 

He did feel 18 again; he felt the same rush he felt when giving you his first kiss all those years ago. This time was a lot similar to then: he had you pushed up against a wall - though this time it was your front door rather than the backdoor of the gym - and he was too nervous to even move his lips. Your hand was gripping his shirt, right over his pounding heart, and his hands had fallen to your hips. 

But it hurt. He didn’t know a kiss could be so painful; he pulled away the moment he felt it sting. 

“Y/N.” 

“Come in with me,” you whispered to him as you tugged on his shirt. “I want you. I miss you.” 

“I can’t,” he stuttered out; he felt like he was running out of gas and there was nothing to get him over this hill you’d just placed him at the bottom of. “This is… it’s too much.” 

“Are you just going to let me go?” 

“Are you just going to leave me again?” 

He watched you wilt in that way you do when he says things you don’t want to hear, and like always it reminded him of the rose bushes in his garden that his mother could never seem to keep alive. And he waited for you to show him those thorns of yours, to spit them out until he was covered in them and bleeding, to defend your dying flowers until your last breath. 

But you didn’t. And he was bracing for the wrong thing - he was ready for vitriolic words to pierce his heart. He wasn’t ready for you to grow right in front of him. 

“I didn’t want to leave you.” You said it as softly as the hand caressing his wrist, too nervous to take his hand. “I know you never believed me. I know you still don’t. But I didn’t want to leave you.” 

A step back. “Then why did you?” 

He already knew your answer, and you knew that. 

“I asked you to come with me. You didn’t.” 

Another step, then another; your hand dropped from his arm but your gaze raised to him. 

Kenji didn’t know what he wanted to say, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He wanted this to be easier. He wanted to feel comfortable in your arms and under your piercing stare; he wanted to go back to an hour ago when he was boldly flirting with you and being teased by all of his old friends for it. He wanted to give you all the parts of him that you left behind five years ago in Miyagi. 

But he couldn’t. Not until he knew that you wanted to have him again. 

“I’m sorry, Kenji.”

“I know.” 

It was awkward while he twiddled his thumbs and paced around and tapped his feet; while you stood with your back against the door, arms crossed, looking down at the ground as if you couldn’t look at him anymore. 

It was only when his back was to you that he felt more like himself. “You’ve really changed, you know.” 

“So have you,” you replied with a dry laugh. “I like your hair better like this.” 

That made him turn back to face you. “Do you?” 

“Yeah. It’s shorter, it’s cuter.”

Kenji found himself wanting to sit down and wishing he had a beer in his hand. “I didn’t mean physically. You’re still pretty.” 

“Then what did you mean?” 

He shrugged. Honestly, he’s not sure what he meant. 

“You just feel different.” If he was paying attention, he would have heard your breath catch. “Must’ve been those years in another city.” 

Both of you laughed at that, even though it wasn’t funny - even though there was a hint of bitterness in his words. 

“But I’m not there anymore.” It was your turn to step closer to him, and he was stuck in his place as you did. “I’m right here, Kenji. And I don’t have anywhere to run to. I’m right here, and I want you, and I still- ” 

You froze, biting your tongue and looking like you were about to say something you shouldn’t. 

“You still what?” 

You tried to back away but he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer to him, and he stood with bated breath as he watched you try to keep yourself together. 

But you couldn’t, and he understood why even without you finishing your sentence. 

“I still love you, Kenji,” and your crying came out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t but I do. It feels like I never stopped.” 

Kenji felt it again: the need to kiss you. Apprehension was quick to follow. But he asked himself one more time what there was to lose, and he realized that the answer was a lot, but he didn’t care. He kissed you anyway. Because he needed to. Because this was possibly the last chance he’d ever get. Because you told him you love him - whether you meant it or not didn’t matter. 

He pulled you closer than you had been in years and forced himself to stop thinking about anything but what was happening now. Now, you were back in Miyagi. Now, you were both finished with university. Now, he had you right between his palms, and he was going to hold on as tight as he could to keep you there. 

“Inside,” he mumbled against your lips as he pushed you back to the door. If you didn’t listen, he’d take all of you right there on your porch step. He didn’t care. He was going to take this chance while he had it. 

You got the door open, somehow, and when you were inside he turned around and pushed you right back against it, closing it hard. 

He needed you. Five years without you, without this, felt like hell compared to the heaven he felt when you were kissing him. 

“Kenji,” you said, a beautiful whine for his ears only. 

“What, baby?” 

“I want to be yours again.” 

That took his breath, and so did pulling your hips against his. 

“I’ll make you mine,” Kenji told you, securing that promise with a kiss. “You’ll be mine again.” 

You led him to your bed in a frenzy; your jackets and shoes and Kenji’s pants came off along the way. 

“You have no idea,” he started, swallowing the lump in his throat as he looked down at you lying beneath him, “no idea how bad I want you.” 

You bucked your hips up, feeling how hard he was for you. “I think I have a clue,” you said with a light laugh. “Take my dress off.” 

You didn’t have to tell him twice; he peeled the fabric off of your body slowly, carefully, as if he was trying to stretch out the time. He didn’t want this to end too fast, because he was sure you would only be his until this night was over, and if he took his time maybe he could convince himself that you were permanent. 

“My god.” 

He missed you. And it was hard to admit, but the sight before him left him with nothing but that thought repeating in his mind. Over and over, he thought it again and again. 

And it made him sad - angry, even - that you had the nerve to leave him and fall in love with a different city while he was stuck sinking in missing you. 

It was selfish, he knew that. To wish you had done what he wanted you to do, to sink with him, was one of the ugliest things about himself. But it was the truth. 

Kenji wasn’t selfless, no matter how badly he wanted to be. 

He had this frozen look on his face, one you couldn’t quite place. But you had seen it before, only once, when you told him you were leaving him so you could live a dream in another city. 

He was still analyzing your body, hating how familiar you looked, when he forced himself to speak again. 

“I have you now, right?” 

You nodded, “You have me,” and it was the response he needed. 

“I’ve missed you too much,” he said, laughing at his sad honesty. “You’re still too hot for me, you know that?” 

“I think we’re a perfect match,” you said, and those words caused his mind to drift to places it hadn’t in years. 

“We are,” he hummed, and finally, he let himself kiss your skin. Your neck, your chest, the curve of your breasts, the top of your abdomen. “Remember how well you take me? It’s like a perfect fucking match.” 

“I remember,” you said through broken moans - your back was arching into his lips, your legs were shaking on the bed. “Come on, Ken, just fuck me - just want you to fuck me, want you inside me again. Please, Kenji.” 

You sounded so desperate that he almost felt bad, but he felt good knowing that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

Kenji knew he’d regret doing it this way. He had spent countless nights wishing he had done things with you differently. He took you for granted, he knew that. He didn’t hold you close enough or ever dare to do things slowly - all he ever did was take from you, and here he was making that mistake again. 

He told himself if he ever had this chance with you again, he’d do it right. He’d take care of you piece by piece, he’d be the one giving, he’d make it last forever. 

But that wasn’t good enough, not for a man as selfish as him. How could he wait when he could have you now? How could he stretch out time he had so little of?

You were kissing him, undressing him, touching him; you positioned his cock at your entrance and he sunk in as if he didn’t have control of himself. He didn’t, really, not when it came to you. 

“That’s it, fuck,” he breathed, “god, you feel fucking perfect. Like you were made for me, holy shit.” 

“I’ve missed this,” you said, and his only response was a desperate thrust into you. You’d get the hint. 

It would be so easy to savor you, and yet, he couldn’t. His hips wouldn’t slow down even if he knew he had all the time in the world; he was going to fuck you like he had no time at all. 

And Kenji knew that if this was your last time, he would wish he had done better. At least turn the lights on to get an image of you in his head that would last in his mind, or tell you how he feels instead of trying to show you. 

But he’d stop thinking about inevitable regret, because it was easier to only think about you. 

“This is where you belong,” he told you. “Right here. Taking all of me. You belong here - you belong to me.” 

That’s what he said, but he meant the opposite. You didn’t belong to anyone - he knew that when you so bravely followed your dream. But he belonged to you. He was only yours, he always had been. From the moment he kissed you outside of the gym in high school, you had him hooked. 

Maybe it was his desire for you fueling these thoughts - it was his sex driven brain thinking this way. It wasn’t rational or even normal - he didn’t care. 

But, suddenly, you kissed him, the same way you had on your front porch; one hand over his heart, the other holding his cheek, kissing him even though he wasn’t kissing back, and everything slowed down. 

Kenji’s movements faltered, he lowered his entire body so every part of his bare skin could be touching yours. Your hips thrusted up into his, fucking him, and that was it. You had him. 

“Keep going,” you said against his lips; he nodded, took your hand into his, and kept moving - slower this time. 

He watched you and your every reaction to his touch. You were desperate like him, but not frantic. It was like you knew something he didn’t - like you were living in a forever he didn’t realize he was a part of. 

And he said, “God, you’re so pretty,” followed by a deep breath. You squeezed his hand and looked up at him with a smile, this time knowing he meant it. 

He thought going slower would make it last, but he was wrong; you were so intoxicating, the feeling of you was so new but somehow familiar, and Kenji was never going to last as long as he wanted to. 

But you were one step ahead of him, pulsing around his cock and throwing your head back, moaning his name while making a mess on the sheets. Kenji only added to the noise and the mess, giving you an extravagant display of how much his need for you had grown over the years. 

Before he was even finished cumming you were pulling him closer, your grip around his waist tight, your love for him spilling from your lips. He was too out of breath to reply, and too nervous to move. 

But, soon, loud breathing drew quiet. Highs wore off. Things felt different, but still the same. 

A question lingered in Kenji’s mind, one he’d been wanting to ask you all night, from the moment he saw you again. He awkwardly scooted away so he could ask. 

“Do you regret it?” 

You knew what he was referring to. 

“No,” you said, honest with your short reply. 

His eyes locked onto yours and he said, genuinely, “I’m glad,” even though your answer stung the most selfish parts of himself. 

“Do you want to know why I don’t?” 

“I guess.”

“Because I knew this would happen.” 

He had some idea of what you meant. 

“I was never scared of losing you,” you continued. “I was only afraid of not finding you again. But I did. I knew I would.” 

Kenji had nothing to add to that, because you’d answered any questions he had for you. You knew how he felt, and now he knew you thought the same way. 

Despite spending years longing for you again, he knew he’d have more time with you. He knew it was never over.

“You’re right,” was all he could say. “You found me.” 

-

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 13: angry 

[sansmania]

its o VER WHY WAS THIS SO LONG? 

part 1 | part 2 | art that goes with the fic

Title: Your Man

Ship: Boss [ @bonelyheartsclub ]/ GN Reader

Descrip: take it im drifting out to sea because HES GONNA BE A COWBOY thE END

Willie had taken his time to take in the damage done to the beloved boots, tutting and frowning at the holes and shredded leather.

"Oh yeah, I can fix 'em for ya, but it'll take a few days, Mr. Boss. That lil' dog did a number to these." Boss exhaled through his nasal bone with a silent nod. It seems 'Toby' had also managed to dislodge some of the pins that held the heels in, which would mean the boots needed to be completely stripped and rebuilt from the sole up.

"That is fine, I suppose. They mean a great deal to me, so take the time you need to get them back to perfect condition." He seemed a bit emotional about leaving the boots behind, and you gently assured the skeleton that they were in skilled hands. Leaving his contact information, the two of you turned to leave. 

Until a bony hand grabbed your neckline again.

"You said this store specializes in leather and boots, correct?"

"Yes?" You held the word out longer than necessary, red pinpricks looking down at you, then to the fluorescent shoes between you.

"I would like to peruse them, then. It would not hurt for me to have a few more sets, anyway. And I am beyond done with these sneakers. I feel like one of those fictional circus clowns."

You bit your tongue at his presumption, knowing Boss wouldn't listen to a word you had to say on the subject, and accepted your fate in the tobacco and wood lacker scented hell.

After a bit of searching, pausing only to laugh at some of the ridiculous 'southern fact' signs they had decorating a shelf, the pair of you found the boot section of the large store.

"Human, I highly doubt if Texas were real, that it would home ninety percent of the planet's spider population." You couldn't help the snort that came out at Boss' comment as he walked over to the wall of shoes.

His eyelights were transfixed on the detailed stiches in some of the leather boots. His phalanges traced over a pair that had some gaudy gems placed into them- a pair that had studs- red stained leather- black snake skin. He was strangely silent as he looked over each set with wonder.

You didn't think any of them were Boss' style, to be honest. They were about classic as classic cowboy boots get- you could have sworn you even spotted a pair made of alligator skin.

"These." He finally spoke, pulling down one of the only sets that seemed to be ankle high. They were a deep maroon, black stitching along the sides and folds, and a very obvious steel toe embedded inside. There were a few gold embellishments and you felt they were gaudy as all hell.

But, that expression of wonder in Boss' eyes made him look like a child on gyftmas morning.

It was cute.

He was cute.

"I mean, sure, if you're into red, black and gold-" The skeleton flicked his eyes towards you, making your mouth snap shut. He took a seat on a nearby bench, listlessly kicking off the offending accessories to try the new boots on.

Boss became silent once again, taking in the shine of leather as he tilted his feet and legs to get a good look at them.

"There is a mirror over there." You mention, pointing a few feet away, and he stood up to admire the shape of the shoes. And while he did so, you also found yourself admiring him.

Boss was very tall- even without the help of his stiletto heels- and his broad shoulders squared in perfect posture made almost anything he wore look breathtaking. His choice of attire today fit snuggly against his ribcage, tapering down his spine- making Boss look, pun intended, skeleton thin. Tight, but soft, leather pants hugged his narrow hips and bony legs, perfectly shaping his body.

"Hmm. A bit lower than what I am used to, but they are quite fetching on me. What do you think, human?"

He caught you staring, once again, in the mirror- just as your eyes had been slowly trailing down his legs, brain becoming grey mush. You curse quietly, turning your head away with a mutter of agreement.

"Sadly, they do not match the rest of my attire. I should see if they have apparel here to compliment my figure and accessories." He made an amused sound when you cocked your head at the suggestion, cheeks burning with new fervor.

Oh. He knew exactly what he was doing now. Boss wouldn't even play with the idea if any of his family was around, but since it was just the two of you, he was going to continue his sadistic game.

When you had first met Boss, you would have sworn he didn't have a playful bone in his body- the serious tone and way he carried himself made it seem he was all work and no play. But, as you got to know him, his true colors seemed to blossom forth. Yes, he hated puns, that didn't mean he had no sense of humor. His humor was dry and a little cynical- and you had nearly soiled yourself in laughter when he cracked his first joke around you.

He also found Blue and Nox's rivalry amusing, egging them on at times just to get under their skin.

And when then two of you were alone, he was much more relaxed, allowing more of his jovial side to come out. Sometimes it was a welcome blessing and sometimes it was not.

As it was at your expense today, it was one of those times that his sense of humor didn't delight.

"Uh, s-sure. Why not? Let's find you a nice pair of chaps-" Boss' amused smile caught you off guard as he held a hand up to stop you from moving. You had hoped he would allow you to help, maybe in a way save yourself from this horrible fate.

"No, I believe I can handle dressing myself just fine. Though, I will listen to your opinion after I have chosen an outfit." The smirk didn't go away as you made a noise of disdain. The skeleton sauntered off on his own, leaving you to scream internally at being caught red handed and was going to make you suffer for it.

When he turned a corner, you were on your feet- tossing the old converse in your inventory- and did your best to sneak around the store behind the him. Occasionally, Boss would turn his head out of suspicion, causing you to duck behind a shelf, while he thumbed through the racks of clothes.

He was enjoying teasing you like this, smirk still apparent on his face. You were by no means subtle, so Boss knew you were tailing him around, and that only added to his amusement.

You peeked over a row of jackets that were fastened with tassels while Boss sifted through some button up shirts. His foot tapped along to the music with perfect rhythm, though, you were more shocked when his low voice was barely audible.

He was quietly singing along to the tune.

Boss Gothic Serif.

Was singing country.

And he knew you were watching and listening.

The next time he glanced over his shoulder, Boss caught your reddened face as a devious smile curled on his skull. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Human, I have picked out a suitable ensemble. Feel free to wait there for me to change." You didn't hide this time when he spoke up, accepting defeat, stepping out to follow the monster towards the changing rooms.

You knew from the first day of meeting these skeletons that they would be the death of you. You just didn't expect it to be in a dime store cowboy shop in the city.

Flopping down on another bench, you waited for death to finish his wardrobe swap and drag you to the dark depths- knowing now that he was going to be dressed like a cowboy with Shania Twain playing gently to send you off.

The shuffle of cloth behind the barn themed doors caught your attention, the soft click of bones on wood as a lock was lifted and the doors swung open.

Words choked in your mouth as it hung ajar, Boss stepping out of the small room with the most smug look on his face you had ever seen him muster.

His head was tilted down ever so slightly, burning red eyes shaded by the black hat atop his skull. Your eyes dragged down to the crisp maroon and black button up, gold skull bola tie strung in the collar and rested on his nearly bare breastbone.

The shirt was rolled at the sleeves, showing off his battle scarred hands and arms, and the tail tucked neatly into a pair of tight black dyed jeans; adorned and held up by a red leather belt that had a large gold skull buckle to keep it all together. The jeans hugged the skeleton's frame all the way down to the coordinated boots.

Boss leaned against the doorframe, taking in your reaction with sadistic glee; How you couldn't form a single word in appreciation to his wardrobe selection. How your face was red enough to put his shirt to shame. How your eyes lingered over the single undone button at his clavicle.

How your reaction made his soul thrum with pride.

"Comments?" He finally spoke, beyond amused at the way you startled to his rough voice- dropping it an octave or two, successfully getting further reactions out of you. Finally, you managed to swallow the hard, dry lump that formed in your throat, tearing your gaze away to look back to Boss' expecting eyes.

You coughed and looked away

"Yee. Haw?" Was all you could manage as he stepped forward, boots loudly clacking against the hardwood floor. The terrifying skeleton you called a friend, and obviously waxed red towards, stopped mere feet before you, dragging your attention back to him.

"Is that all you have to say? I would appreciate some feedback, maybe I should make another selection if this doesn't suit me-"

"No, don't!" You found your voice as Boss turned heel to find something else to fluster you with. He quirked a brow ridge at your outburst, returning to his previous position, arms crossed as he awaited to hear your real feelings. 

"You. You look good, Boss." You did your best to hold your voice steady as his gaze made you shrink into the bench, like you were going to become a permanent fixture in the store.

"Just ‘good’?" Oh, he was going to make you suffer. Breathing hard through your nose, you looked back up at him. Boss already knew how you felt, so this was just torture to feed his ego.

And you may as well feed it.

"Fine." There was a pause as you found the words. “You look amazing. Handsome. Stunning.” You could feel your face and neck darkening with each admission- at this point, had you even been referring to just how he looked now? He seemed to preen at each compliment, all too pleased to drink in your words of praise.

"Then I do believe I will purchase these items. They may be in start contrast to the rest of my wardrobe, but some variety in life never hurts."

It was interesting to watch Boss fannagle with the cashier about buying all the clothes items while he was still in them- but he managed to do it, and in style, if you were honest.

With his boots squared away, clothes tucked into his inventory, and you at his side, Boss literally strutted out of the store- leading you both back to his car.

"Human, you make it so easy to fluster you, you do realize that." Boss' smile from before had not left his features, even as you pulled into the culdesac in which you lived.

"Yeah, I'm aware, Boss." You heaved a final embarrassed sigh as the car came to a stop at your curb. Gathering your belongings, and what little bit of pride you had left, the car door swung open and you turned back to him. "Tease the human that has feelings for you. Ha, ha."

"But, uh." You pause, leaning on the door to look Boss in the eyes.

"Have fun getting into your room before Red or Stretch see you, Cowboy."

[passivenovember]

Chapter Six of : If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields

--

Billy goes home less than an hour after Steve suggests they play operation. When he looks at Billy with eyelashes Neil Armstrong could see from the moon and suggests they cozy up among the coffee table books to do some lasting good in the world; get the tooth out of that guy's dick for him--

Billy has to get out of there.

It was too much.

The house. The colors. The fabric. The smell of Steve's shampoo, which is less like peeled lemons and more like funeral flowers, the longer Billy sits around getting sunburnt under the intense light of a man who wasn't interested in him beyond starched collar friendship.

And he's not mad at Steve. Isn't on his way to punch a hole in his drywall, or anything, but he's mad at himself. Mad at his heart for kicking up a cloud of pink smoke when Billy stands and says he'd better get going. 

And Steve's face falls like snow that covers Billy's driveway, that glues his feet together.

"Papers." Billy says quickly, searching for the coat he knows he didn't bring up the drive.

"Newspapers?" Steve goes along with him, adjusting the yellow bandana behind his ears. He turns with a swoosh of his orange rug robe to dig through the shelves on the wall. "I have some here. Old ones, new ones. There's an edition from 1985 about the mall burning down, it's pretty interesting. Would you like that?"

"Sure, I'll, uh--" Billy takes the yellowing pages from Steve without really thinking about it, jerking away when Harrington lands too close. Close enough that Billy can see the specks of green in his eyes. "I meant. Teaching papers. Assignments." The newspaper smells old. Like books and dust, and faintly of spilled bong water from the pipe of a baghead teenager long ago. "I have to grade papers."

Steve doesn't take it back from him. "I thought you taught kindergarten."

"I do."

"Kindergarteners write papers?" Steve's hair flops across his forehead. Like big, wavy puppy dog ears on either side of his face. 

Billy has to force his tongue to stay in his mouth, his eyes to stop staring. "I meant, like. Spelling. Numbers. Rudimentary bullshit." Billy shakes the newspaper at puppy dog Steve. "Declan Parks can't even tie his own shoes, so--"

"Alright. Okay." Steve says sweetly, pushing Billy's hand back to his own chest, fingers wrapping around his palm. "Take it with you. There's a lot of history in this town, mythology and folklore--rumors of bloodsucking aliens and evil scientists camping out under the power plant." Steve doesn't let go of Billy's hand. He grins instead, dimples popping like fireworks on his face. "We're a regular Twin Peaks ripoff. Read about it, let me know what you think." And.

Steve doesn't back away. Doesn't back down.

"I'll give you a ring sometime." Billy says suddenly.

"Okay."

"Yeah, alright, uh." Billy backs toward the front door, two finger salute making pink skies land on Steve's face. "Thanks for the grub. I'll see you in the driveway, or--"

Steve laughs, following Billy to the door. 

"Around. Yeah, Steve, I'll--"

Steve places a hand on Billy's shoulder and the world stops spinning. Melting right off the bone. Billy fights to get air in his lungs as Steve brushes a lock of hair from his forehead, fingertips lighting Billy's skin on fire.

"See you around, neighbor." Steve says.

And Billy knows, feels in his bones, that he'd do better moving across town.

--

It keeps snowing. 

Morning noon and night, wood nymphs piling on ice and hail down on a town of 36,000 people until Billy feels alone. Like an animal trapped in a beige house on a white street that exists in a bubble. A snow globe immune to light and sound. 

There's a period of days where school is cancelled and Billy runs out of things to keep himself occupied. All the books have been read and returned to their place on the shelf. All the films watched and replayed until Billy draws his own conclusions, until the characters feel like his own.

On the first day Billy feels like he's losing his mind.

He orders groceries. Picks up some thermal socks. Considers making a pie or something from scratch, like his mother used to do before Neil went missing on Christmas Eve, but. He doesn't have a rolling pin.

On the second day he drags a chair over to the window and stares at the warm, peachy light from Steve's upstairs window as it shine on the drifts that gather and climb toward heaven. Billy thinks about that living room as if it were a vision from some other planet. A universe crafted in the image of virality.

Billy thinks about Steve and wishes he could be like that. 

Wide eyed. Free.

--

On the third day, Megan says Billy should begin preparing for spring.

"We're snowed in." Billy mutters, cleaning up the polish on his toes. A gorgeous matte eggplant color that proves--spring isn't on his radar. 

"You're getting bogged down with the ice and snow," Megan reiterates, pen scratching across the page so loudly that Billy can hear it with the phone on speaker. "Before long the flowers will bloom again. The sun will shine, it's something everyone has to prepare for. Rebirth, growth--"

"I don't have a garden."

"Don't be a shitter, Billy." Megan sighs, but he can hear the smile in her voice. "We can work with that. Would it do some good to plant one?"

Billy starts painting his other foot. "I don't want to stay in Hawkins forever."

"That's understandable."

"And I have plans this spring." Billy twists the cap onto the nail polish, swinging his foot around in the air as if that'll make things move faster. "Max and I want to go hiking back home. I'm supposed to help my mom get the boathouse ready for the summer, and I don't want to start something permanent in a place I can't see myself settling down in--"

"A couple marigold bushes are not permanent, you could kill 'em off with a single neglectful week in the summer and you know it." Megan falls silent, only the click of her pen left behind. "This move has been rough on you, and it's been rough on your body, and it's been hell on your space."

Billy shrugs. "It's been fine on my space."

"Have you even finished unpacking?" Megan demands, strictly business.

"I don't want to set down roots--"

"You've lived in Hawkins for two years, Billy, and you haven't finished unpacking."

A lump appears in his throat, just like that, just. Choking the air from his lungs. Megan must hear Billy swallow, or sense the shift in the air because her voice goes soft around the edges. Pliant. "It's a new cycle." 

Billy tries not to think about Max. "Alright."

"Time to blow the cobwebs away." 

"Dust the spider houses." Billy says to himself. He tries not to think about their garden back home, the fertile smell of fresh Earth somehow finding its way to Hawkins despite Billy's efforts. He misses Mammoth Lakes. He tries not to think about it. Then; "Max is coming down for my week off."

"That's not until March."

"So?"

Megan sighs, like Billy should get it by now. "That's way into the spring season, what you need this year is to get a head start." She scribbles something down on the page again. "We've been through this before. You're beyond me spelling out what you need. You've been my client long enough to know the type of person you are, Billy."

He smirks. "Yeah, and what kind of person is that?"

"Someone who likes to open his doors and let in the fresh air." She moves some papers around, voice firm. "Bright colored walls, and bird baths littering diverse lawns even though they turn to green slime when not filtered properly. The kind of man who likes to shop second hand because 'everything has a soul--'"

"Are you reading from my journal?"

"Need I go on?" Megan lets Billy mull it over for a moment. Lets him draw is own conclusions. When she speaks again it's like Billy already knows what she wants to say. Already believes it himself, but. That's never stopped her before. 

"We were just talking about Steve last week."

"We're always talking about Steve," Billy snaps. "Last week, and the week before that, and yesterday and tomorrow--"

"Perpetually." Megan teases. "I know. But you said you liked his house. That's what we discussed last time; not Steve or his hair or how embarrassed you are about the rats--" Billy wishes everyone would let that part go. "But his house. The way it made you feel."

He can see it in his minds eye--Megan leaning forward, legs uncrossed on her big hammock chair, blue and gray glasses catching the glint in her eye as she pokes through his spirit and lands at the root.

The bone.

"What is it you liked about Steve's place and what is it you hate about your own and where is the through line?"

She gives him homework. Student and teacher.

Billy hates homework, but. He jots the instructions down in his notebook anyway and wonders, distantly, if the skies will continue to open above his head and if he'll ever learn to accept it.

--

On the fourth day Billy's power goes out. 

Just like that. 

With no bang or whimper it's just there one moment and gone the next.

One minute he's watching Wayne's World, wrapped in five blankets and eating soup from one of those bowls with the built in straw, and the next he's submerged in darkness. Looking around the living room like a startled chicken, still slurping down tomato soup and hoping it's just a surge.

It's not. 

Billy finishes his soup.

He manages to keep the feeling in his toes even as he wanders around the house lighting every candle he can find, sticking towels over the cracks in his front door and remembering to turn the faucets on drip so the pipes won't freeze overnight.

Outside the storms keep raging.

Billy can't see the end of the front porch, so he grabs his blankets and heads to bed. Remembers to plug in his phone, on the off chance that the power will come back on while he's out, and Billy feels good about himself for a lot of reasons. For remembering his Midwestern Winter Survival Skills, and buying thermal socks when he went shopping last week, and as the temperature keeps dropping Billy feels himself drifting off.

Warm and safe in his cocoon of blankets, he wonders if the power has come back on when someone bangs on his bedroom window.

Billy sits bolt upright, hissing as cold air manages to snake in through an opening near his feet. The knock comes again, louder this time, and Billy thinks about what he read from that article in the Hawkins Post dated July 5th, 1985. 

"Billy?" 

Harrington is wrapped in a blanket. 

That's all, just a knitted monstrosity of orange and green draped across his shoulders, paired with a black hoodie and the care bears scarf that haunts Billy's dreams. He's got yellow gardening gloves on his fingers and, over his head of wavy brown hair, a pink beanie that reads, If I Die of Aids--Forget Burial--Drop My Body on the Steps of the FDA, in teal block letters.

Steve Harrington could break hearts.

Billy's heart is floating through the air, just. Decimated. As Steve smiles and taps on the window. "I tried the front but I figured you were asleep." He says.

And it takes Billy a minute to find his voice. He opens the window, grimacing at the snow on the ledge that topples in. "What are you doing?"

"I cleared a path. Around the house. By the propane tank." Steve says, gesturing with his stupid little gloves. "I took care of the driveway for you. And put some ice melt down, brought some firewood up to the door."

"Wait, what?"

"I just picked some up from Melvalds yesterday, it's no biggie--"

"The powers out." Billy grumbles, using the corner of his blanket to scrub at his face. "Shouldn't you be stock piling layers, like the rest of us?"

"'S not so bad at home."

"It's colder in here than it is outside."

Steve jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "Mr. Bane's auditioning to be a starfish on my mattress."

"Push that little fucker over the edge." 

Steve leans back, gripping the window ledge with an easy smile. "I could never do that. We have a system--I let him sleep on my bed every night on the condition that he doesn't shit in the hallway anymore." Steve lifts one hand and taps his forehead, pleased as punch. "Work smarter, not harder. Right?"

And that makes Billy blush. Either from the image of Steve's fat Mainecoon running the show or the fact that Steve lets it happen, even on the coldest night of the year. 

It's sweet. 

Steve's sweet. Like sun tea with extra sugar, just--

"So where does that leave you?" Billy muses, picking at a loose thread on his pillow case just to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. "It's too cold for the floor, and the living room's gotta be drafty, right?"

Steve shrugs, leaning against the window pane and looking over his shoulder, as if daring the ice to fall again. "I have an extra blanket or two, should be alright."

With his head turned that way Billy can see moles--dozens of little chocolate kisses sprinkled over Steve's skin, swirling and disappearing under the hood at his neck. 

He's beautiful.

Billy thinks the moles could taste like cinnamon or nutmeg. Hot chocolate with little drops of citrus enriching the flavor--

"You could sleep here." Billy's mouth says. 

Steve stares at him, eyes wide, but. Not surprised. Not mean. "Really?" He asks, folding his arms on the window pane and studying Billy's face. Forehead and eyelashes and back again, like maybe this is a joke. "You'd let me sleep on the couch?"

"Sure."

"What makes you think your places' gonna be any better?" Steve demands.

Light.

Teasing.

Billy shrugs again and his stupid blanket slips off one shoulder, revealing a strip of hoodie that may as well be his bare fucking skin, the way Steve's eyes track the movement. Filing it away for some unknown purpose even as Billy rights himself again. He feels every bit like the heroine in those shitty dieback erotica's his mom still reads every Saturday morning. The window lets in gust after gust of frigid air and Billy decides that he isn't going to beg.

"I'm not going to beg," Billy reiterates, though he doesn't sound convinced. "Come sleep at mine or don't, that's--"

"Unlock the front door," Steve says, and then he's gone, rainboots leaving a trail of footprints to show that this was real. 

That one night, with ice covering the trees and fields like a blanket of hope, Steve was real.

[birdsandspades]

Ice Pack (A Todoroki Shoto Oneshot)

-The dorm is fresh out of ice packs. Lucky for you someone happens to know where to find one. 

Word Count- 3,122

*This is my first BNHA fanfiction so i’m sorry if its crumby. I just think Todoroki is really neat. 

----

You pressed a finger into the skin of your arm, hissing as the red gave way to white. Turning around, you looked over the rest of your body in the gym bathroom mirror.

“I think this is my worst sunburn yet. I really should have put on more sunscreen…” You frowned, wrapping a towel around your body. 

Your quirk had been a wonderful gift, the first in a long line of quirkless family members. The day you manifested it you could have sworn your father cried. 

“A hero, we're gonna have a hero in the family!” 

You remembered the fond words as you looked down at the pile of clothes on the locker room bench. It sure didn’t feel like a gift right now. You picked up your shirt, inching it over your burning skin. Each scape of the fabric drawing out a new string of curses. 

“Hey, are you dressed yet, Mina is wait...oww,” Jiro looked over your reddened back, wincing as you pulled the shirt over it.

 “Yeah, oww”, you sulked. You glared down at your pants, not ready to endure the pain they would cause your legs. 

“Tell me again how your quirk does all of that again.” She motioned to the entirety of your burned body. 

“Well, I'm like a solar flare. My body stores a large amount of heat, and if I save up enough of it I can make flames. If I have a big enough amount of it I can even produce light.” 

She nodded along, shuttering as you shimmied into your jeans. 

“But the more I use it, the more I'm exposed to the UV radiation I'm putting off. Eventually, if I use it too much. Well, I get this stupid sunburn.” 

“I still don’t get why you get so burnt, didn’t the department of support make you that sunscreen a few months ago for it?” She gave off a chuckle, recoiling at the faces you were making while you slid on your shoes. 

 “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s working…” , you trailed off, looking at the bottle of sun protectant stuffed in your gym bag. You picked up the rest of your belongings, motioning towards the door. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow, let's just go back to the dorms so I can take these things off again.” 

Jiro held open the door, laughing as you waddled past her. 

----

You stepped into the common room, smiling at your classmates sitting on the couch. 

“Who ordered the L/N F/N, extra burnt?”,Sero teased from his seat, elbowing a giggling Denki.

You gave him a sarcastic laugh, throwing your gym bag at him.

Kirishima turned his attention away from the t.v, his eyes slowly roaming over your red arms. “Hey L/N-chan, how was training…?” 

You gave him a sad smile, “Exhausting, but I think I finally got my flashbang technique down!” 

“Jesus Glowstick…”, Bakugou walked past you from the laundry room, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he pressed a rough hand onto your forearm. 

You smacked him away, cursing at the now burning skin. You looked up, meeting his glare as he walked off down the hallway. You hated that nickname and he knew it. He had picked it out after the licensing exam, going as far as to even suggest it for your permanent hero name. Most people thought he chose it after your quirk, you did after all have a nifty move called glow. You had made yourself useful during the search and rescue part of the exam, using your quirk to illuminate your body as you searched for survivors among the rubble. Many of the students had commented on it after the exam, envious of the power giving you such a high boost on your score. But Bakugou had chosen the nickname for a different reason.

He had had the pleasure of running into you after the exam later that night in the kitchen. Your body red and raw from over exerting yourself during the test. “You're so red you're practically glowing. You should get a support item if your weaknesses are that obvious Glowstick ” , he mocked, poking your sunburn and he walked past you to the common room. 

“I’m going to grab some ice packs from the freezer and call it a night.” You patted Jiro on the back before walking to the kitchen. 

----

You had been looking for the ice packs for about twenty minutes when Midoriya walked into the kitchen.

“Hey Midoriya-kun, have you seen the ice packs? I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t seem to find them.” You pulled your head out of the freezer, turning to him. 

He gave you a sheepish smile, holding up the warm gel packs. “I’m sorry L/N-chan, I took them out last night and forgot to put them back when I woke up.” 

You shut the freezer door, taking the packs from his hand. You squished a few of the warm beads around the plastic, sighing in defeat. “It’s ok, i’ll use a water bottle or something.”

You trudged past him out of the kitchen and towards the dorm rooms. Usually your sunburns only lasted a few days tops, but this one felt different. The heat radiating off of it alone was enough to tell you that it was deep. You really should have put on more sunscreen. 

You bumped into a stationary mass, the points of contact stinging as you looked up.

Todoroki’s hold on his phone slipped as it fell to the ground. “I’m sorry L/N-chan, I was reading something on the news.” His gaze fell on you, taking in the fluorescent flush of your skin. “Your sunburnt.” 

You took a step back, looking away in an attempt to hide the rising heat in your cheeks. “No, I'm sorry Todoroki-kun, I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you ok?” You reached down, picking up his phone. 

“You should use the ice packs in the freezer.” He slipped the phone out of your hand, careful not to graze your sensitive skin. “ It might help with the discomfort.” 

“Oh, Midoriya was using them so they are warm now. I’m gonna use this water bottle for a bit.” You shook the bottle, giving him a soft smile. “I’m sorry I made you drop your phone, I hope it's ok!” You shimmied around him, giving him an awkward wave as you made for your dorm room. 

Todoroki raised his hand slightly, watching as you rushed down the hallway.

----

You had been working on your homework for a few hours in an attempt to keep your mind off the multi toned boy down the hall. You groaned, letting your head fall on the table. The second hand embarrassment burning the skin on your neck further. Functioning had not been at the forefront of your mind when your eyes met his in the hallway. That was painfully obvious as you replayed your awkward retreat over in your head. 

“You could have just talked to him, it's not that hard to talk to people F/N. He was being nice and you ran away.”

You continued to grumble to yourself, angry that once again your lack of social skills had robbed you of an opportunity to talk to your crush. 

This hadn’t been the first time you had made a fool of yourself in front of Todoroki, nore the second or third. The boy seemed to be a magnet for your most awkward encounters. 

----

You could remember the first time he talked to you. You were standing in the tunnel waiting for the first of the sports festival games to begin, the echo of the audience ringing through your ears. You peaked your head out from the entrance, scanning over the sea of people in the stands. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, the thumping in your ears deafening as you cowered back into the tunnel.

A warm hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your eclipsing panic attack, the sound finally coming back to your ears as you looked up. 

“I heard that if you picture everyone in underwear, it makes it less scary. I don’t understand why, but maybe it will help?” 

Your eyes met a familiar mismatched set, the hardness you were used to was replaced with concern as he looked over you. 

You had grown attached to them in the time you had spent in class together, the small glimpses you caught stirring the butterflies in your stomach everytime they looked your way. 

The fluttering in your stomach started to stir per usual, the lump in your throat expanding as you searched the crevices of your brain for something to say. 

“Hi.”

He gave you a confused look, “Hi.” Shifting on his feet, he stood in silence. As if waiting for you to say something else. After a moment he gave you a small nod, disappearing into the crowd of waiting students.

----

A soft knock on your door startled you, your knee bumping into the underside of your desk. 

Standing up , you rubbed the stinging skin as you walked over to the door. Turning the knob, you pulled it open. 

“Hi Todoroki-kun.”, you stared at the boy in front of you. Unsure what warranted a visit so late at night, or really at all. 

“Hi L/N-chan.” His look was blank as he stared back at you. He shifted on his feet slightly, pushing his hands into his pocket.

“Um, is there something you need…?”, you broke the silence finally. Your eyes met his once again before looking away, focusing on the door behind him. 

“I wanted to bring you the ice packs from the freezer…”, he trailed off, looking down the hallway. “But they were gone again. So I figured, I could offer you a hand instead.” He extended his right hand a bit, offering it to you. 

You looked between him and his hand a few times, trying to connect just what exactly he ment. “Um, it’s ok Todoroki-kun. It’s late and you're probably really sleepy! Plus it doesn’t hurt that much anymore, so you don’t need to worry about it! I have my water bottle and I can…” 

He reached up, pressing his cold palm to your forehead. Your mind calmed as the soothing feeling sunk into your skin. You closed your eyes, leaning into his hand. Letting out a soft sigh, your hands reached up, circling around his wrist as you pulled him closer.

“I used to do this whenever my siblings were sick. They said it made their fevers feel better, is it helping you too?” He craned his neck, peeking under his arm to see your face. 

You gave him a small nod, sinking into his touch. The first bit of relief washing over your body.

He looked behind you at the desk, opened books and worksheets scattered across it. “I can help you with your homework as well if you like?” 

You opened your eyes, blushing as you met his own. You couldn’t help it. The way he tilted his head, the childlike curiosity that tinted his eyes as he watched you cling to his hand. 

“I don’t want to be a burden…”

“You're not.” He stated bluntly, gently pulling his hand away. 

You took a step back, opening the door wider for him to come in. 

He took a step inside, closing the door behind him. “You didn’t show your room when we did the room contest.” He was scanning over your bedroom, taking in all the things that made it yours. 

“Oh, um. I was kinda late getting moved in so mine wasn’t unpacked yet.” You played with your finger, watching as he walked over to your bookshelves. “It’s mostly manga, I don’t know if…”

“I like manga too.”, Todoroki looked back at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Your room is nice, I think you would have won.” 

“Ah, probably not. Everyone has such fun rooms, mine is pretty bland in comparison.” You waved your hands at the thought, giggling awkwardly. Your eyes went wide as Todoroki unzipped his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. He draped it over the back of the desk chair before pulling it out to sit down. 

“My jacket is insulated, you wouldn’t really feel my quirk through it.” He stated plainly, unaware of why you were staring at him. 

You gave him a simple “Oh” , before sitting down at the seat across from him. At least he was wearing a tanktop, but that wasn’t helping much either. You turned your attention to the math book in front of you, forcing your gaze off of him. 

He gave you a weird look, watching as you got out your worksheets. Pushing out his seat he walked around the table. Grabbing the chair next to you he pulled it closer before sitting down again. “I can’t reach you from over there.”

Your body tensed up as his shoulder rubber yours, the coolness of his exposed skin slowly permeating your shirt. 

He reached his arm around you, pulling you into his right side. His hand gingerly snaking up the sleeve of your shirt, as he caressed your heated arm. 

“How much have you done so far?” He used his left hand to flip through your papers, looking over the work you had completed. 

“Only a few problems.” You mumbled, looking down at your hands under the table. 

“Hm?” He leaned in closer, his eyebrow raised as he tried to understand whatever you had just muttered out. 

“J-just a few.” You spoke a little louder, earning a nod from him as he turned to the next page of your book. 

He slid the paper over to you, motioning for you to start so he could watch your work. 

You sat there for a moment, looking at your book. “Um Todoroki-kun, i’m right handed.”

His eyes shot open, letting go of your arm. “I’m sorry, go ahead.” Crimson creeped up his cheeks as he rested his hand back in his lap, unsure where to put it at that point.

----

He watched you work over a few problems, correcting you as mistakes popped up. He had a way of explaining this that just made everything make sense, if he had been teaching the class maybe you would have had a better grade by now. 

After a while you were out of homework to work on, the silence settling between you both as you packed up your books for class the next day.

“Thank you for helping me Todoroki-kun, I don’t think I could have finished it without you.” You turned towards him, offering him a small smile. 

“I enjoyed helping you, thank you for letting me.” He returned the smile, chuckling lightly. 

Your lips parted slightly, blinking slightly at the sight before you. You were in awe, not only had you seen him smile twice in one night, but that was the first time hearing him laugh as well. Heat blossomed up your cheeks as you gawked at the now very confused boy in front of you . 

Todoroki reached out, palming your face as if it was a ball. “I think your sunburn is getting worse. You look even redder.” 

“That isn’t the sunburn…” Your words were muddled by the hand over your face, the concerned look in his eyes visible through his spread finger.

He pulled back, clearly flustered by the mistake. “ O-Oh, i’m sorry.” He stuttered out, avoiding the amused look on your face. 

You reached for his right hand, bringing it back up to your cheek. “It’s ok, I didn’t mind.” 

He chewed on the inside of his lip, lost in thought as he searched your eyes. He had never been good with social cues, he could blame that on his father. But right now, it felt a lot like what he thought reciprocated feelings would be like. He ran his thumb over the skin of your cheek, wishing his other hand was just as cold. If it had been then he could have cradled your face, touched you just a bit more. 

You looked down at his left hand, his fist clenched around the fabric of his sweatpants. You reached down, pulling it away from it's grip and up to the other side of your face.

He was hesitant to touch you with it, the heat from it was sure to cause you irritation. That's what it had always done for him, an uncomfortable reminder of why his mother was no longer home. What had hurt those closest to him. What he didn’t want to be. 

He ghosted the tips over your cheek, testing the waters. He watched for a reaction, searching your face for uncertainty. When he saw none he closed the gap, letting the reservations pass as the anxiety melted out of him. 

You were naturally warm, just like him. He had felt it on multiple occasions. The arm brushes in the hallway, the finger grazes when he handed you something, the radiating heat he could feel just from being near you. He liked it, you were like the sun to him. That little bit of warmth kept him going most days, but he was getting addicted. But what would more feel like? Would you want more, would you want him?

You could see from the look in his eyes that he was debating something. Weighing the options in front of him. You reached out cupping his cheeks with your own hands. You ran your thumb over the bottom of his scar, his skin soft as it gave way to the soft pressure of your fingers.

He relaxed into your touch, whatever had been plaguing his thoughts was no more.

“Todoroki?” 

He hummed in reply, eyes still closed. 

“Can I kiss you?”

He opened his eyes, giving you a skeptical look. He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again. Shaking his head he let out a soft chuckle. 

He leaned in, brushing his lips over your own. “I should have asked you that.” His lips met your own, molding to the shape of the smile that tugged at the corners.

His were warm, the perfect temperature between hot and cold. He lingered for a moment, extending the duration of the contact. No one wanted to pull away, but the need to breathe was bubbling up. 

You stared at him breathless, speechless as you processed the lasting heat on your lips. 

“Todoroki I…” 

He cut you off, “I can stay a bit longer if you want. You're still pretty warm.” He gave you a shy smile, taking your hand in his own. 

You smiled brightly, squeezing his hand in yours. “I would like that.”

[unmaskedagain]

Agent Marinette

Okay I have struggled all week with a massive case of Writers block and today I beat it. This a crossover fic. Guess it by the end.

In retrospect, Marinette should’ve realized eventually other forces outside of Paris would take an interest in the masked heroine. At least they had been polite enough to wait until AFTER Hawkmoth was defeated.  

Marinette was eleven when she became the hero Ladybug. And her world shattered a bit.

Marinette was fourteen when Hawkmoth was finally defeated.

Marinette was fourteen when Ladybug retired. And her world shattered again, this time a bit more.

It had taken nearly every miraculous they had to take the villain down but eventually, Gabriel Agreste was taken down, his memories of the miraculous erased. (Nathalie with him) His son Adrien Agreste surrendered his own miraculous, his position as Chat Noir, and his own memories of being a hero and everything he’d ever learned of magic and Kwami. All to prevent his father from ever learning of them again.

However, erasing his memories of his life as Chat Noir, unavoidably included erasing his memories of his friendship Ladybug, with Marinette. A friendship that had grown stronger, in and outside the mask, over fighting the evil that haunted Paris back together. Keyword: together.

On the same day, Ladybug had lost her best friend, Marinette did too. Both lost the boy she thought she’d marry one day. They could never be together. She’d have to lie to him for the rest of their lives. Marinette would never be able to do that. And she wouldn’t let Adrien’s sacrifice be in vain.

So she distanced herself from him. She couldn’t look at him without seeing Chat Noir. She couldn’t look at him, knowing she knew just about everything about him but he knew nothing about her. To him, Marinette was just some girl in his class; a sort of friend he was never really that close to.

Strangers, really.

It was why Marinette transferred out of Bustier’s class. The best thing for her heart was to stay away.

Still, she thought in a way, it was a happy ending. The best happy ending she could get. Hawkmoth was gone. Paris was safe. Ladybug was retired. Fu had reclaimed all Kwami and had disappeared. The world was good.

Until it wasn’t. Until one rainy Thursday. Her parents had gone out for a date night. They never made it home. There had been an accident. The other driver had been drunk. The funeral was on a Tuesday.

Marinette’s world had shattered once again, more than ever before.

Marinette was an orphan.

Her grandmother Gina sold the bakery, put the money from the sale and the life insurance into an account for Marinette, and moved Marinette into a nearby apartment, and then was gone. Legally, the older woman was Marinette’s guardian. But otherwise, Marinette was on her own. It was fine. Her dad had always warned her that his mom was a free spirit who never liked to be tied down.

She would talk with her grandmother once every other month if she was lucky. They primarily only communicated through email. The reception was spotted in the parts of the world Gina like to frequent.

At only fourteen, Marinette got used to paying bills, buying groceries, and virtually being an adult. She got used to living alone. Just like she got used to not being a hero anymore. Just like she got used to not having any friends after Lila came knocking on the class’s door.

A year later, the young girl was thriving. Her grades were at the top of the school, right after Max. She was class treasurer and on the track team, having missed the feeling of running as fast she could. She started Kuoshu classes; her mother had always wanted her to learn Chinse martial arts for defense. And Marinette missed the adrenaline she used to get after a fight.

It was a good life. A simple life. Marinette had only normal life worries to be concerned about.

…Again, she really should’ve known the other shoe would drop eventually.

Still, no fifteen-year-old girl who was minding her own business, casually walking down the street, wanted to suddenly have a black bag over her and tossed into the back of a van. In fact, it was every girl, woman, and human being’s worst nightmare.

She was tied up. She was gagged. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t hear. Marinette had no idea how much time had passed. Or where they were taking her. Or who had taken her? She fought the tears that burned in her eyes as she struggled with the bonds around her hands. No matter how hard she tried, they wouldn’t break or budge. By the coldness of it, she knew she was either in handcuff or something similar made of metal.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Marinette felt herself be picked up and carried. She struggled against her assailant. She tried to kick her with her bound legs, hit with her tied fists. Nothing.

Marinette found herself being lower onto something. A chair she quickly realizes as she pressed her back to it.

Suddenly, the metal band around her hands released. Marinette quickly pulled the black bag off her head, undid the tap around her mouth, and took the plugs out of her ears.

She was in a mostly black room that only lights overhead, a vent the size of a phone, the table she sat at, and a large mirror across from her. Marinette figured it was a two-way mirror-like on cop shows, and that she was being watched. However, what concerned her most was that there was no sign of any door. Just walls and that mirror.

There was no escape.

Marinette glared at the mirror, at whoever was behind it.

She didn’t know how long she waited as she plotted her escape. Considering all variables for when they came back to her. Would they have guns? How many people would there be? Could she fight her way out? And just who her kidnappers could be? Child traffickers? Serial killer? Her past enemy, Hawkmoth, comes back for revenge? Who?

When a portion of the wall, next to the mirror opened, Marinette tried not to flinch back in surprise.

In walked a man at least twice her age. He wore a black suit and tie with a serious expression on his face. He was handsome with short dark hair and dark eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass.

The door closed behind him once he stepped through. He said nothing as he sat down in the chair across from her. They started at each other silently.

           Marinette cracked first, “Who are you? What do you want? Where am I?”

           A small smile appeared on the man’s face, “You’re a very hard girl to track down, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’d have thought it would’ve been easier considering all you’ve done.” He had an American accent.

“Track? What?” Why would he want to track her down? “I didn’t do anything. Nothing! Okay?!”

           He gave her a curious look, “Really? Well, I wouldn’t call saving all of Paris on a nearly everyday basis for what two years, nothing.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t try to deny it. We have pictures, videos; evidence.”

           It was like someone had thrown ice water over her head. Marinette swallowed the lump that had built in her throat. “Who. Are. You.” She managed to get out.

“Me? I’m a friend,” He answered. “You can call me Black Heart.”

“Black Heart?” Marinette snorted. “You’re serious?”

“Oh because Ladybug is so much better,” He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I have questions. You’re going to answer them.”

           He wanted to know about the miraculous, she guessed. Or how she got her powers. Marinette crossed her arms, “I have nothing to say.”

           Black Heart chuckled and stood up. He put his hands on the table, “Listen very carefully, Marinette. Because there are only two ways we can do this.”

           Marinette smirked, “Is one of them the easy way?”

           A look she couldn’t recognize briefly flashed over Black Heart’s face but gone just as quick. “No,” He answered.

“Oh.”

“Who are you?” He asked her.

           She paused before answering, “…My name is Marinette but you know that. I was the hero Ladybug but you know that as well.”

“What happened to HawkMoth?”

           She felt fine answering that. However, she gave the same answer she gave to the press, “Hawkmoth was defeated. He was stripped of his powers and destroyed.”

“You killed him?”

           It wasn’t the first time Ladybug had been asked that question. “…Yes.” She lied though it didn’t feel like much of one. Hawkmoth was dead after all.

           Blackheart nodded. “What happened to Chat Noir? And the other heroes? Dead too?”

           Marinette fought to keep her face blank, her fists clenched. “Yes,” She said. “They were causalities of the final fight with Hawkmoth.” Technically not a lie. Every Parisian hero had given up their miraculous once and for all after Hawkmoth was gone. There was no need for them anymore.

           The man raised an eyebrow, “Gabriel Agreste is still very much alive last I checked.” She reared back as if slapped. “So is Adrien is otherwise known as Chat Noir. Alya Cesaire aka Rena Rouge, her turtle boyfriend. The monkey guy. The tiger. The snake; Luka, I believe. All alive and kicking. So much for that lie…”

“They were retired,” Marinette growled. “Permanently.”

“Truth,” Blackheart nodded. “How did you erase their memories?”

           It had taken the combined power of Fu, Marinette, Tikki, Wayzz, and Plagg to do it. “I didn’t do anything.”

           Black Heart gave her a hard look, “Where do your powers come from?”

           Marinette smiled, “I don’t have any powers.”

“Fine! Where do Ladybug’s powers come from?”

“I am Ladybug,” She told him. “And Ladybug doesn’t have any powers.”

“You mean anymore?”

           Marinette nodded slowly.

           Black Heart sat back in his chair, “You’re telling me that you busted your ass saving Paris for two years, only to have your powers taken from you? You were tossed to the side just like that? Like you were nothing? I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I wasn’t needed anymore.” By anyone.

“You took down one of the biggest threats to this world,” The man said. “You fought. You bled. You sacrificed everything. From what our intelligence has gathered, you even gave up the love of your young life. Only to be cast aside; alone, forgotten, abandoned…”

“That’s not what happened,” Marinette shook her head.”

“You weren’t useful anymore,” Blackheart tutted. “So you were thrown away; left to fend for yourself in a cold, cruel world. No friends, no family,”

“Shut up,” Marinette whispered.

The man leaned forward, “How many internships did you turn down because you were too busy being a hero? Two? Three?”

“Shut up!” She said louder.

“Wait, it was five. That’s right.” He continued on as if she said nothing. “Five internships with some of the biggest names in fashion today. And you gave it up. Now what you have to show for it? Nothing!” He said. “You live this mundane life halfheartedly, struggling to find your place again, trying to get back even a fraction of the feeling you had when you fighting for this world!”

“SHUT UP!” Marinette roared.

           Black Heart shook his head, “I asked you who you are. But I already know who you are. I know who you were. You were a hero, a martyr, a leader, a little princess who believed in fairytales and the goodness of people. You were someone who believed this world could still be saved! So I just want to know three things. I have three questions to ask you and then you never have to see me again! You can go back to pretending to be whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

“What?” Marinette asked. “What could you possibly want to know?” Need to know that he didn’t already. “Huh? Just tell me!”

“Do you still believe this world can be saved?”

Silence.

“…What?”

“Answer the question.”

Marinette blinked, “Yes. I do.”

“Are you still willing to fight for it?” Black Heart asked.

“Always.”

           He smiled, and leaned back in his chair, “Last question… What do you know about Shield?”

           Well, that was a twist. Marinette’s eyes went wide. She knew a lot about shield. More than any normal teenage girl should. But a former Ladybug had been an Agent. And Tikki told her everything... It was founded by Peggy Carter and Howard Stark. Shield started the Avengers. They had been protecting the world for decades.

“A lot,” Marinette answered. “What do you want?

           The man gave her a small smile, “World peace.”

           The doors of the room opened again in walked a beautiful young woman with long hair a bright smile on her face, “You done traumatizing the poor girl yet.”

           The man groaned, “Dammit, Skye.”

           Marinette officially joined Shield the next day.

           Skye showed her the ropes and explained until she garnered some trust, most would give her their full name; maybe only even their code name.

           In another life, Skye hadn’t joined Shield until she was well into her twenties. In this life, she was recruited by a woman named Hill as soon as she graduated high school. It had been nearly ten years since. Skye had met Black Heart when she was about three years in, and they had disliked each other.

           Now they mostly tolerated the others’ existence. Only really dealing with each other on missions.

           Skye would be gone the next day. And Marinette would only see her once in a blue moon.

           Marinette would withdraw from school and finish her education taught by some of the greatest minds in the world. She would give up her apartment, and leave Paris. She would call her grandmother one last time for what would be months to let her know she was going to travel the world; her grandmother was pleased as she had done the same when she was not much older than Marinette. Gina disregarded the fact that she had been a legal adult at the time.

           It would be the last call she made from her phone. The line was disconnected and the phone tossed.

           Then she visited the place that had been her parents’ bakery, not their graves; because she would rather remember them alive, happy, and loving, then dead in the ground. And she told them goodbye.

           Before leaving Paris for good, she dropped off a perfectly wrapped green and black present off at the Agreste home. Adrien’s birthday was coming up. Inside the gift box was a black leather jacket with cat-shaped buttons. She handed the gift to Nathalie.

           This time, however, Marinette was quick to tell the older woman that MDC was sewn inside on the jacket; multiple times.

           Then she walked away; not looking back once.

It was the last thing Adrien would ever get from her. The last thing he would unknowingly have of Chat Noir. Ironically, the masked hero the blond had come to idolize in recent times.

The jacket was all she could give him of his as a hero, and not even a fraction of all she had wished to give him.

           One day he would forget her altogether. One day she would just be a random former classmate of his whose name he couldn’t quite remember.

           However, Marinette would never forget Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir. She would remember when Adrien was Chat Noir, one of the greatest heroes Paris would ever know. And she would remember Chat Noir was Adrien, and Adrien proved to be a greater hero than even he ever dared dream Chat Noir would be.

           Marinette would remember because she owed him that much at least.

           The night she left Paris would be the last time she dreamed of a life with Adrien. A life where they got to grow old together; one where wedding bells were heard. And he’d kiss her every time she left. And she’d kiss him every time she came back. A life where they got to see where their love would take them, and maybe one day hear the pitter-patter of little feet on their floor.

           A life where Marinette did actually become a fashion designer. A life where she married Adrien, Alya was still her best friend, her parents were alive, the world was good and kind, and two heroes got the finale they deserved.

           A life where love was enough, and they got their happy ending. The forever they never got would haunt her forever.

           Marinette was fifteen when she went she joined shield and went back to doing what she did best; helping people, saving the world.

Marinette was fifteen when she became an Agent of Shield.

           Marinette was fifteen when she learned how to shoot a gun.

           Marinette was fifteen when she joined Black Hear became her mentor. The training had been a killer. More than once, Marinette had nearly quit.

           Blackheart would just shake his head at her and say, “Life is tough, kid,” He’d give her an easy smile. “But so are you.”

           Marinette smiled.

“You and me?” Grant said. “We’re the same. We’re Kevlar. We do whatever it takes to complete the mission. We get the job done. Keep our feelings and emotions; personal wants and desires in check. For the greater good. Its who we are. Whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes,” Marinette repeated back. “But that doesn’t mean we have to shut people out; each other out.”

“Yes, it does,” Grant said firmly. “Yes, I do.” He stopped talking and look Marinette in the eyes, “There are things about me you don’t know. I’ve done things I… Thing you wouldn’t like if you knew.”

“We all have,” Marinette shrugged at her father figure. “It’s a part of the job. I get it.”

           Grant smiled at her, “I know you do. I know you would. We’re the same. We know this world isn’t all happiness and rainbows but we don’t stop trying to save it. We don’t stop believing it can be saved; that what we’re doing has a purpose. But there are things I can’t tell you. Things about me… that you wouldn’t like if you knew. One day, I hope you understand though. I know we will. We’re the same. But You’re good.”

“So are you,” Marinette said. “Grant, you’re like the best guy I know. You’re good.”

“Not always,” Grant looked away. “You need to know, Marinette, I’m not a good man.”

“I believe you are.” She stated, “You can’t convince me otherwise.”

           It would a year later after much trust was built, and they had gone of dozens and dozens of missions that she finally learned his real name.

           Grant.

Over the next few years, Grant became like a father to her. And to him, she was like a daughter. He taught her everything he knew. Marinette did everything she could to make him proud. He made her believe that they could really save the world, change the world for the better.

Where Grant went, she followed; most of the time. Sky would slowly start to show up more and more; until it was clear she wasn’t going anyway.

Whenever she was hurt, and the mission was over, Grant would tell a story about his past.

           Her favorites were the ones about a monster who loved the sky. It was clear that it was about him and Skye. “Do you want to hear a story, princess?” He smiled. “It’s about a man who struggled with his demons his entire life. Who asked for love throughout his entire life. But he never got it. Until she came. She made him feel important. She made him laugh. She made him better. She became his world.”

           Marinette couldn’t understand what was stopping the two from getting together.

           She met Nick Fury when she was seventeen and was sent on the first on her first solo mission.

When she was eighteen, Grant and Skye were approached by a man named Coulson. The same Coulson that had supposedly been killed by a god named Loki. The strangest part was Marinette was tapped to join too.

The team consisted of Coulson, May, Grant, Skye, Fitz, Simmons, and Marinette.

They were a team. They became a family.

However, then John Garrett was revealed to be Hydra; a man Marinette had thought she knew well. (Grant killed him. And she mourned with him the man they thought John was.)

           Then project insight happened. Nick Fury was killed. Captain America exposed all of Shield in an effort to reveal Hydra.

           Shield was labeled a terrorist organization.

           The team was on their own.

But, Marinette thought more than once over the next coming months, at least they had each other.

They ended up at a place called Providence. They were given lie detector tests by Agent Eric Koenig. “Fury designed this himself,” The portly man said. “He wanted a lie detector Romanoff couldn’t beat.”

“Did she?” Grant asked

“Like Fury would tell!”

                       Marinette sat in the machine and tried to relax.

“We’re going to start with some easy question,” Eric told her. “Can I have your full name?”

“Marinette Clarissa Dupain-Cheng.”

“Eye color?”

“Blue,” Marinette stated.

           The agent nodded, “Have you ever been married?”

           Marinette shook her head, “No.”

“Please list your immediate living family.”

“My grandmother Gina,” Marinette answered. “My grandfather. I considered my team my family though.”

“What’s the difference between an egg and a rock?”

           Marinette gave him an “Are you Serious” look, “One's food, ones a weapon.”

“Have you ever heard of project insight?”

“Never.”

“Have you ever had contact with Alexander Pierce.”

“I have,” She answered honestly. “Once. Just after the New York Invasion. Agent Hill introduced me.”

“You wash up on a desert island, alone. Sitting in the sand is a box. What’s in the box?”

“How big is the box?” Marinette asked curiously. “How did it get there? What island am I on? Am I near freshwater.”

“Just say the first thing that comes to your mind, Marinette,” He told her. “What’s in the box?”

“A pair of earrings.”

           Eric gives her a funny look but notes her age and shrugs it off. Spy teen girls were still teen girls, after all. “Shield no longer exists. The agency has been labeled a terrorist organization. So why are YOU here.”

           Marinette thought about the question. She had thought about it before. Shield had fallen. No one knew who was or wasn’t Hydra. She should’ve been gone in the wind. However, she had never even considered it. “Shield is all I have. Ward, Skye, Coulson, May, Simmons, Fitz, Trip; they’re all I have. They’re my family.” She told him. “And truthfully, I joined Shield because I believe this world is worth saving. I believe it can still be saved. I believe that it is good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.”

“I love Lord of the Rings,” Agent Eric Koenig grinned. “Let’s get you a Lanyard, Agent Dupain-Cheng.

           While Skye, May, and Grant stayed at Providence, Marinette joined Coulson and the others.

           When Marinette returned to the base after saving the Cellist lady. The bus was gone. May was gone. Grant and Skye were gone.

           What was left of the team had debated long about what had happened; why the three had left.

           When Coulson said, “Worst case…  We've had a wolf in the herd the whole time.”

           Marinette didn’t believe that at first. Not until she heard the scream. Saw Agent Eric Koenig’s body. Saw the word written on the picture.

           Ward is Hydra.

“Not Ward,” Fitz said.

“Not Ward,” Marinette repeated. “Not Ward.” Skye was wrong. She had to be wrong. Ward couldn’t be Hydra. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

           Then Simmons gave the analyze of Agent Eric Koenig’s murder.

“Ward did this,” Simmons said.

           In a fury, Fitz smashed a few things.

           Marinette could only stare in space as the words penetrated her mind.

           Ward is Hydra.

           The man she thought she knew the best.

           The man she had sworn her loyalty to, had given all her trust to, had loved like a father.

           The man who had gotten her to swear loyalty to Shield.

           Grant Ward had been her S.O. Her mentor. Her leader. Her captain.

           Grant Ward was Hydra.

           And just like that, Marinette’s world shattered again.

           And just like that, everything she ever thought she believed in was questioned.

           It would be months before she saw him again, and by then it had been confirmed without a doubt Grant Ward was Hydra. He was the enemy.

           He would try to kill the team multiple times.  Grant Ward would do everything he could to get her alone to speak with and or to Skye. Like he could change their minds. He had gone full psycho Hydra and didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

           Marinette was captured by Hydra not long before her twenty-first birthday.

           She was tied up and chained to a desk.

           Grant Ward walked in with an easy smile on his face, “Marinette. This brings back memories.”

“Old Blackheart himself,” The bluenette hissed back. “Good to see you again. Oh, Wait! As your lot puts; Hail Hydra, right?”

           He nodded and sat down across from her, “Ladybug.”

“Just kill me,” Marinette shrugged. “I won’t tell you anything. You know I won’t. I won’t Hydra. You and the rest of the freaking Nazi can go to hell.”

           Ward looked shocked, “Kill you? You really think I would… I would never hurt you, Marinette!” He told her. “You have to know that. I would never want to hurt you.”

“Maybe not want to,” Marinette looked him dead in the eye. “But you will. All apart of the job, right.”

“Do you think this was easy for me?” Grant asked. “You of all people understand how hard it was; the impossible decisions that had to be made. You know what it's like to make a choice that breaks you inside. But we make them anyway. I made them anyway. Because that’s what I do. What we do.”

Marinette shuddered. “A Double Agent. Do what needs to be done. Betray everyone who loves you, cares about you. Because we don’t matter, only the mission does. Right? That’s what you tried to train into me; anything for the mission.”

“No!” Ward shouted. “That’s who you were before I ever met you. You don’t get to put that on me. That’s why Shield wanted you. Because you did whatever it took to stop Hawkmoth for good. Whatever it took for the greater good. That’s how I knew we were the same.”

           Silence.

           Ward stood up, “You’re good. I get that. I’ve always known that. But you understand me. You’re a soldier. I’m a soldier.”

“You are a monster,” Marinette said. “You finally convinced. There is no good for you.”

           Coulson, May, Lincoln, and Skye rescued her not long after.

           Grant and Marinette would face off with each other multiple; fighting to the death; fighting for the cause.

           Then one day, Simmons would be gone, Coulson would go after her, and when they came back; Coulson would tell her Grant Ward was dead. He killed him.

           Marinette wouldn’t ever admit it but her world shattered just a bit.

           However, Marinette would see Grant again but he wasn’t Grant. He was hive. And Hive would nearly take Skye from the team. He would take Lincoln.

           After months of fighting the monster for months; doing whatever it took to bring him down; Lincoln, a pretty blond man with light-colored eyes who dared to be a hero, sacrificed himself.

           And for the first time in years, Marinette was reminded of Adrien Agreste. She had thought about him occasionally, sure. But seeing Skye cry over Lincoln had reminded her just deeply of her own loss. And remember that she was the one who erased his memories. He wanted the last thing he saw to be her before he never remembered her again.

           Marinette was twenty-two when she went to the funeral of Grant Ward. It was in Paris. Marinette was the only one who went. There was nobody to bury but still, Marinette had him laid to rest, not too far away from her parents.

           No matter how hard she had tried, Marinette couldn’t find it in her to hate Grant. She had loved him too much. He had been such a big part of who she was.

           And she owed it to him to finally see him laid to rest. It was her duty, she supposed.

           That was why she buried him in the once place she once thought she’d never return. The place where she once dreamed of another life.

           As she stared at his grave, once again she dreamed about another life.

           A life where Hydra had never returned. Shield had never fallen. The Avengers weren’t torn apart in a civil war. The world didn’t seem to always be on fire. Skye was still an Agent. Fitz and Simmons were married. Tripp was alive. Lincoln was alive. And Grant Ward was good.

           It was a nice dream but she’d leave it in Paris with all rest of her childhood’s hopes, wishes, and dreams.

“You were right,” She told Grant, speaking directly to his headstone as if he was there. “We are the same. I do understand. I’ve always understood. In the end, we always do our duty. Its what defines us. Rest in Peace, Ward.”

           Marinette walked out of the cemetery with her head held high. She would stop for ice cream, and cross paths with a tall, handsome, green-eyed, blond man. He’d look right through her.

           And it only bothered her a little.

           Months after she left Paris again, for good she swore, she would hear on the news about the untimely death of Gabriel Agreste.

           She would notify an hour later that Master Fu has surfaced in Paris again. The man had been watched by Shield for years.

           She would be told that Master Fu had been spotted around Agreste home.

           Marinette didn’t blink twice. It wouldn’t matter. Everyone had moved on. Adrien had moved. Marinette had moved on. And as far as the world was concerned Marinette Dupain-Cheng was dead. She had died years ago.

           Seven months later, Coulson would bring her in to help train a new recruit. She would walk into the training room of the bus and see a tall, a tall, handsome, green-eyed, blond man with hope clear on his face, standing next to Coulson, looking at her like he was seeing the sun for the first time in years.

“Kitty?” Marinette whispered.

“My lady.”

           Marinette was twenty-three when her world shattered yet again.

[clnriswood]

ARCHIE ANDREWS X READER

Big Little Town: Part Four

a/n: so happy to be back on this series -- also -- first chapter at rdh! prepare for a world of pain, hehe. don’t forget to ask to join our tag list! x

gif dobhennig

tag list: @my-soul-is-the-moon @lghenry4 @megumii-606 @a-littlebreak-for-b

. . . 

First day of school. Again. Except this time the girl was going to put forward her best foot, as she had no intention of letting her troubled past or awfully introverted persona be the talk of the school. When she awoke that morning her alarm had yet to go off, for her nerves alone brought her stinging eyes open. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the thrum of her heart until her alarm rang, at which point she coolly turned it off and sat up with an extended sigh. The girl flipped on a lamp switch and headed for the shower, scrubbed herself three times over, washed and curled her hair, and grabbed the outfit she’d hung the night before. To make sure it was suitable for a first day at Riverdale High she’d sent a message to Betty for help, at which point Betty re-directed her to Veronica, at which point Veronica, appalled by her choice of jeans and a plain shirt, fixed the girl up with something better.

Standing in front of the mirror, the girl gave a long sigh and fluffed up her hair with the tips of her fingers. She wore a satin rosy crop top with thin straps that clutched tightly to her skin, a short black skirt that swirled around her hips, and some tannish ankle high boots with thickly chunked heels. This was certainly far classier than she normally would’ve gone for school, but first impressions were apparently important as ever at Riverdale. The girl caught herself scowling at her reflection, at which point she leaned forward, topped up her sheer lip gloss, and practiced smiling… literally. After giving up shortly after, she resumed her scowl, picked up her black leather backpack, and went to open her thin white curtains. As she did so, none other than Archie Andrews caught her eye.

He was wearing only boxers and a pair of black jeans, leaving his completely exposed chest open to the glittering sunbeams that seeped into his room. He’d let out a huge yawn, one hand running through his auburn locks, and his eyes were adorably sleepy. The girl felt a lump grow in her throat when her eyes caught sight of the not-so-subtle six pack Archie was sporting, one that was deathly attractive and connected sharply to the prominent V shape that connected from his hips to his-- well--

Archie, locking eyes with her, went still. His eyes seemed to glaze over the same exact way hers surely had done when she looked at him. Both of them just kind of stood there for a good few seconds, like deer in the headlights, absorbing one another. Then the girl, awkwardly shooting her gaze from his abs and to the ceiling with a forced fake cough, turned and bolted from her room. Archie, seeing this, fumbled to grab his dark blue Riverdale hoodie, and pulled it over his head as he too went stumbling away. The girl met her mother on the stairs, insisting they leave now, and went speedily out the front door to avoid making further contact with Archie after that embarrassing incident. But they hadn’t made it two feet onto the grass before Archie came jogging out to meet them.

“Mrs. (Y/L/N)!’ he called, panting and giving a jovial wave and smile.

The girl’s mother smiled sleepily, “good morning Archie.”

“Morning,” he said through a short breath, stopping to meet the two in the middle of the lawn.

The morning dew settled on the girl’s shoes, as she dug her heel nervously into the ground and pursed her lips into one of her fake smiles and grumbled a hello.

“Mrs. (Y/L/N),” he said again, slinging his bag over his shoulders, “I was wondering if I could take your daughter to school, since it’s her first day.”

Please say no.

Her mother raised her brows with a smile, “that sounds lovely, actually. My work is on the other side of town so it’d be a big help.”

Fuck.

“Doesn’t that sound lovely?” her mother elbowed her with a very obvious wink.

The girl widened her eyes in horror and her mother’s indiscretion, to which Archie, completely obliviously, beamed.

“Right,” the girl laughed uncomfortably, raising her eyes to Archie’s big brown one’s.

And he looked so excited that she couldn’t help but soften, giving him a genuine smile, “it does.”

“Great,” Archie nodded, giving her mother a squeeze, “have a great day at work ma’am.”

“Thank you Archie,” her mother cooed.

As the girl followed Archie, she threw a glance over at her mother, who raised two giant thumbs up, making the girl go beet red as she tried desperately to get away faster.

Archie went ahead, unlocking his truck and opening the girl’s door for her with a happy little grin. She climbed in, sighing with nerves as Archie entered beside her and brought his truck roaring to life. But before he pulled out, he turned to look at her, his eyes flashing with like.

“You look really nice,” he said, clearing his throat and giving her a timid smile.

She felt herself stiffen, “thanks, Archie. So do you.”

At this Archie glanced down at his own clothes, checking himself out skeptically like she must be unaware of what she’d just said. But she’d meant it. Only Archie Andrews could make a hoodie and jeans look that flattering.

“Thanks?” he raised his brows with a chuckle. The girl just let out an airy laugh and turned her eyes to the road as he pulled his car back and made way down the scenic road. They didn’t talk much on the way to school. The churning in her stomach made her too nervous to. But Archie didn’t force it, he just kept his eyes forward with contently upturned lips. It looked like he was keeping on his promise to look out for her after all.

. . .

The halls were packed at the school. Blue lockers were thrown open and swarmed by students of all sorts, most of whom seemed to be completely familiar with one another. It was for that reason that it was unsurprising to see them collectively taking second looks when they realized there was fresh meat walking down the hallway, accompanied by Archie himself. At times when she’d been jostled she’d wanted to reach for his arm, but resisted the ridiculous urge by folding her arms tight over her chest. Soon thereafter she saw a blonde ponytail bouncing down the hall.

“(Y/N),” Betty beamed, “I see you had a chat with V.”

Betty herself wore a pink sweater with little polka dots, tucked neatly into her skinny blue jeans. It was weirdly suited for her.

“You look great,” she elaborated. Then, turning, she said, “here’s your locker, it’s near mine.”

Betty brought the girl to the locker located to the right of her own, whispering, “I made sure they gave you this one.”

“Thanks,” the girl smiled bashfully, unloading her schoolbooks into the locker by her new friend.

Archie stayed quiet the whole time, leaning lazily onto the next locker down as he surveyed the two.

“If you get lost at lunch just look for me and Jug. Oh, and we have AP Gov together by the way,” Betty continued on, handing the girl her schedule which was neatly printed onto a crisp white sheet of paper. “And Psychology!”

“Great,” the girl said, feeling a little overwhelmed.

Archie pried the paper from her hands, noting, “my first period is with you.”

An unfamiliar voice chimed in, “mine too.”

The girl brought her eyes slowly up to look behind Archie’s shoulder, where a fiery redheaded girl stood.

“Cheryl Blossom,” the girl extended her perfectly manicured hand.

Her long red hair fell perfectly around her pale face and perfect features, and her bright red lips bent upwards into a smile as she stepped confidently forward. The girl felt instantly intimidated.

“(Y/N)(Y/L/N),” she replied, extending a nervous hand in return.

Cheryl shook it firmly, “I know. Well, I know of you.”

The girl raised a confused brow, to which Cheryl leaned forward, whispering, “you’re not the only Riverdale nutcase around.”

She felt her heart drop.

“Don’t ask,” Cheryl cut her off before she could open her mouth, “I know everything about everyone. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, new girl.”

Archie and Betty, who were just close enough to hear her whisperings, exchanged confused glances. But Cheryl just smiled and pulled away, patting at her red dress with a clear of her throat.

“Anyways,” she said, loudly this time. “I’m having a seniors only party this Friday, you know, to kick off the school year, and I hope to see you there. Until then, first period,” she winked and gracefully swept away, leaving the girl with an opened mouth and glazed eyes, which were interrupted only by the sound of the bell.

Betty, bewildered as ever, said her goodbyes, Archie looking similarly confused as he escorted the still dazed girl into a nearby classroom where she’d be studying-- literature-- according to the whiteboard her eyes landed upon. The boy took a seat near the back, hitting off a fellow classmate so the girl could sit beside him. This fellow classmate looked displeased until he saw what, or who rather, this was for.

He was tall with jet black hair that was slicker perfectly atop his head, minus a loose stray dangling in front of his dark eyes, He wore a Riverdale jersey and a kind of permanent smolder, and he extended a hand to the girl as she sunk into her seat.

“And who might this be?”

“(Y/N),” the girl responded as the room’s lights and sounds came back into focus, her eyes now preoccupied with the rather attractive boy who towered over her.

She took the boy’s firm hand, to which he smirked a “Reggie” in reply. “You didn’t tell me the new girl was hot,” Reggie said quite loudly to Archie as he continued shaking her hand, to which the both of them grew red.

“Shut up Reggie,” they said in unison, making the boy snicker.

He beamed, flickering his finger between the both of them, “that’s funny. You two are funny.”

“Take a seat, mister Mantle,” a stern female voice said from the front of the classroom.

Reggie, obeying the teacher, scoffed and took his seat in front of (Y/N), keeping his eyes lingering on her for a second longer than comfortable. He soon after procured a notebook, tore a sheet out, and began jotting away with a stray pen. As the teacher gave her introductions, Reggie leaned back and stretched over his head, dropping the paper onto the girl’s desk. Baffled, she unfolded it.

Want a date to Cheryl’s?

The girl felt herself grow warm in surprise. Clearly this boy got straight to the point with things, she thought. As she picked up her own pen she saw Archie leaning not so subtly over to get a look at the paper, at which she chuckled softly and moved it out of his view.

Wasn’t planning on going.

She folded the paper neatly up as a student began passing around textbooks, giving her enough of a distraction to pass the paper onto Reggie.

She’d meant what she wrote. Parties weren’t really her scene, especially not one led by the girl who apparently knew everything about everyone. The thought alone made her stomach churn, at which she recalled the note she’d received the night earlier, one she’d stashed away in her dresser the minute she’d gotten inside. Maybe it was someone playing some sick practical joke oh her, or something. Maybe Cheryl knew.

Reggie apparently read over the reply, as he had turned back in his seat to give the girl an unimpressed raise of his brows. He dropped his voice an octave and leaned into her to mouth a quiet reply.

“Change your mind.”

His voice raised a little at the end like it might be posed as a question, but the confidence in his tone simultaneously ruled that out, making it instead appear as a heavily influenced suggestion.

“Mr. Mantle,” the voice from the front of the classroom called sternly again.

He gave an exasperated sigh, running his long fingers through his jet black locks as he gave a disgruntled “ma’am” and resumed his silence.

Archie gave an inaudible scoff, his steely eyes remaining forward for the rest of the class.

. . .

“What did Reggie want?”

Not two seconds after class ended and Archie was on her case about it, blindly trailing her out of the classroom with his fists stuffed cooly into the front pocket of his hoodie.

The girl shrugged half heartedly as they entered the hallway, “he asked to escort me to Cheryl’s.”

“Oh,” Archie said, quickly clearing his throat and trying at it again when he realized it came off sounding upset. “And what’d you say?”

The girl stopped at her locker, leaning against it to look at the stony faced boy and feeling herself getting caught up in his stupid gorgeous eyes.

“N-nothing,” she shook her head with a sharp inhale, “I said I wasn’t going.”

“Oh?” the boy replied.

“Yeah uh, not my thing,” she pursed her lips with a shrug, leaving out the other little part from her reasoning. “Are you going?”

“We are!” a voice exclaimed.

Veronica Lodge seemingly poofed into existence behind Archie, wrapping her arms around his back with a big grin, “right Archiekins?”

She wore a black dress and sleek matching heels, something that, once again, only she could seemingly pull off at school.

Archie blinked down at his girlfriend in surprise, giving her a squeeze back, “uh, yep. We are.”

“Cool,” the girl feigned interest, switching out the books from her locker before shutting it a little too hard.

“Walk you to your next class?” he perked up hopefully.

But the sight before her was making her grow increasingly uncomfortable, and somehow the thought of the two of them trailing behind her to class entwined like that did the opposite of reassure her, so she gave a forced smile and happy wave of her schedule.

“I’ve got it, actually. But, thanks.”

The rest of the day sort of blurred past in a haze. The classes were fine. The people were fine. Everything was… just alright. It didn’t seem like there was anyone or anything in particular to cause her worry. She’d met a few new people, one of whom went by Toni Topaz and fought Reggie off with a textbook when he tried sitting by the girl in calculus. Turns out she was Cheryl’s girlfriend, which she wouldn’t have guessed from their stark differences in personalities, but seemed generally lovely. She’d also sat with Betty, Archie, Jughead, and Veronica at lunch, but felt herself the target for many eyes in the cafeteria, and a major fifth wheel to say the least. At the end of the day, she found herself alone in the halls, at which point she checked the coast before promptly slamming her forehead into the locker with a groan. It was going to be a long year, she knew that much. Taking a deep breath, she aligned her back once more and gathered her thoughts. While going home now was certainly an option, she couldn’t help but recall Archie’s mention of some sort of cheer team. Of course, she had no interest in joining, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t check it out, right? At least, that’s what she told herself as her feet took her striding down the halls and onto the back field, where she was greeted by a blast of light to the eyes.

Shielding her face, she approached the neat green grass and uniform clad girls who were assembling on it. They were led by none other than Cheryl, who was barking inaudibly at them all from a high chair. With her were Toni, Veronica, and about a dozen others. The girl felt her stomach lurch at just the sight of all of them, but what really did it for her was seeing the boys run in from the opposite end of the field, led by Archie, of course, who hadn’t noticed her. His eyes had fallen right on the raven haired girl, not that she was blaming him. The sweaty auburn haired boy, suited full in his football uniform, jogged over to his girlfriend for a short lived embrace and kiss on the lips, which brought the bystanding girl swiftly back to reality. Realizing where she was and the stupidity of what she was doing, she stumbled backwards in a frantic effort to leave. Of course, in her panic, she twisted her ankle and yelped in hurt, drawing attention from all on the field.

“Joining us?” Cheryl snapped from her chair, her big red lips parted.

Archie squinted sunbeams from his brown eyes, an attractive slick dripping from his brows as his mouth hung open in a half smile at her.

“Um,” she yelled back awkwardly, “no.”

“Come on, (Y/N)!” Veronica encouraged with a dazzling flash of her teeth. “Come try out!”

“Yeah!” Archie beamed hopefully.

The girl just stood there, eyes flickering between the teens who stood awaiting her reply. She was suddenly very aware of the blistering heat that chomped at her flesh. And then there came no reply. Rather, she hooked her fingers in her bag straps and bolted back into the doors from which she came before she could answer in full. Panting and red in the cheeks, the girl half-sprinted down the halls in an effort to distance herself from her painfully awkward encounter. She wasn’t halfway out of the school before Betty came bobbing into sight, however.

The peppy blonde smiled a big hello as she interjected her in her path, “what are you doing here?”

The girl stuttered a wordless reply and rubbed at her temple, not sure how to explain what’d just gone through her dumb head. Luckily, Betty seemed to piece the answer together for herself.

“You weren’t trying out for the Vixens, were you?” she chuckled.

“Uh,” the girl laughed sheepishly, “I considered it.”

“And?” Betty smirked knowingly.

“Not for me,” she laughed with embarrassment.

Betty grinned, “don’t worry, me neither. I used to think it was, but the only reason I really joined back in freshman year was because I liked Archie.”

Pure panic ensued.

“Ridiculous, right?” Betty chortled on.

“Yeah,” the girl snorted unconvincingly, “ridiculous.”

Betty arched her brow ever so slightly with faint curiosity, but she dropped it and gave her the benefit of the doubt.

“Anyways, what’re you doing?” the girl asked in an effort to divert the subject.

“Oh, I work yearbook after school sometimes,” Betty explained.

“Ah,” the girl nodded in understanding, her lips pressing together. Then, not having anything else to say, she concluded, “well, have fun!”

But she hadn’t raised a toe before Betty stopped her in her tracks, her pony swinging as she gave her new friend a warm smile and a cheeky perk of her brows, “wanna help?”

. . .

Yearbook was much more her pace. It was calm, organized, came with good company, and most importantly, was air conditioned. Betty walked the girl through her usual procedures, and soon enough they were both at work, sometimes in silence, sometimes making easy conversation. The girl’s creativity along with Betty’s logical practices mingled well. Afterwards, Betty offered the girl a ride, to which she now happily obliged. On their way out of the abandoned classroom they were held up in, the doors down the hall came bursting open, at which point the cheer and football team made its way flooding down their direction. The stench of hot grass and sweat followed them in. At their front, Reggie led the pack, his long black locks plastered to his forehead and his chest heaving as he took swigs of the icy water contained in the bottle he held. The girl made the mistake of stopping in her tracks to stare, gaining her an instant visit from the boy, who swaggered his way over to her as the students passed. Betty’s eyes flicked between Reggie and the girl once, twice, and a third time before she put together what was happening and sauntered in the other direction with a giggle.

“Betty!” she called, “my ride?”

Betty didn’t even turn her head as she replied, “meet me out front when you’re done.”

The girl sucked in an annoyed breath and forced her eyes up to the boy who towered above her, “yes?”

Reggie sniggered, “hey now, sass.”

Her pursed lips softened into the smallest of smiles.

“Reggie,” she said.

“(Y/N),” he beamed back, flashing her one of those killer smiles. “Reconsider my offer?”

The girl gave a sarcastic laugh, “you’re persistent, Mantle.”

His dark eyes flashed with like, “mhm?”

“But I’m still not interested,” she said, running her tongue lightly over her teeth and avoiding eye contact with the impossibly attractive boy before her.

Her gaze, looking for anywhere else to land, settled on Archie, who just now emerged from the pool of light at the end of the hall, his arm loose around his girlfriend’s shoulder. He looked surprisingly clean in comparison to the other boys, she noticed. Likely this was Veronica’s work. The two smiled at each other, inseparable as they made their way down the hall. Archie’s large hazel stare seemed to suddenly gravitate to the girl’s, like he knew she was watching, at which point she snapped her jaw firmly back up to Reggie.

Reggie, unbothered, continued.

“Not true,” he hummed, his lips twitching into that infuriating smirk.

“What’s not?” her brows furrowed in mild aggravation.

“You not being interested,” he shrugged with a tilt of his head.

“Oh yeah, Mantle?” she crinkled her nose and folded her arms.

“Yeah,” he chuckled amusedly, “otherwise you wouldn’t be flirting with me right now.”

Her eyes went steely and her jaw went stiff, the girl’s blood suddenly sounding very loud in her ears as she brushed off his remark with a grumble.

“Come on,” he pleaded, extending his large hands and peeling the girl’s arms from her chests so he could hold her little wrists in them. His eyes softened in menacing adoration, “please?”

Feeling her face flush, she stuttered wordlessly and found her eyes wandering, once again, back to Archie’s. Archie was now standing up against his locker, waiting for her, as Veronica leaned into his front, her view of the two obscured. He seemed to watch her with some sort of unidentifiable expression, his forehead creasing as he observed Reggie’s gentle grip on the girl. But whatever strange thing he was thinking was interrupted by Veronica leaning up to kiss his lips, at which point any trace of him that could be read was stifled.

“Yes,” the girl decided at once.

Reggie’s lips split into one of those huge grins, “wait, really?”

The girl sighed in defeat and tucked a lip between her teeth, “what can I say, Reggie? You’re persistent.”

“YES!”

He whooped, releasing her wrists so he could half dance half punch the air. It was ridiculous. And cute.

The boy beamed down at her and flickered his black eyes over hers, his gaze softening like he wanted to, well, kiss her or something. But like a gentleman, he didn’t. Instead, he once more reached for the girl’s wrist, bringing a hand up to his lips, where he pecked her gently with a stupid little laugh, making her half scowl half chortle in embarrassment.

“Pick you up Friday?” he winked, releasing her.

“Whatever,” she shrugged, not giving him the satisfaction of her flattery as she pursed her lips in an attempt to suppress her smile.

Reggie half walked half skipped down the rest of the hall, turning a good few times to throw her glances as he disappeared out of sight. Once the coast was cleared and the halls had drained empty, Archie’s voice rang out.

“(Y/N),” he said.

She turned to meet him. Veronica now stood beside him, fingers intertwined with the ginger’s ones. Archie looked like he had something sour in his mouth.

“Uh, can I- do you-” he started, his words coming fast and tripping confusedly one after the other. He shook his head and pressed his tongue to his teeth, trying again. “Need a ride?”

She shook her head, “thanks, Archie, but I’m good.”

She gave him a little smile, which he exchanged for a forced one of his own, “alright.”

And he watched her go.

. . .

The ride home was hazy. The girl’s head was swimming with thoughts, the last day playing over in her mind like tapes. Betty exclaimed gleefully at her newfound interest in Reggie, adding that it was no wonder she’d been interested in joining the Vixens. By this she meant to get closer to Reggie, of course. The girl played it off accordingly. After Betty dropped the girl home, she made her way across the stone path towards the little red door. There was a little pep to her step, a hopeful sway that told her maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all. But her thoughts were short lived, when they focused instead on the new note that lay upon her doorstep.

I’m watching.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 5 - 5

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Ok @eatyourdamnpears, @who-needs-a-life-anyways, and @ashintheairlikesnow, there was a vote for Finn angst vs. Gavin angst, and Finn angst won. However comma. In an unprecedented turn of events, the muse provided for me fluff instead.

Content warning: permanent injury, chronic pain, brief description of surgery, body image issues with scars, implied captivity

~

At Finn’s side, Isaac jumped as if he’d been shocked. “Y-yeah,” he mumbled, still staring at Sam. “Sure.” He stood and looked around numbly, as if he’d already forgotten what Gray had asked him to do.

Finn turned their attention back to Sam. They seemed to be doing better now. There was a faint sheen of sweat on their face, and they still clutched at their wrist, but their breathing was slowing down, easing, and their tears were drying on their cheeks. Finn bit their lip as they reached up and wiped Sam’s tears away with their thumbs.

Sam looked behind Finn forlornly as Isaac began to pick up the biggest shards of the shattered bowl. “I guess I won’t be able to get up until that’s clean,” they murmured.

“Yeah,” Finn said distantly. “Probably a good idea to wait until it’s clean, yeah.”

“So I guess…” Sam sniffed. “I guess we should… talk it about it now.” They looked down at their lap.

Finn groaned and moved to Sam’s side, sitting down and leaning back against the cabinets beside them. Whipped cream dried on the bottoms of Finn’s shoes. “We don’t have to, Sam,” they said softly. “We don’t… e-ever have to talk about it, if you, um… don’t…” They trailed off and trembled as a wave of guilt washed over them. They buried their face in their hands.

Sam was silent for a long time. The drying whipped cream under Isaac’s shoes make a tacky sound as he criss-crossed the kitchen picking up pieces of the bowl that seemed to lay in every corner.

“Finn?” Sam said softly. Finn raised their head to look at them. Fresh tears stained their cheeks. “I’m… I’m s-sorry.”

“Don’t be, Sam,” Finn said heavily. Edrissa and Zachariah were busy wiping up the whipped cream with towels. Gavin had maneuvered past the mess and into the living room. Finn could hear a bucket being filled with water in the laundry room. “I… understand.”

“But—” Sam bit their lip. “I didn’t want you to find out… like this. I was hoping you’d never have to, um, f-find out at all. I thought… I thought maybe…”

Finn dragged their shoulders up around their ears. “It still might get better, I guess,” they croaked. “If… if it’s caused by, um, by inflammation, or, or s-something like that, then once the, ah, swelling goes down, you might… might get…” Finn looked down at their hands. “I don’t… think…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam whispered.

Finn’s hands slowly curled into fists. “You don’t, um… d-don’t know that, Sam. I could have… while I was, um, fixing you up, I found a nerve that was in the way… I was careful, I was—” Their voice twisted. Their cleared their throat, swallowed against the hot lump there. “I was so fucking careful. I thought… I stayed clear of it. I thought I…” They let their head fall back against the cabinets with a thump. “I thought I did it right,” they whispered.

“You did,” Sam said weakly. “I’m… I’m p-pretty sure…” They cleared their throat. “I’m pretty sure the nerve was, um… already messed up. By the bullet.”

Finn’s head snapped forward, and they stared at Sam. “What… do you mean?”

“Um…” Sam’s throat worked, and they swallowed noisily. “I… th-think I remember… even before the surgery, I…” They looked down at their right hand. “It… hurt. In my hand, and right here…” They drew their pointer finger across the inside of their forearm. “All the way up to here.” They gently ran their finger over the inside of their arm, all the way up to the sleeve of their t-shirt. “I… think I remember… feeling like something was wrong.”

Finn stared at Sam. Their heart squeezed painfully in their chest, hope washing through them, flushing the bitter shame out of their veins. “Sam… are you… You’re not just saying that because—”

“No,” Sam said, and met Finn’s eyes. “I’m not.”

Finn slumped back against the cabinets. “Then… then it’s not…” They wet their lips. “Then it’s not… my… fault?”

Edrissa drew near, wiping the floor clean of whipped cream. Sam glanced at her for a moment before they returned their gaze to Finn. “No,” they rasped. “It’s not your fault.”

Finn’s breath rushed out from between their lips, leaving their chest aching. “O-oh,” they murmured. Tears burned in their eyes.

“You did a good job, Finn,” Sam said softly.

“Oh,” Finn said again. They jerked the collar of their shirt up and wiped their eyes. “Oh.” When they dropped their shirt again, Isaac stood over them both.

“Um…” Isaac bit his lip. “We’re about done, Gray just needs to, um, to mop.” Isaac glanced behind him just as Gray walked back into the kitchen carrying a bucket of steaming water and a mop. The smell of lemon washed over Finn, drowning out the sweet smell of the whipped cream.

“Yeah,” Finn mumbled. They pushed themself to their feet. They glanced up to see Ellis standing at the counter, looking in from the living room. Their hands were locked on the counter and their gaze was concerned and fixed on Sam. Gavin stood beside them, looking stricken. Ellis didn’t even seem to notice him.

Finn blinked and reached down for Sam. Sam took their hand, and Finn pulled Sam to their feet. Sam wobbled, holding their injured foot up, and looked across the expanse of the kitchen floor towards the hallway to the bedrooms.

“I… can, can hop, but I’ll get the floor all whipped-cream-y,” Sam said, glancing at the foot they were balanced on. Whipped cream clung to the sides of their foot.

“I can carry you,” Isaac said at Finn’s shoulder. His voice was pitched low, his gaze moving over Sam’s clothes. Sam chewed their lip and nodded once.

Finn suddenly burst out laughing as they realized Sam was covered in whipped cream from head to toe. They bent forward at the waist, cackling and gasping for air. “Oh my… how did you three even… manage to make this mess?” they wheezed, holding their side. “How… holy shit?”

“We won, though,” Edrissa said quietly, standing by Zachariah by the sink, scrubbing the bottom of her foot with a wet towel.

“Yeah, because there were two of you!” Sam cried, scandalized, their eyes wide in a look of mock hurt. “It wasn’t fair!”

“You can discuss the legality of their win once the kitchen is all cleaned up,” Gray said with a smile, dipping the mop into the bucket of steaming water and whatever it was that smelled like lemon. They wrung out the mop and let it fall to the floor with a smack.

“And once I’m cleaned up, too,” Sam said. They wiped at their face, where a streak of whipped cream was now drying. “I need a shower. Holy crap.”

Gray laid a towel down on a clean patch of floor at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “Here, Isaac,” they said. “Take off your shoes here as you take them to the bathroom. Finn, you need to wipe your feet there, too. Unless you’d like to wipe down the cabinets.”

Finn blinked and realized there were spatters of whipped cream on the cabinets closest to where the bowl had fallen. “Damn,” they breathed. “Sure, I’ll help with the cabinets.”

Finn turned as the front door opened and watched Tori and Vera step into the house.

Tori froze as she saw everyone standing in the kitchen, covered in various degrees with whipped cream. Vera was right behind her carrying two canvas bags. She glanced at Tori and followed her gaze into the kitchen. Her eyebrows slowly pulled together.

“Uh… what’d I miss?”

“Edrissa and Zachariah cheated,” Sam grumbled good-naturedly.

“She jumped on my back,” Zachariah said, his gaze flicking between Sam and Edrissa. “As you’ll recall, I wanted no part on this. I only wanted to save myself.” He pressed his lips together, but a smile still pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I am merely a casualty of war.”

“Did you use up all the whipped cream?” Tori gasped. “What… no!”

“I told Gray I would make more!” Edrissa protested.

“We leave for two hours, and the whole house goes to shit,” Vera muttered as she set the bags on the floor and bent down to tug off her shoes.

“What’d you bring us?” Ellis said as they made their way from the counter back to the couch. Gavin remained at the counter, glancing at Sam every now and then, but mostly keeping his gaze down. Ellis shrugged. “I hope you had more luck than Finn did.”

Finn’s heart twinged. Maybe Crayton could get the nausea meds sooner. I wonder if I should call their general store…?

“Made some inquiries in Burmingham,” Vera said as she bent to pick up the bags. “They didn’t get any apples this week, which makes them think there was a disturbance in the southwest supply lines. No news yet about who’s taking over the western sector.” She walked over to the kitchen and stopped at the towel Gray had laid down in the walkway from the living room. “Do I need a password?” she said sardonically, and cocked an eyebrow at Gray.

Gray snorted. “The password is, ‘I don’t want my socks getting sticky.’ I’ll take the bags.” They leaned the mop against the counter and took the bags from Vera’s hands. They set them on the counter and picked up the mop again. Vera wandered into the living room. “Isaac, Finn, this would be the ideal time to leave the kitchen.”

Isaac nodded and looked to Sam. “Ready?” he said softly. Pain flickered in his eyes, tightened in his mouth.

They met his gaze and nodded. “Sure.”

Isaac bent and let Sam wrap their arm around his neck. He gently lifted Sam in his arms and didn’t even seem to notice the whipped cream smearing on his own shirt. He walked with Sam to the towel and kicked off his sticky shoes. He disappeared with them down the hall. Isaac came back around the corner with an armload of Sam’s clothes. After a moment, Finn heard the sound of water rushing through the pipes.

“These need to be washed, I guess,” Isaac said as he stopped at the towel that now served to bar entry to anyone with clean feet. He held out the clothes. “Here are these, I can go grab them some clean ones from their room.”

“Your shirt has whipped cream all over it,” Vera said from the couch, where she sat with her arm around Tori’s shoulders.

Isaac glanced down. “Oh,” he said, and pulled at the hem. “How… This got everywhere, Jesus,” he huffed. He dropped Sam’s clothes onto the towel and pulled his own shirt in one fluid motion.

Everyone in the house seemed to go silent at once. Isaac stared at the shirt in his hand as if dumbfounded at what he’d just done. His scars shone white against his skin, crossing his chest, his arms, his back. He shivered and folded his arms across his chest. A flush crept up his neck.

Finn couldn’t even remember the last time Isaac had had his shirt off around the others. It certainly hadn’t been since he’d been captured by Gavin – almost exactly a year ago, now.

Gray took the shirt from Isaac’s hand and let it fall onto the small pile of Sam’s clothes. “Thank you, Isaac,” they said casually, as if nothing had happened. “We’ll get these in the wash.”

Isaac blinked and took a step back. “Yeah… okay, thanks, Gray,” he murmured. He turned and disappeared down the hall towards the bedrooms. When he emerged again, he had a long-sleeved shirt on. He went to Gavin’s side at the counter and pulled him close. Isaac pressed his lips to Gavin’s forehead, his gaze unfocused.

Edrissa all but materialized in front of Finn, holding a towel. That girl walks so quietly, I swear to god… Finn shivered as they realized why it might have suited Edrissa to learn to walk so quietly in the first place. They wet the towel at the sink and began to scrub the whipped cream from the cabinets.

Gray carried the mop to the far corner of the kitchen and began to clean the floor of the last of the sticky residue. Edrissa grabbed the small pile of clothes, and the large pile of sticky towels, and took them into the laundry room to start a load of laundry in the washing machine.

A washing machine. I’ve never even had one of those before.

Finn cleaned the cabinets, and Gray mopped the floor, dipping the mop back into the bucket, squeezing it out, wiping the floor clean again. The whole room smelled of lemon, now.

Finn finished with the cabinets and took off their shoes to avoid tracking the whipped cream any further into the house. Gray got all the traces of whipped cream off the floor and took the mop and bucket back into the laundry room to be cleaned out.

Sam wandered back into the living room, limping slightly on their injured foot. Finn practically leapt forward to help them before Sam held out a hand.

“I’m good,” they said softly. “And I, um, figured out how to take the bandages off and put them back on once I was clean.” They lifted their head and grinned at Finn and Isaac in turn.

“Oh,” Finn said, and a smile spread slowly across their face. “That’s… geez, Sam, you trying to force me out of the job?”

“Oh, I gave you a run for your money,” Sam said with a laugh.

“Hey, um, Sam?” Edrissa said softly from the kitchen. Her cheeks flushed red. “Do you and Zachariah, um… want to help me make more?”

Sam’s grin widened. “You bet,” they said, and limped back into the kitchen.

Edrissa pointed to a high shelf. “Zachariah, could you…? The big bowl.”

Zachariah smiled gently, and reached up to get the bowl Edrissa was pointing at.

Continued here

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[pogueshomecoming]

if the world was ending - JJ Maybank

requested? nope

description: John B and Sarah are lost at sea. Pope and Kie's parents took them home. JJ is alone, and you're the only person he knows he can go to. Based on "if the world was ending" by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels. Takes place after season 1 finale.

fill out this survey to join my taglist, here’s my masterlist, and requests are open

warnings: anxiety, fear of being alone, mentions of a breakup, swearing... it's pretty mild, I think.

word count: 2.4k

++

JJ remembers looking at Pope and Kie as they held onto their parents for dear life, sobbing about the loss of John B and Sarah. He remembers the slight relief he got when Heyward pulled him into their family, but it didn't last long. It never did.

He remembers his heart thumping against his chest as he hears their parents say to them," Alright, we've got to get home and take shelter from the storm. It's only going to get worse." Pope and Kie gave him reassuring hugs, but it seemed like a goodbye. And then he remembers standing in the tent alone, with officer Shoupe. His body felt numb, all of the sounds around him seemed to travel through a tunnel before it got to him.

"Need a ride, kid?" Shoupe asked, placing a hand on JJ's shoulder. JJ shrugs him off roughly.

"Not from you, I'm good thanks." He chokes out before bracing himself and running out into the rain.

JJ stops once he's out of sight. He looks around. His best friend is gone, the one he saw as a brother. The one that helped him out more times than he can count. His other two best friends are at home, probably to be locked up for who knows how long because of the insane things they've all been up to recently.

To top it all off, he can't go home. His father has probably figured out that the keys to the phantom are gone. JJ is hurt enough, he can't handle that wrath right now.

His tears mix with the rain. The hole in his chest aches. What's left for him? What's going to happen next? He screams into the storm, being drowned out by the thunder that rolls overhead.

That last person he can think of is you, but you're gone too. Not gone, but out of reach. The two of you had broken up months ago, maybe close to a year now. Usually, JJ can think of you without feeling like his hearts been ripped out of his chest. Tonight is a different story. As his loneliness really settles in, the hole grows bigger. So big that even his shoulders ache.

To get his mind off of possibly never seeing John B again, he thinks about you. Your breakup hadn't been what either of you wanted, but more so what you needed. It was hard to explain to anyone else but each other. The goodbye was bittersweet. There were so many tears, but even more than that, there was love. JJ would love you forever, and that's something he never doubted.

He thought about your smile as he continued to walk with no specific destination. He thought about how your eyes sparkled every time you heard those three words come out of his mouth. He thought about how you'd been there at the lowest time in his life and maybe even the highest.

JJ blinks his tears away and realizes that he's at your house, standing on the front lawn. Your light is on, casting a glow into the darkness that surrounds him outside. It feels like yet another punch to the stomach. One second he was imagining fond memories of you, and the next he's standing in front of a house that was so familiar at one point, but it isn't anymore.

Suddenly, your blinds raise. You were just planning to see how bad the storm had gotten, and instead, you see JJ standing in the yard. He's absolutely soaked, his shoulders shaking from the cold. Dangerous winds swirl all around him as the thunder and lightning continue.

Without thinking, you pull your window open. "JJ?"

His head snaps towards you, a confused look on his face. His heart starts racing again.

"Come on, my room is getting wet."

JJ shuffles to the window, watching you step back so he can climb in. The warmth that hits him makes him shiver.

"What are you doing out in the storm? All alone?" Your concerned face is on, another thing JJ missed about you. His lip starts quivering, thinking about why he's actually here.

Just as he starts to cry, he feels your arms snake around his waist. Your hands press against his back to push him into your embrace. JJ feels bad for making a puddle on your floor and also soaking your clothes, but this feeling is so good and familiar to him that he can't pull himself away. He doesn't know how long it is before you step back, but your hands stay firmly against his sides.

"Alright, let's change your clothes, and then we can talk if you want to? If you don't, that's okay too, you can stay." Your voice is music to his ears. He wants to hold on tight to anything familiar, so he can remind himself that maybe he hasn't lost everything.

What he isn't going to do is think about how terrible leaving is going to feel. His heart will break yet again into a million tiny little pieces, and he isn't sure if he'll recover this time.

All he gives you in response is a nod because he doesn't trust his voice. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, looking into his eyes for permission to take it off. He lifts his arms like a child as you pull the shirt over his head. Next are his shoes and socks and then his shorts.

JJ watches you as you lead him to the bathroom. His eyes are focused on your hands as you turn on the faucet of the sink and leave the room to find him some clothes. He reaches out to touch the water. It's so hot that it might've burned him, but the warmth he feels is fantastic.

"You can take a shower if you'd rather? I just thought scrubbing some of the dirt off of you with a rag would be easier." He jumps when you start speaking behind him, not knowing you've returned.

"N-no shower."

JJ takes the cloth from the top of the stack of clothes you have and dunks it into the water. His eyes are locked on his own in the mirror as he runs the warm rag over his skin. He's aware that you're still standing behind him. When he's done with the front, he rinses out the small towel and gets it wet again, holding it out to you and pointing towards his back. You take it.

It's quiet, but JJ is exhausted. His brain is battling with his heart. One says he should leave, the other thinks he should stay. Instead of looking in the mirror while you work, he looks at the floor.

You're sitting in bed against your headboard when he comes out of the bathroom dressed in the clothes you gave him. Some he'd left here and forgotten about. This shirt used to be one of his favorites. You scoot over and pat the spot you were just sitting in.

JJ sits at the foot of the bed instead, facing you. He plays with his fingers, tapping them against his crossed legs and wringing them together. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath he takes before speaking.

"Do you remember that talk we had one time? You were saying things about when the world ends, and I thought you were dramatic, but I let you talk it out. We agreed on something that night." Still, no eye contact.

"Yeah, J. I was afraid of being alone when the world ended. So we agreed that if we could foresee it happening, we'd spend it together. Our last moments." Your voice is soft, but you can tell by his tiny head nods that he already knew what you agreed on. He wanted to hear you say it, he wanted to see that you remembered.

"So... that's why I'm here, I think." JJ's cheeks heat up from embarrassment. His vision out of focus from not blinking as he looks at his lap.

"Oh, but... it's just a hurricane. We've been through them before, right? We'll make it out alive. The world isn't ending yet." He notices your hands reaching for his, and he lets you take both of them. Then, he finally looks up at you.

JJ's face is hot, his lip is quivering again. His stomach feels like it's dropped to his feet, there's a lump in his throat that he can't swallow.

"That's the thing... the world hasn't ended, you're right, but mine has. Or it feels like it. Haven't you heard the news? John B was wanted for murder, Y/N. He was framed, so we helped him leave town with Sarah. The boat got caught in the storm, a-and fucking Shoupe drove him straight into it. They couldn't find them. He's lost at sea or dead just like his father was. And you know what? We were all there. Me, Pope, and Kie. Guess who else was there? Their parents. Mr. and Mrs. Heyward, Mr. and Mrs. C. You know who wasn't?" His mouth turns into a permanent frown as he cries.

"There wasn't a damn person there for me. Kie and Pope left with their parents. They hugged me before they left, but it felt like a goodbye. How will the Pogues be the same without John B? Their parents were pissed at us today, Y/N. They found out all of the things we were doing to keep John B safe, and they were angry. Will I lose them too? And then, I was going home, but I realized that I took the keys to my dad's most prized possession. The Phantom. It's lost at sea just like John B, so I can't go there, or he'd kill me. He always keeps his keys around his neck; there's no way he hasn't noticed yet." JJ, let's go of your hand to wipe his tears. You crawl, so you're closer to him, and now your knees are touching.

"So I was thinking about what I usually do if I can't talk to any of them, but that hasn't happened recently. Well, not since we ended things. So then you were brought into my thoughts, and it felt like one more kick to the stomach. The final blow. I've lost everyone, Y/N. It feels like the end of the world." His shoulders shake as he finally leans into you. JJ doesn't think he's ever cried this hard, not even when you two broke up.

"Where am I going to go? What am I going to do on my own?" He feels you squeeze him tighter. You shift to your knees so you can pull back and lay him down with you. He doesn't protest.

You let him cry it out. JJ tries to even his breathing, he tries to calm down, but it only seems to make it worse. He starts to focus on your breaths instead and your heartbeat, but that's when he realizes that you're crying too.

JJ lifts his head, leaning back from you to look at your face. Your cheeks are puffy, and your nose is red and maybe a little runny. You're taking in small sips of air to try and stop yourself because you can see the panic in his eyes.

"Oh my god. No, baby, I wasn't blaming you. I never did, and I never will. We agreed that it wasn't our time then. Fuck. This is why I shouldn't have come here. I knew I'd be hurt after I left, but I was too selfish to think about you."

It's a mess, everything's a mess. He's upset. You're upset but not at him. He's panicking because he thinks you are, which makes you cry harder because he's crying harder now.

This was one of the reasons you two had to separate. You both would cycle through stages of depression and anxiety, and ninety percent of the time, it was fine. But there was that ten percent, the few times that you'd both reach breaking points at the same time. Neither of you would be able to console the other, so you'd both cry and be upset for hours until you were too exhausted to continue on.

And that's what would've happened this time, but suddenly, the lights went out. Thunder boomed so loud that the walls shook, and shortly after, a flash of lightning lit up the room for a brief second. JJ stilled, and so did you.

"Listen to me, JJ. I know you don't blame me, alright? And you know what, you're probably right. It's going to be different. Pope and Kie's parents aren't going to let them have as much free roam as before. All three of you really could've gotten in a lot of trouble. If John B is alive, it'll be a while before you hear from him. He can't contact any of you immediately because the police are still going to be watching you and the others. I-"

"You're not making me feel any better." JJ can't help but laugh, looking up at you but only barely being able to make out your features.

"I'm getting there, JJ. You know what else is going to be different? I'm going to be here. There is no way I can replace John B or fill the loss of him but I want to be here for you. You're not going to have to say goodbye to me again, and that's a promise."

Despite the darkness, you two make eye contact. JJ has always felt safe with you, but now overwhelmingly so. He's about to tell you he still loves you when the door to your room opens. JJ jumps up into a sitting position, his heart beating loud again.

"Y/N, I brought you a flashlight." Your dad clicks on the light and spotlights the two of you. "Oh, hello, JJ. You doing alright, son?"

JJ glances over at you. "Y-yes, sir. I-is it alright if I stay here tonight?"

"There's no other option, no one's going out in this storm. Make yourself at home."

The door shuts, and a sigh of relief leaves JJs lips. He's not alone. The world hasn't ended. He's going to be okay.

++

don’t forget to leave feedback or reblog if you liked it! thanks for reading :)

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 15

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Davin find closure, and Bucky leaves something for you to find.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Reference to assault

Word Count: 2.5k

AO3

Your apartment was exactly the way you’d left it the morning before going to work.

No lamp broken in half. No cracked wall plaster. Certainly no spilled ichor staining the carpet in pools of black nightmare fuel. The wizards had set everything right, wiping all trace that a demon had ever set foot inside.

Or had ever laid hands on you.

You couldn’t bear to look at Davin once you had returned to the scene of the crime. You didn’t blame him, not even a little bit. If anything, you were the one who felt responsible for what had happened.

“So…” You trailed off, voice flat. You had no idea what to say now that Davin was here, standing just in your peripheral vision. “Are you… okay?”

The question felt incredibly stupid once voiced. Of course he wasn’t okay.

“Yeah,” Davin answered, quiet. “Or… no. I will be, though, I think. They said there wasn’t any permanent damage…”

“That’s good.” You looked down at your shoes, the awkwardness forcing your shoulders to hunch in a protected posture. You felt like you should be doing something, be a good hostess and offer him a glass of water. Something to break up the tense silence weighing heavily on your head.

“I’m sorry.”

You raised your head, blinking as you finally met his gaze. Or tried to. Davin wasn’t looking in your direction, his eyes unwavering on the spot in front of the couch where he had… where the demon had tried to strangle you.

“Davin…” A sigh punctuated his name. “It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he responded immediately, as if knowing what you were going to say. “They were my hands that… that did it. I-I was awake the whole time. I felt it happening, felt you struggling. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him. I tried.”

You took a step towards him, wanting to reach out but instead letting your hand hang limp. This was exactly what you’d been afraid of. Him remembering.

“Davin. Look at me.”

Reluctant, he turned to face you, green eyes haggard as he frowned unhappily.

“This isn’t your fault. If anyone shares the blame, it’s me.” You took a steadying breath, attempting to sort your thoughts into words that would make him understand. “I don’t know how much you know or what the wizards told you, but that thing used you to get to me. You’re a victim.”

His gaze hardened as his frown deepened. “So are you. I wasn’t the only one with my choices taken away, and I’m not talking about that thing that controlled me, either. I’m talking about the other one.”

“What?”

Sweat beaded on your forehead and you wiped your palms on the silky fabric of your robes.

“What do you mean?”

“The other demon. Bucky. That’s his name, right?” His eyes narrowed at your lack of response.

You hurried to say something, anything, your bumbling words tripping over themselves.

“I… yes, but, what does he have to do with… with anything?”

Your heart was thudding in your chest like a spooked rabbit. You were scared shitless but your panic-stricken brain couldn’t pinpoint why—not until Davin said the words you’d been unconsciously dreading the most.

“Remember how I said I was aware? I was trapped in my own mind like a prison, but I could still hear Yaegore’s thoughts. That’s what he called himself,” he explained seeing the confusion on your face. “That mark on your shoulder? He knew what it was and what it meant, and I heard it all. He wasn’t really… quiet in my head.”

All you could do was stare, words trapped in your throat as you tried to imagine the horror of being a prisoner in your own body.

Well, okay, maybe you could sympathize a little, but nothing to this extent. And if Davin thought your situations were even close to being similar—

“But anyway, the point is, Yaegore knew you were bound to another demon. It’s why he couldn’t make you his new host. He was pissed, I mean really pissed, and he… he made me hurt you. But it was more than that; he also wanted to force the other demon to reveal itself. And it did, but we—he couldn’t see it before I blacked out.”

The memories rose in your mind without your approval: Bucky’s armored arm snaking around Davin’s throat, pinning him across his chest as his struggles grew weaker. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Bucky’s face, you were sure of it, so why did he—

“While I was recovering, or…” He gave a humorless smile, “that’s what those people called it when they left me tied to a gurney. Had me hooked up to IVs and made me drink weird stuff. But I couldn’t—Yaegore couldn’t talk. They kept that mask covering my mouth, so he couldn’t escape, I guess.”

Davin rubbed the back of his neck, nails scratching into his short blond hair as he winced.

“He wouldn’t stop yelling. It was… bad. I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me—I’m trying to explain. He was scared. He knew they were going to find a way to get him out of me. But all of that fear vanished when he saw that demon. He was pissed. Because he knew this was the demon he’d been trying to draw out.”

“You…” You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Bucky went to see you?”

Davin nodded gravely, brows pulled into deep furrows.

“He… he spoke to me. Not to Yaegore. To me. He said…” Now it was Davin’s turn to look nervous, licking his chapped lips. “He didn’t threaten me, exactly, but he definitely made it clear I couldn’t tell the wizard’s the truth when I was finally free. He said if they knew about the demon pact, they would keep you there indefinitely.”

His next words were soft and unsteady as he said, “I couldn’t do that to you. So I stayed quiet.”

The air evaporated from your lungs as if you’d been sucker-punched in the gut.

Bucky knew. He knew about the bond and hadn’t said anything!

You didn’t know what was worse—that he had lied to you or that he had made Davin lie, too. You hadn’t even known Bucky had gone to see Davin, let alone spoken to him.

What else is he not telling me?

Davin took a step towards you with a grave expression, and you tried to focus your attention on him even as your thoughts twirled in a maelstrom of denial and shock.

“I need you to be honest with me,” he said. “I need you to tell me if you’re in danger.”

Danger? What was he talking about? The heigore was gone, why would he think—

“Did he force you into this?” His head tilted as he studied your face. “Are you under his control? I don’t really understand how it works, but Yaegore was pretty freaked out, and he was an asshole.”

You found yourself unable to speak once again. The idea of you being in danger from Bucky was too ludicrous, too impossible for you to even counter.

Davin gave you a sympathetic look and dug into his pocket.

“That wizard, Strange, he put the Sanctum’s number into my phone. I can call them right now if you need me to—“

“No!” You put your hand on his, curling around the phone he had clutched in his palm. “No, don’t.”

He said your name, kindly but with a steely firmness.

“I’m not scared,” he asserted. “If this is what it takes, I’m more than happy to do it. I figure, after dealing with Yaegore bitching in my head for the past two months, this other demon can’t do much worse.”

You were pretty sure he was wrong about that, not that Bucky would ever hurt Davin. But… you also knew Bucky wouldn’t react well if Davin wanted to expose your secret to the wizards.

“Davin, I appreciate it, really.” You didn’t let go of his hand, or his phone. Couldn’t take the risk he wouldn’t listen. “But it’s not like that.”

Are you sure? a tiny voice asked, insidious. Are you really sure?

“So… he doesn’t force you to have sex with him?” Davin’s voice was flat, inflectionless, but the sadness in his eyes made you drop your gaze. The hot-sick feeling of shame crept up the back of your neck, and you wished the ground would open and swallow you whole.

But it didn’t. So you had to speak.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” you said, the words tight in your throat. “Neither of us does. It just… happened, and neither of us wanted it.”

You lifted your head and met his eye. “We’re trying to figure it out on our own for now, so I need you to not say anything, all right? Will you do that for me?”

You knew it was unfair to ask, and it was more than Davin deserved on his plate, but you were terrified if the wizards found out. Davin had to continue to maintain the secret. Keep the lie intact. For your sake, if not for Bucky’s. You didn’t want to end up strapped to a gurney for the rest of your life. If they had done that to Davin, whose situation had been fixable, you didn’t want to think what they would do to you.

And you couldn’t bear to think about Bucky ending up in the wizard’s dungeon. Even if he was lying to you, keeping his own secrets, that didn’t mean he deserved to be tortured, and—and hung up on the wall like a grisly trophy.

Davin lowered his hand and you released it, exhaling in relief as he placed the phone back into his pocket.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked softly. “Anything at all?”

His words were unfairly kind and you knew you didn’t deserve them. Not after everything he had been put through. Still, despite all of that, Davin still wanted to help you.

Once upon a time, you’d had feelings for him. It was a relief to know that you hadn’t been wrong to have them, that you hadn’t misjudged him and that the last two months of creepy behavior hadn’t been Davin at all.

Before you realized what you were doing, your arms were around his neck and you were hugging him tightly, pressing your face into his shoulder as you squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Being so close to him, you couldn’t help but think about Bucky. How long it had taken him to wrap his arms around you, hesitant and almost shy. Davin didn’t take nearly as long; he pulled his arms around your ribcage and hugged back, as comfortable as if you did this kind of thing all the time.

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m just glad you’re okay. That we’re both okay.”

You nodded but didn’t speak, afraid if you did your voice would be unsteady. Your eyes stinging and your throat hurting was a good indication it would be.

He sighed, the rise and fall of his chest felt against yours.

“Fucking demons and wizards. Assholes from outer space were bad enough, but this was just… completely insane. Maybe I should get out of New York while I still can.”

You snorted softly, pulling back as you attempted to give him a reassuring smile that didn’t tremble.

Davin released you, not just returning your smile but improving on it with the crookedness you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“So. You can summon portals, huh?”

You blinked like an owl, or maybe a blind-sided deer.

“No,” you denied immediately. “The wizards tested me, came to the conclusion I’m as magically dead as a doornail.”

“Hmm.” He made a face, scrunching up his nose while your expression remained impassive. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that. Yaegore couldn’t stop talking about you. The wonder child who could summon demons. Honestly, I think he had a crush. In fact, when he wouldn’t shut up and went on for hours and hours, I made fun of him for it. Got me some peace and quiet for a while, at least.”

He gave a self-deprecating shrug at your silent staring, valiantly trying to maintain his cooked smile. He was doing an excellent job for the most part, and if you didn’t know better, you would say the experience hadn’t rattled him at all.

But you did know better.

“Hey, if I can’t joke about my own possession, can I truly call myself a Millennial?”

Your sigh was loud and heavy but you rolled your eyes to show him you didn’t mean it. At least one of you still had your sense of humor. Yours had been lost somewhere in a wizard’s dungeon.

As weirdly easy as it was to talk to Davin now, probably because of your shared and very strange trauma, he couldn’t stay forever. You both had the shattered pieces of yours lives to pick up, but you promised to keep in touch. You, because you were worried after his experience with the heigore. Him, probably because of your experience with Bucky. You knew it was no use telling Davin you had no reason to fear Bucky, so you didn’t try.

After he left, giving you one last warm, parting hug, you were left alone in your apartment. The silence was damning, the apartment too cold, and you turned the heater up, afterwards heading for the bedroom for a change of clothes. Silk robes did nothing for the December chill.

There was a bundle on your bed, and a second bundle of fur on top of that. The bundle moved, stretched out while splaying claws, and gave a yawning mewl.

“Monster!”

You buried your face in his side, hugging him tightly. He bore the burden of your attention before wiggling out of your grasp, leaving behind the pile of clothing the wizards must have brought.

On top of your clothing (washed and dried but now covered with grey cat hairs), was a folded piece of white paper.

Curious, you opened the sheet, eyes widening as they followed along the short message.

1 Main St, Brooklyn

9PM

Ask for Jacob Miller

-JBB

The handwriting was in cursive, oddly neat but old-fashioned, but that probably shouldn’t have been a surprise considering who had written it.

Bucky was asking you to meet him somewhere, tonight. You didn’t know who Jacob Miller was, but the thought of meeting Bucky again after not having had a chance after so long…

…and knowing by the gauge of your body, like some kind of fucked-up clock tuned into your libido…

Your stomach twisted into knots but your fingers curled into fists. Bucky owed you a goddamn explanation. Not even the daunting idea of him having to feed from you was going to stop you from getting your answers.

With a resolution you hadn’t felt in a long time, you stripped off the silken robes and headed for the shower in preparation for what the night would bring.

Next Chapter

[elizabeth-234]

A Night She Won’t Soon Forget

Previous Chapter Six: A Day He Begins to Move

Hi all. Hope you are doing well. Here is the next chapter, Enjoy!

Chapter Seven: A Day She Bakes Cinnamon Rolls 

Penny stood at the bottom of the stairs gazing up at the cobblestone building in front of her. The bricks constructing it, old as they looked to her young eyes, were clean and evenly spaced. They were woven into arches and patterns unfamiliar in the buildings around Midtown. With her meager belongings tucked under her arm and her feet dragging on the sidewalk, Penny felt like she was between worlds.

On the way here, she watched out the window of the car as neighborhoods and buildings morphed into designs she was unfamiliar with. People loitering on the street corners became few and far between. Instead, she spied people walking with purpose between the clean and uncrowded buildings. It was like she stepped into one of the stories the late-night radio shows talked about. Families with small children laughed and went about their day and business-minded people hurried to their workplace. A different atmosphere than what she was used to.

Penny glanced down at her hand-me-down smock and then over to Ms. Potts.  Her hat rested atop her head in some mysterious way not visible from the outside, revealing a bouquet of curls. The brilliant purple color matched that of her coat, gloves, and shoes. Penny swallowed. Her hands twined her smock in endless knots until Ms. Potts bent toward her. The woman’s smooth gloved reached out and unbearably gentle, she pried Penny’s nervous fingers apart.

“Are you alright, dear?”


Penny nodded sending her chopped hair every which direction despite the butterflies cramping in her stomach. She could see the woman’s gaze follow her hair for a moment before landing on her ears and nose. The frown that settled on her face was foreign to Penny. There was a certain detachment in her wrinkled brow. An anger Penny was almost sure wasn’t directed at her in the way the corners of her mouth turned down. Still, she couldn’t help but flinch back when Ms. Potts’s hand brushed her hair back from where it had fallen on her forehead.

“We’ll need to get you some warmer clothes, Penny. Your poor ears are bright as an apple.”

She wanted to lean into the soft touch of her warm, leather gloves. If only for a moment she could enjoy the feeling but her earlier outburst lingered at the front of her mind. The tears she shed so easily when before she was convinced they were permanently dry. Heat burned in her cheeks not entirely due to the cold. To think that someone like Ms. Potts, someone so warm and kind, witnessed her breakdown. So instead of basking in the affection like she wanted, Penny ducked her head and pulled her sleeves down over her hands, clutching the book under her arm.

The buildings loomed overhead. The possibilities waiting. Penny shivered.

“I’m alright, Ma’am. It’s not too cold.”

Ms. Potts’s shook her head as her hand dropped.

“Pepper or Ms. Potts please, Penny. And there will be no arguments from you. I want to go shopping and you will just have to humor me.” Penny remained silent but nodded in response. Ms. Potts, content enough with the nonverbal answer, gestured to the front door. “Shall we?”

Penny scrambled up the stairs after Ms. Potts. The ornate, gold knocker hung right above her head on the front door in the same shape as the crest imprinted on the papers in Mrs. Delores’s office. Her eyes traced the slanted eye slots on the helmet’s décor and she had to stop her hand from reaching out to feel the smooth edges. The door swung open. Penny held her breath and ducked her head further down as a guiding hand on her back moved them into the house.

The sleet sticking to her wrinkled shoes melted with the heat of the indoors and sunk through her socks to freeze her toes. The carpet’s red and gold tones caught her attention first. The colors twisted and weaved together in spirals and delicate paisley patterns. It was hard not to compare the intricate artistry with her leather loafers. They were another child’s before hers and probably someone else’s before that. Time soaked into the crevices of the shoes, staining the material a deep brown and wrinkling the buckle edges. They were the beginning of the reminders of her lack of place there. She couldn’t even compete with a carpet.

Penny scrambled to make sure the bottoms were clean before stepping onto it with Ms. Potts beside her. She turned in a half circle to take in the full view of the room until she heard a throat clear. Frozen on the spot, Penny took a moment to breath, hoping and knowing it was beyond hope, that no one had seen her lack of decorum.

Black patent shoes stepped into her view. Her eyes followed them to the attached body. From the chores at Midtown, ironing being one of the many, she knew how precise you had to be to achieve lines that straight in the black pants and suite jacket. She admired the clean cut of the outfit before Penny met the person’s gaze.

While Mr. Stevens, the delivery man, had a beard similar to the bristles of her trusty broom at Midtown, this gentleman, for surely with his outfit and fancy demeanor he was one, had a neatly combed mustache, shockingly bold and grey. It twitched under her stare and Penny fought the urge to giggle. His piercing, grey eyes sat under a set of similarly colored heavy eyebrows.  

Ms. Potts stepped up beside her.

“Friday,” She said with a smile. “Good to see you. I have someone I want you to meet.” She placed her hand on Penner’s shoulder and brought her to her side. Penny shivered at the contact but held still.  “Penny this is Friday, our magician of a Butler here at Stark House. Friday, this is Miss Penny Parker. She will be staying here with us.”

The man craned his head down at Penny. She stared at the wall behind him but offered her best smile while attempting to curtsey. Her legs wobbled and she could hear Mrs. Delores’s voice critiquing the movement. Ms. Potts laughed as she looked between her and Friday. She brushed Penny’s hair back again.

Penny peaked at the man from under her bangs. His expression hadn’t changed from her earlier observations but there was a minute softening in his eyes. She fidgeted with her sleeves. Her head whipped up when he clicked his heels together. Friday bowed low before them and Penny giggled along with Ms. Potts.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Penny. We welcome you to Stark House. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“T-thank you, Sir.” She said and stepped back. Penny peered around Ms. Potts’s leg as the two began talking quietly. It wasn’t her intention to eavesdrop but she couldn’t help but overhear some of what they were saying.  

“…how is he, Friday?”

“I… haven’t seen him, but Harolds dropped Mr. Stane and him off at the club after you left. Both had bags with them.”

Ms. Potts’s hands curled into fists. Penny wondered at the significance of this and who they were talking about.

“No matter. Penny, give your…” Friday and Ms. Potts shared a look. “Coat to Friday. We will have tea in the blue room first. I’m feeling a bit peckish after this morning.”

She clutched onto her jacket and shuffled back a step. It wasn’t that she was fond of it but the clothing was her only heavy outerwear. No matter how nice they were she couldn’t give it away. Mrs. Delores would be furious and the cold bite of winter was fresh on her mind.

“I-I can keep it.” She said forcing herself not to step back any further. Both adults stopped and turned to face her. Ms. Potts furrowed her brows as she stared at the girl clutching her chest, barely more than rags between her fingers. It was Friday, silent eyes widening with realization, who acted.

He stepped in front of Penny, tall and immovable. His gaze directly on her, sizing her up, before he got down on one knee so he was her height. Penny’s breath caught in her throat.

“Miss Penny, I am only taking it to put in the closet. I promise, you will get it back at any point you need it. Is this acceptable?”

Penny dropped her eyes to the floor unable to take the honest expression Friday was showing her. He waited as she thought. He was offering, not demanding like Mrs. Delores solely did. He came down to her level. Penny wasn’t sure why but the action brought a sort of knot to her chest. Tension lumped up in the middle of her ribs and rose to the back of her throat but still he waited.

Taking her time, Penny untangled her coat and, with care, put it into Mr. Friday’s waiting arms.

“Thank you” She said.

“No, need for thanks, Miss Penny.”

“Come along Penny,” Ms. Potts called from down the hall. Penny made to follow but looked back at her coat still in his arms, torn with what to do.

“One second, Ms. Potts” Friday said before turning. “Follow me, Miss Penny.”

Penny glanced at Ms. Potts noting her nod and began following Mr. Friday down a short hall. The doors were all shut and Penny almost ran into him after he suddenly stopped. He opened a door to the right revealing a rack full of hanging coats.

“Yours will be right here if I’m not around to retrieve it for you. Anytime you need it, feel free to find it here.”

Mr. Friday slide the hanger into each sleeve, taking the time to straighten the hems and wrinkles before he hung it inside the closet next to the other, far longer and nicer, coats. The knot in her throat itched seeing it there. Like it was as worthy as any of the other pieces of clothing in the closet.

“Thank you, Mr. Friday, Sir.” She curtsied again, feeling only slightly silly doing so when she saw his eyes crinkle around the edges and his mustache twitch into a smile.

“And it’s my pleasure, Miss Penny. Again, don’t hesitate to ask for anything no matter how small. Now, I think it’s time for tea and if you’re lucky Mrs. Vern will bring her famous chocolate chip cookies up.”

-

Mrs. Vern’s cookies lived up to their fame. Penny stopped herself from taking a fourth helping much to the dismay of Ms. Potts. Her encouragement to help herself began bordering on the ridiculous the further along with tea they got.

If the entryway left her speechless, the blue room as Ms. Potts called it, left her breathless. Hand painted, blue wallpaper framed the dark wood moldings and picture frames in the room. Two couches, both printed in subtle silky looking fabrics dominated the middle of the room between the door and a large set of windows overlooking what in summer would be a garden. The natural light filtered in, casting a bright, clear air about the room.  

Penny sat at the end of the tan couch closest to the window while Ms. Potts sat across from her on a deep brown couch. Despite what Mr. Friday and Ms. Potts called it, ‘tea’ certainly brought more than the drink alone. A spread of little sandwiches, finger sandwiches she learned, and miniature cakes were laid out on the low table between them.

Her stomach protruded out and Penny was content. They settled into the quiet afternoon atmosphere.

At one point, Penny grabbed one of the sturdier looking cookies and shoved it into her pocket. There was no reason to suspect the ample amount of food would disappear the longer she was here but it was an old habit to have something that might help her later. She was glad Ms. Potts missed her theft.

“I’m afraid that Tony, Mr. Stark that is, is currently out of town at the moment, Penny.” The lady’s gaze turned upon her and Penny hurried a smile.

“It’s okay, Ms. Potts.”

In her mind it was more than okay. She had thought long about this whole situation she was in. Though Ms. Potts said this was all Anthony Stark, Penny wasn’t convinced. So far, the man’s absence spoke louder than any words said on anybody’s part. If she was being honest with herself, she was relieved the looming knight of Stark House hadn’t descended yet. The question of his force – good or bad – remained to be seen and Penny was alright with putting off that reveal until she was on firmer ground. With every step she took, the possibility of smooth terrain seemed more like a dream. This new world, so warm and strange, was welcoming on the front but what lurked behind? Ms. Potts and Mr. Friday were everything kindness and good but would it end up just like Midtown or was there something better here? She dared not hope … too much.

She fisted her hands on her knees and winced as Ms. Potts cleared her throat missing the flash of anger across the woman’s face.

“Penny, he’s… a good man and I’d hope you would be able to see that. But no matter,” She said with a sigh. “How about a tour?” 


Penny nodded but stifled a yawn. Ms. Potts’s gaze softened.

“It has been a rather eventful day. How about we go to your room and we can do the tour later?”

-

Ms. Potts strode through the long, winding hallways as Penny trailed behind her. Her eyes wandered between the sconces that bordered vast paintings and the furnishings under them. They passed a few people all dressed in matching uniforms who deferred to Ms. Potts while sneaking a curious glance at Penny.

At the end of a particularly long hall, Ms. Potts stopped and turned to her left so they were facing a large set of double leaf doors. Gold inlet flowers laced the large panels coming to a head at the same toned knobs. They looked like a portal into another world.

“Ready?” Ms. Potts asked with a smirk. Without waiting for an answer, she grasped the door handles and pushed forward.

Penny moved first with a small nod of Ms. Potts’s head. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected and hadn’t managed to hope for anything better than the room at Midtown despite all the kindness showed to her so far.

“We weren’t sure what you would like and I sort of got carried away, as Tony said, but no matter. We can change anything you don’t like…”

Her words faded into the background. Penny’s feet carried her across the floor and around the room. The largest bed she’d ever seen stood strong and wide in the center of the room. Green bedding looking as soft as grass was neatly into the edges and two nightstands were placed on either side of the curtains around the headboard of the bed. It was beautiful. And it wasn’t Penny’s. She was positive. It couldn’t be.

“I- Thank you for showing me your room but where shall I be staying, Ms. Potts?”

The woman behind her startled. She opened her mouth before shutting it again and her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned Penny’s face. Ms. Potts turned away toward the large window with pale cream drapes on the other side of the room. Penny shifted her feet back and forth as she waited for an answer. Something hard and churning settled in her stomach when the silence continued. Ms. Potts shoulders fell with an audible exhale. She turned around with a particular smile. Its strained corners made Penny’s heart pound.

“Sweetheart, this is your room.”

Penny looked at the flowers embroidered into the bedding. The delicate but strong looking stems that merged and melded into a chain of green. Using a feather light touch, Penny brushed her fingers against a pale-yellow flower noting the softness of the material. It was too good to be true and yet it was what Ms. Potts wanted her to believe.

“Now then, let’s get you all settled in.”

Warm clouds surrounded her. The material was creamy and smooth and Penny must be in heaven. She stifled another yawn. Ms. Potts laid a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her to rest back on the mound of pillows stacked at her back. Penny rubbed her thumb back and forth against her sheets as she watched Ms. Potts flit about the room, closing the drapes and folding her clothes. Protests were the first things out of her lips but Ms. Potts ignored them all in favor of letting Penny rest. The woman came back to her side beside the bed and tucked an errant corner in.

“Sweet dreams, Sweetheart. Rest all you need.” She squeezed Penny’s shoulder. At the door Ms. Potts turned back before latching the door behind her. “I’m so glad you’re here, Penny.”

Penny fell back against the pillows letting the softness embrace her. The moon was visible from the window across the way and glowed down, illuminating the new room. Despite everything she saw today, all the new people and strange surroundings, the moon was still the same eerie presence. Penny reached out a hand from under the blanket until the tips of her fingers were glazed in the silvery light.

With heavy eyes she wondered what the ever-absent Anthony Stark was doing at the moment. She hadn’t missed the bordering angry and past frustrated looks between Ms. Potts and Mr. Friday. There was also Ms. Potts’s apology to contend with. That barely constrained tension in the corners of her mouth and eyes. What did it mean? The niggling question of why she was here in the first place burst forward from where Penny had tried to stuff it down.

The emblem on the front door and crest she had traced on the papers requesting her here was the first pieces of evidence. But the question was left unanswered without any more besides.  Would Anthony Stark in all his mystery hold the answers? Of that, she was sure. Would he be a force for good in her life or would she leave this beautiful place even more broken than before? Penny wasn’t sure and she feared the answer.

Her hands fisted weakly in the sheets before sleep took mercy on her.

-

Penny was awake before the first rays of light steamed into the room… her room, she reminded herself ignoring the stale feel of the words. It was hers at least while she was here.

Foggy dreams shadowed her mind twisting her stomach. The moon had been shinning on her, lighting the tips of her nose and cheeks. Penny reached for its silver glimmer wanting to catch some warmth. She stretched as far as her small limbs would reach to no avail. The moon was farther and farther away with each breath leaving a numb, cold in her fingers and chest. Penny blinked back tears. Her legs carried her as far as they could go until, muscles quivering and exhaustion seeping in to her bones, she could run no more. The moon in its ethereal radiance was always too far away. She would never reach it.

It was the same dream and she was forced to repeat it over and over for as long as she could remember. The bitter nausea lingered following her sleep. It was pungent and raw, twisting her nerves and she couldn’t stay in bed any longer. With the efficiency of one who had no time to themselves in the mornings, Penny made her bed.

She had to pinch herself on entering the bathroom. If such things could induce delirium this one would take the cake. Penny just stood there for a moment. There was a sink and bathtub and toilet. All to herself. It was beyond anything she had ever seen before. Midtown being built long before she was born and being poor only had a set of outhouses shared with other tenements shared. She didn’t have to wait in line or splash herself with freezing water. This was a few steps away from where she had slept.

Penny made sure to be quick and not waste any unnecessary water despite the temptation to stay in there all day. Ablutions done, Penny stuck her head out the door of her room, looked both ways, and stepped into out. The hall was quiet in a way that Midtown never was. The absence of noise held a restful energy here. There was no lurking danger or cowed children to signify anything was wrong.

While she readied herself that morning, she brainstormed ways she could do to repay Ms. Potts and everyone else. Penny didn’t have money for gifts or materials to make them anything, not that she was crafty enough for something homemade anyway, so in the end, she figured the one thing to offer was herself. If Midtown was good for anything it was honing the domestic skills of its residents. Her thanks given in a more concrete form and her keep earned for the time she was staying. Two birds with one stone, Ned used to say. She missed him so much.

Nodding to herself and setting a brisk pace to distract from the tug on her heartstring thinking of Ned always gave, she set off to find someone who could direct her to supplies. Hallway after hallway passed. Finally, she saw someone wearing an apron. The woman glanced up at the sudden noise of her feet. Her eyes widened at Penny.

“Good morning!” Penny called out with a smile before ducking her head.

“Good morning, Miss.” The woman said.

“I was wondering where…” The question was how to phrase her query in a way she wouldn’t get in trouble. “I was wondering where I could find the cle-”

“Kitchen! Oh, you poor thing. I know just what you need. Follow these stairs down and turn left to go to the stairs. Everything should be there.”

“Thank you.” Penny said. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted but she was sure there would be something to clean there. Her growling stomach was more than happy for the miscommunication.

Penny arrived as instructed and pushed two large swinging doors open. First to look for any cleaning materials. The large kitchen was empty besides the pots and pans hanging from a rack above the counter. A large sink, almost deep as a tub sat in the middle of the counter. She smiled at the plates resting in the basin. She could scrub pans like the best of them.

The ceramic ledge of the sink was too tall for her. She couldn’t reach up and see into the sink. Penny looked around and, after a moment, found a large pot she could use as a stepstool. Carting the heavy thing over strained the muscles in her arms but once on top, she was the perfect height. The water was freezing but it was more a temperature she was used too.

Penny repeated to herself over the soreness of her arms that it was better than Midtown. It was better because she chose this and her pruney fingers would just have to deal with it. It was better because Penny was thanking someone not fearing retribution. She couldn’t quite manage to make the argument stick and there was a part, infinitely small but still there, that wished she lived with a normal family. The solid soap sat at the edge of the counter. Penny itched the reddening skin of her hands and got lost in her work.

The doors swung open without a sound. In shuffled a woman yawning. She wore a large apron and her hair was tied back with a bonnet covering most of it. Her cherry smile, strained a bit because of the early hours widened when she spotted Penny across the kitchen.

“Now what do we have here? Is this the little kit I heard took a liking to my cookies? Miss Penny was it?”

Penny ducked her head to hide the heat creeping onto her face. The woman clucked her teeth and continued over to her.

“Just Penny is fine, Ma’am.”

“Can’t say you’re the first to fall to their flavor, if I say so myself, Penny. Now, can I ask what a little thing like you is doing up so early? Barely anyone else starts the day so early. You may call me Mrs. Vern. No need for all those formalities here, dearie.”

Penny opened her mouth to explain and realized how strange it sounded. How Mrs. Delores would be angry if she spoke about her time at Midtown. Instead she scrubbed harder, determined to finish the pot she was working on. Her stomach rolled as the lady grew closer. She had thought Mrs. Delores’s rosy cheeks were friendly at first and she was proven quite wrong soon after. Mrs. Vern appeared gentle enough but Penny couldn’t help the weary droop in her shoulders. Maybe if she saw her working hard, she wouldn’t get in as much trouble?

Mrs. Vern came around to stand beside her. Penny held her breath. The woman clucked her teeth again and gently took the pot out of her hands, setting it on the counter to dry. She smoothed her hands over Penny’s palms careful of the angered red patches.

“I expect an answer.” The woman said in a kind but stern tone.

“I’m used to getting up and working.”

Penny couldn’t help the slight heat gathering on her cheeks but there was no pity in the woman’s eyes. Just a vague sparkle turned to understanding.

“Yes, I can see that. Thank you for helping. Now, I appreciate you helping my washers but leave the rest to them. Do you want to go back and rest?”

Penny shook her head.

“I expected as much. Well, I can put you to work but no complaints, you here?”  She smiled down at Penny who, when beckoned, moved her makeshift stool over to the counter where Mrs. Vern was setting up.

“Mr. Stark isn’t here this morning but Ms. Potts is set to awake early. She normally likes a simple breakfast but I was thinking we could spice it up with some cinnamon rolls this morning. What do you say?”

“I’ve never made cinnamon rolls before, but I would like to help.”

Mrs. Vern paused for a moment. Her eyes missed nothing as Penny drug the pot into place and stepped up. Penny’s sleeve slipped down from her wrist. The woman next to her tutted and motioned to Penny. She tried to ignore it and hid her arm but Mrs. Vern left no room for argument. Penny hesitated a moment more, the pervading fear left from years of hiding presenting, and then brought her arm forward. Not daring to look up.

She winced as Mrs. Vern’s hand brushed against her skin and knew, even without looking, the discoloration was faded but still visible. Penny could feel Mrs. Delores’s hot breath against her neck and winced at the image of her tight scowl and the ticking vein on the temple of her forehead.

Waiting for a reaction left her sweat ladden but Mrs. Vern just shook her head and finished folding her sleeve in neat pleats.

“Alright, child. Let’s get to work.” Her voice was quieter than before but nothing else was different. Penny exhaled. She didn’t want to tip her off something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. It was too much hope to say she didn’t notice, but maybe she would keep it to herself. That’s what other people at Midtown had done.

“First we need to measure the sugar. Grab that bag over there.”

Baking wasn’t much different than the usual cooking, though precision was way more important. Mrs. Vern chided her for her wandering mind and it was only by the wet ingredients Penny began to understand how the materials went together, though how Mrs. Vern knew to add less milk because of the lack of humidity was beyond her.

Penny stood in front of the stove in vigilance. Mrs. Vern commanded the kitchen bouncing between each counter; slicing bread and plating different fruits. She arranged everything in a way far to elaborate for a breakfast meal. The timer went off ringing in her face and Penny jumped up.

“They’re ready!” She squeaked. Mrs. Vern chuckled. She grabbed the oven mitts and, with Penny watching over her shoulder, grabbed the pan out of the oven. Steaming hot buns wafted their delicious scent into the room. With her tongue sticking out, Penny picked up the spoon full of icing and brought it over the buns. Thick, white frosting drizzled over them, melting in with the cinnamon, cloves, and a touch of nutmeg. Her mouth watered at the sight.

The swinging doors burst open. Penny and Mrs. Vern froze holding the spoon with an additional scoop of frosting over the rolls. The former with a wince and the latter with a slight scowl. Mr. Friday straightened the lapels on his jacket and continued into the room. Penny noticed he was slightly breathless.

“Good morning Mrs. Vern, Miss Penny. We hadn’t expected you to be up yet.”



“You old worry wort. This here is a tough one, I can tell. I bet you were running around, stressing yourself trying to find her?” She said with a laugh and nudged Penny’s shoulder.

Mr. Friday’s left eye twitched but he didn’t deny the accusation. The two razzed each other with good humor. Mr. Friday held onto his stoic demeanor despite Mrs. Vern threatening a ban of her fine cooking.

“Were you looking for me, Mr. Friday?” Penny intervened before they really started up. She slid the pan over to Mrs. Vern before climbing down from her stool.

“Indeed, Ms. Potts will be shortly. Come with me and I will show you to the breakfast room.”

Penny pulled the stool back to the shelf and hefted it up. She heard Mrs. Vern talking in low, quick tones but felt uneasy eavesdropping.

She almost hadn’t believed Ms. Potts would be back. That the woman’s radiant smile was no more than the gleams of moonlight she reached for but could never touch in her dream.

Mrs. Vern beckoned her over. Penny glanced at Mr. Friday, who nodded that they had time before they had to leave. The woman wiped her hands off on a towel.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vern, for letting me help.” She smiled down at Penny.

“Come back anytime, Penny. I can always use more help down here and you’re better than most of the poor excuses for help plus you don’t try and steal a bite as we’re cooking.” Mrs. Vern looked over Penny’s shoulder to Mr. Friday. She had a hard time thinking the man would try and steal any goodies while cooking. Penny strained her neck to look back. His mustache twitched under the dual stare and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. It seemed he had some sticky fingers and not just from all the sugar.

“Come on, Miss Penny.” He said and she thanked Mrs. Vern one more time before leaving the kitchen.

“I’ll be taking the cinnamon rolls up soon so you won’t have to wait!” She called after them.

Penny followed a step behind Mr. Friday. He glanced behind him and, noting she was struggling to keep up, slowed his walk so he was next to her.

“Did you really run around?” She asked to break the silence.  

“I never run.” He said with a smirk. “Mrs. Vern exaggerates.”

Penny giggled. Their eyes met and both broke into a smile.

“It appears that Ms. Potts is already here,” He said before they turned a corner. He opened the doors to let them into the room. Sure enough, Ms. Potts was sitting at the head of the table, a cup of tea raised to her mouth.

“How did you know?” She asked with a start bordering on a whine. There was a hint of admiration in her voice she hadn’t expected. Mr. Friday just smirked and tapped his head. Penny was about to ask what that meant but Ms. Potts smiled as she spied them enter. Her earlier worry, the tight knot in her chest, eased as Ms. Potts spoke to her like there wasn’t a worry in the world.

“Penny! Good morning. Come and have some breakfast.”

“Thank you, Mr. Friday.” She said to the butler who after placing some newspapers on the table left.

Hope you're all doing well. This story (and my others) are not abandoned just more slow going at the moment because of life.

Next Chapter Eight: 

[flintsjohn]

8. “Why are you so jealous?” For Malex please! :)

i might have given them jenna and max’s plot, only it has a happy ending bc i’m soft. they’re both dumb, what’s new!! 

The last thing Alex expects coming back to Roswell after twotours with the Air Force and undergoing the Deputy training program is to bepartnered with his high school crush on his first day on the job. MichaelGuerin still looks every bit like every wet dream Alex’s ever had, only he nowalso wears a uniform, sports a permanent five o’clock shadow, and is apparentlybuilt like a brick wall.

Their first day on patrol duty is hell. Guerin is chatty anddownright flirty. He delights in making Alex blush and lose his train ofthought. He’s loud, leaves sugary prints all over the car whenever he eatsdonuts, and has such a chaotic energy about him that Alex struggles to keep upwith him on most days. It’s exhausting. He’s also the best deputy on the force,according to both Sheriff Valenti and Max Evans. Alex understands why fairlyquickly.

Guerin might be a tornado, but he’s kind, fiercely protective, and he genuinely wants to help people. He’s also smart as fuck – Alex learns this quickly,too, from the fact that Guerin’s favorite pastime is apparently reading booksoverly crammed with numbers and equations that make Alex go cross-eyed. He candish out random facts about quantum physics at six in the morning and wins anyand every quiz night at the station.

Working with him drives Alex crazy. On most days, he justwants him to shut up, because Alex is not overly talkative and likes his quietwhen he’s working. He also wants to kiss the shit out of him, because Guerin isstupidly hot and somehow, all the traits that bug Alex also make him all themore attractive. So one day, he just puts the two needs together.

Guerin waves at him with a donut when he gets in the carafter their night shift. They live close enough to each other that they carpoolon most days - when they’re too lazy to walk, because Roswell is not that big atown anyway. He’s saying something about Alex’s pre-emptive bed head that hebarely pays attention to. He smashes their mouths together, tasting the sugaron Guerin’s lips when he opens his mouth. There’s a whimper that Alex is onlyfifty percent sure comes for Guerin, though the other man hasn’t moved. WhenAlex draws back, he’s staring at him, eyes as big as saucers.

“I’m sorry,” Alex gets out immediately, cheeks going red. “Ishouldn’t- That was highly unprofessional.”

Guerin makes a choked sound in his throat that could havebeen intended as a laugh, then swallows. “Sure was, Manes,” he says easily,licking his lips. He takes his time putting the donut back in the box restingbetween their two seats, then licks his fingers clean – Alex has to look away fromthe sight before his mind starts wandering. Guerin clears his throat before hesays, casually, “Your place or mine?”

The next few hours, Alex spends in a stupor. They head toMichael’s place – it’s always Michael’s, after that – and waste no time ingetting to the point. Their first kisses are full of lust and hunger, butthey’re both exhausted from their night shift, so by the time they get to thebed and are fully undressed, they’ve slowed to a lazy rhythm, grinding togetheras their hands wander over each other’s bodies.

Michael eventually rolls them over so he’s under Alex andasks him, none-too-gently, to fuck him. Alex is only too happy to oblige,though his head is currently a mess of jumbled thoughts of oh fuck, I’m having sex with my high school crush, which only getprogressively worse when Alex realizes how perfectly he and Michael fittogether. He has his mind half set on once again bringing up how highlyunprofessional of them this is when it’s over, but then Michael is curling upagainst his side with a satisfied sigh, already well on his way tounconsciousness, and Alex goes all soft looking at him. He doesn’t stay long,waiting for Michael to be fully asleep before he slips from the bed and getsdressed. It’s an asshole move, but he was already risking falling for Michaelas it was before and now, having slept with him… It only feels all the more inevitable.But damn him if Alex won’t do his best to delay it for a while.

He’s dead set on confronting Michael on their next shift,but then it just keeps happening. It’s Michael offering to take him home aftera particularly groveling shift, or texting him asking if he wants to come overto watch the game – when he knows full well that Alex can’t even tell thedifference between football and basketball – or asking if he wants to get adrink after work. They always end the night – or day, depending on theirschedules – the same way. After the fourth time, Alex resigns himself to thefact that he’ll have to enjoy the part of Michael he gets to have for as longas he can have it, all while trying to keep his feelings in check. He alwaysstays just long enough to catch his breath, and tells himself that he’s notbeing a jerk because Michael never mentions it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel guilty over it anyway.

*

Michael is already leaning against the door when Alexclears the last flight of stairs. There’s a playful smirk on his lips and helets his eyes travel slowly up Alex’s body – Alex feels it like a physicaltouch and has to keep himself from shuddering. He swallows around the lump inhis throat as he takes in Michael’s appearance. He looks soft and sleepy, but still entirely edible –sweatpants slung low on his hips, an oversized sweater hanging half offhis shoulder, showing off his collarbones, his hair ruffled and soft-looking.

“Hey,” he manages as he stops in front of Michael. He’sstrung tight with tension and can’t meet his eyes, fingers fidgeting with thebottle of tequila in his hands.

“Hey yourself,” Michael drawls. Alex is still staring at hisbare feet but can feel him shifting from a lean to stand firmly on both feet.“Alex?”

“My dad’s in town,” Alex blurts out, a sigh following thewords. He finally brings his eyes up to Michael’s face to see the realizationdawning upon his features, Michael’s eyes widening. Over the past months,they’ve both shared some of their family histories, in moments when the worldwas quiet and they had to fill the silence during long night shifts. He’slearned about Michael’s childhood in foster care, and traded back some ofhis memories of his father. So Michael’s small nod is all Alex needs to knowthat he understands the situation perfectly.

Michael’s hand comes up to slowly stroke down the hand Alexis holding the bottle with, fingers closing around his and pulling him closewith the smallest tug. “Need to blow off some steam?”

“Please,” is all Alex has to say for Michael to pull him inmore firmly, door slamming closed after he makes it inside. The tequila isforgotten on the coffee table as they stumble to the bedroom, mouths connectedand hands wandering. As usual, they barely make it to the bed, laughing as theycollapse on it in a heap, before Alex is pushing Michael down on it andclimbing in his lap.

It takes his mind off of things alright, for a time atleast. It’s rougher than usual, Michael’s fingers leaving bruises on his hips, Alex urging him to go harder, deeper, so that he can ignore the way his eyes water from something entirely different from pleasure. But after, when he’s curled up on Michael’s chest and catching hisbreath, the panic over the thought of his father being in town comes back infull force. He feels vulnerable, scraped raw, and like he’s shown a part of himself that he’d wanted to keep hidden, without ever saying a word.

“Hey.” Michael’s voice reaches his ears, but barely, likehe’s calling at him from far away. Alex looks up from where he was staring athis own fingers running paths through Michael’s chest hair. Michael runs a handthrough Alex’s messy hair, tugging a little at the strands. It centers Alex,makes him close his eyes and take a deep breath. “Where are you?”

“’m right here,” he sighs, dropping his head back ontoMichael’s shoulder.

“Are you?”

“You just fucked my brains out, twice, Guerin, what d’youwant me to say?” Michael hums, the sound reverberating through his chest andmaking Alex shiver.

“Is that why you look like your mind is somewhere else?”

Alex sighs. He runs a hand down his face, then sits up andcurls away from Michael, already reaching for his clothes. He can hear thesound of the sheets rustling behind him, like Michael’s dragging them closer tohim. He’s already half dressed when Michael speaks up. “You leaving?” His tonemakes it clear that he already knows the answer to that question. After all, it’sa solid pattern for them – text, fuck, cuddle for maybe five minutes, notalking, get dressed. Rinse and repeat about twice a week.

When Alex turns, Michael has also sat up. He’s already gothis boxers on and is dragging his sweater over his head, leaving his curls a mess.It’s like he felt vulnerable in his nakedness with Alex mostly dressed. Hepeeks at Alex as he settles back against the headboard, chewing on histhumbnail.

“You don’t have to, you know. I think I have some leftoverpizza, we can-“

“Guerin.” Michael’s jaw locks like he’s biting down on hiswords. Alex gets his shoes on so he doesn’t have to look at him as he says, “Idon’t want to talk about it.”

“Right.” There’s something in Michael’s eyes that Alexdoesn’t quite recognize when he looks back up at him, now fully dressed. Heclears his throat, hands twitching at his sides. He wants to reach for him,tuck that one wayward curl behind his ear, press a kiss to Michael’s forehead.He does none of that, just nods at Michael and lets himself out of the apartmentbefore his mind gets into more dangerous territories.

*

The next day, Michael corners him after a their shift, bothof them dead on their feet after a long day and ready to go home. He has apaper bag in hand and he’s soft around the edges when he holds it up for Alexto take.

“What’s this?” Alex asks, pushing through a yawn as he takesthe bag.

“Stuff you left at my place. Hoodie, some dvds…” He trailsoff, shrugging, then turns to his locker to change. Alex stares at his backstupidly until Michael has finished getting dressed and has turned back to facehim.

“I just-“ Michael sighs, scrubbing his hands over his faceand then pushing them back into his curls. “I think it’s better we stop with… Whateverthis is we have going on.”

“I don’t understand.” Alex blinks at him, hands clutching atthe bag – apparently, his brain has stopped working, because he can’t processwhat’s happening. He thought it was pretty clear what they were doing, and Michael was the one to invite him over most of the time. The way his voice betrays some sadness makes no sense to Alex, nor do his next words. 

“Listen, that guy, Oliver? I know you like him. And I thinkyou should ask him out. I don’t wanna be an obstacle to that, alright?”

What the fuck?Sure, Oliver is cute, comes in from the café across the street to bring theirorders of coffee and donuts every morning, and Alex likes him well enough. He’seasy to flirt with and it takes his mind off of work for ten minutes every day.But why in hell would Michael tell him to ask him on a date?

“Guerin, I don’t-“

“Just ask him out, will ya?” Michael smiles at him, grabshis bag, and presses a kiss to Alex’s cheek before he moves to the door,leaving Alex gaping at the spot he just vacated.

*

“What is it, are you jealous, is that it?”

Michael scoffs at him, turning back to his beer, but Alex isundeterred.  It’s a week later, he’staken Michael’s advice, and is at the Wild Pony with Oliver. The date was actuallygoing pretty well, at least up until the moment Michael showed up. Their shiftsafter the talk in the locker room had been surprisingly quiet, but not tense,so Alex had figured things were still alright between them. But Michael hadbarely spared a glance their way when he got in, he’d been scowling and he ignored Alex’sgreeting completely, so Alex had excused himself from Oliver and followed himat the bar.

“You told me toask him out!”

Michael clenches his jaw like he’s holding back a pettyreply. His jaw works for a moment before he says, “He just wants to get in yourpants.”

“Yeah, and? You don’t exactly have the moral high groundhere, Guerin.” Alex crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the side ofhis face. Michael still hasn’t turned to face him. It suits Alex just fine.Guerin wants to be an asshole about this after he pushed Alex away? Fine, but itdoesn’t mean Alex won’t give him a piece of mind.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Michael mutters into his beer,chugging the last of it.

“Why do you care?” Alex says, exasperated, his arms goingraised up and away from his body before they slam down to his hips again.

“You know why.” Michael carefully places the glass back downand finally turns to Alex, who’s staring at him wide-eyed. He smiles, soft andsad. Alex’s breath catches in his throat when he sees him reaching a hand outbefore he seems to remember it’s not his place anymore, and he lets it drop onhis leg.

“You’re the one who ended things,” Alex says after a moment,knowing that the confusion he’s feeling is clear in his voice. This doesn’t make any sense. Michael’s thoughts on this have always been clear. Or maybe… Has he been reading the situation wrong all this time?

“Yeah, well,” Michael shrugs, hands fidgeting with a loosestrand in his jeans. “Our arrangement wasn’t really working out for meanymore.”

“Guerin-“ Alex’s voice is so low that he knows Michael hasto strain to hear it. Michael’s eyes close for a moment at the sound, and thenhis body is swaying back on the stool, away from Alex.

“You should go back to your date,” he says in the end, handalready rummaging in his pocket for cash. He’s up and heading for the door asecond later, and he doesn’t stop when Alex calls for him again.

*

It takes exactly 43 minutes for Alex to realize that Oliveris actually a jerk, dump him, and drive to Michael’s flat. By the time he getsthere, Michael has already changed into the usual sweatpants-and-sweater lookhe sports when he’s home, the one that has go Alex weak in his knees a little. Ifthe look on Michael’s face is anything to go by, he’s surprised to see him.

“Alex?”

“We need to talk.” He doesn’t wait for Michael to replybefore he’s shouldering past him and shrugging his jacket off as he heads tothe couch. Michael takes his time shutting the door, then presses his back toit after he turns to face Alex, like he doesn’t trust himself to be closer toAlex.

“You were right, for what it’s worth,” Alex says. He’s ableto sit still on the couch for all of five seconds before he’s up and pacing,hands tugging at his hair. “Oliver’s a jerk.” He stops moving because Michaelis suddenly up in his space, eyes frantic as he looks him over. Alex raises hishands in a placating gesture. “He didn’t touch me.”

Michael moves back after a second, reassured, but he doesn’tgo far. He hovers, uncertain of what to do – Alex can see it in the way hishands clench and unclench at his sides. He sighs and takes an aborted stepforward, everything in his being drawing him to Michael, but he wrencheshimself back and towards the couch once again. If he wants this conversation tobe successful, he needs to think clearly, and he can’t do that if he’s standingtoo close to Michael.

“Look, the thing is… I didn’t want him anyway.” He shrugs,ignoring the way Michael’s eyes narrow warily. “But then you broke things offand I thought, why not? Least I could do was give it a try. I didn’t considerhow hard it would be, being out with him when, the whole time, my mind was seton someone else.”

Michael makes a choked off sound, but he doesn’t move. Hishands are now clenched into fists. It’s like he needs a physical reminder tonot step closer to Alex. Alex knows that feeling all too well. He swallows,searching for the right words with which to put what he wants to say next, but Michael speaks first. “Why didn’t you sayanything?”

“I-“ Alex looks around aimlessly, at a loss for words. “Ithought you were ok with what we had, that you didn’t want it to be more thanthat.”

“You thought Ididn’t want more?” Michael scoffs, and it’s like something in him has finallybeen unlocked. He steps forward, features pinched tight in disbelief. “You werealways the one running out of the door as soon as we were done! You never evenlet me get a word in!”

And yeah, he might have a point. Alex isn’t going to denyany of that, and he feels the embarrassment crawling beneath his skin at beingreminded of his behavior. But then again… “You never said anything either! Ithought that’s all you wanted, and then tonight, at the Pony, you just-”

Again, the sound coming out of Michael’s mouth is adisbelieving one. He crosses his arms over his chest, now only a few steps awayfrom Alex, who’s fidgeting, hands going from behind his back, to crossed overhis chest to mirror Michael, to being bunched in his pockets. He needs to beextremely careful with his next words, but he knows he has to get them outsooner or later, or risk losing Michael for good over a stupidmisunderstanding. He has to tell the truth.

“I’ve had a crush on you since junior year of high school,”he says after taking a deep breath. Michael’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, andAlex fights through a blush to continue, “Being with you seemed like a dream,but I thought sex was all that was on the table. I know it’s selfish, but I wasok with that being the deal as long as I got to be with you in some capacity. Iran away every time because I didn’t want to risk actually falling for you.Being your partner was already proving hard enough, and I couldn’t imagineresisting it if we added pillow talk and cuddling to the mix. I guess I never actually paid enough attention to how you were feeling to realize we might have become more, and I’m sorry.”

He shrugs when he finishes, eyes set on his own feet.Michael is silent for a moment, and Alex is already telling himself that hesaid too much, he’s ruined his chance. But then, oh, then all Michael says is, “Didit work?”

Alex looks up, eyebrows drawn tight in confusion. “Did whatwork?”

“Running away so you wouldn’t fall for me. Did it work?”

Alex swallows, looking away. He shakes his head, once, aquick snap of his head back and forth. When he looks over at Michael again, he’ssurprised to find he’s significantly closer than he was a moment ago, andsporting a quickly widening grin. He shivers when Michael reaches for him, eyesfalling shut as fingertips stroke down his cheek.

“Good,” Michael whispers against his ear, body pressing intoAlex’s and making him tremble. There’s an arm around his waist keeping him up,so he lets himself collapse into Michael, just a little, as the other manpresses his next words into his skin along with a kiss. “Because it didn’t workfor me either.”

Alex gasps, drawing back just enough so that he can acceptMichael’s kiss, pull him closer as he deepens it. It has only been aweek, but he’s missed Michael’s lips on his, the feeling of Michael’s bodypressing against his own, of Michael’s soft curls under his fingers. Welcome home, this kiss seems to say. Helets his forehead rest against Michael’s when they pull back, a small smileblossoming on his lips. “You saying you’re in love with me, Guerin?”

Michael laughs, short but happy, pressing another kiss tothe corner of Alex’s lips. “Yeah, Manes, I guess I am.”

Alex hums, delaying his answer in favor of pressing pecks towhichever part of Michael’s face he can reach. His mind is swarming withthoughts of how he’ll have to transfer, or at least get the Sheriff to switchpartners, because recreational sex might be only slightly unprofessional, but arelationship definitely, a hundred percent, is. God, a relationship. He can’tquite believe that’s what seems to be on the table now, when just an hour agohe’d thought Michael had ended things between them because he didn’t want himanymore.

Michael’s hands stroking down his back bring him back intofocus. He still hasn’t said anything, but he lets Michael lead him to thebedroom, lets him undress him. For one night, he gives up all control, letshimself be taken care of. Only after, when they’re properly cuddling for thefirst time, his face pressed into Michael’s neck and Michael’s arms around him,he lets the words slip out of his mouth, impossibly soft and almost foreign onhis tongue. “I love you.” And if saying them gets him the same words comingfrom Michael, equally soft and more than a little awe seeping through hisvoice, well, then Alex doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

[jpat82]

Secret World

Chapter 13

"Echo?" Peter asked quietly as he wound me through the building.

"His laces were tied." I muttered softly to myself.

""What?" Peter asked, slowly I turned my face to look at him. His eyes were focused on mine as my mind tried to wrap around what just happened.

"Flash's laces, they were tied." I stated again, I watched as Peter's eyebrows knotted together with confusion.

"Afraid I'm not understanding." Peter told me as people brushed past him.

"Flash, the reason he tripped. It's cause his laces were tied in knot after knot." I exclaimed just before I was interrupted by someone yelling Peter's name. I turned just as Peter stopped and looked up at the ceiling.

"Hey Ned." Peter called back as he turned around.

"Hey, who's this?" Ned asked as he looked over at me.

"Ned this Echo, she's new and I'm showing her around. Echo this is Ned, my best friend." Peter stated, Ned stuck his hand out toward me and all I did was just stare at it. "Uh, she doesn't like people touching her."

"Oh, that's cool." Ned replied with a smile. "So, did you guys hear Flash face planted in history?"

"We were there Ned." Peter told him looking over me with a small smile as the three of us started walking back down the hall.

"So Echo, where are you from?" Ned asked as he looked around Peter.

"Brooklyn." I replied quietly, feeling slightly odd about this whole thing. I get it, I was the one that dropped into Peter's life and of course he had friends but at the same time I just wanted to be alone. Peter was one thing, others were a different story.

"That's cool." Ned nodded, we walked in awkward silence for a bit.

"Peter where is the rest room?" I asked suddenly just needing a moment.

"Uh, right over this way." Peter replied looking around and then he grabbed my hand.

'And I wanted you to be better.' It was the same voice I had heard as before. I stopped briefly and Peter stopped to look at me.

"Echo?" Peter asked, concerned etched across his face. I shook my head, realizing Ned was still us.

I smiled and started walking again. We got to doorway in the wall, I ducked in towards the giggles and voices of other teenage girls. They all stopped talking when I entered, taking a deep breath I walked into one of the stalls and closed the door. I sat down on the toilet and took a deep breath.

Closing my eyes, taking a moment to steal my nerves. The voices drowned out as I ignored them, my mind trying to put together the shadow creatures, Flash's shoes. And then the thought of the last time I had been in a public restroom was when this all happened. Slowly I opened my eyes, the lights flickered over head, casting shadows on the walls. Chattering, voices whispering, not of the girls that been there when I entered, something different.

I stood, slowly I reached out toward the lock on the door with trembling fingers and slid the lock open. The room was vacant, and two of the three overhead fluorescent lights were out, casting shadows all around me. I could see them in the mirrors, the constant moving, the scurrying. My heart raced inside my chest as I stared one staring back at me through the mirror had didn't hold my reflection. Bright eyes and sharply jagged irregular teeth set in a wispy ebony body. It's smile alarmed me but I couldn't seem to break away.

'Do we have your attention, Echo.' It's baritone voice boomed through my skull, causing me to jump in my skin. I wanted to run, to bolt, and keep going until my legs gave out. But I found myself locked into place just staring back it, I swallowed the lump that had formed in the back of my throat. I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyelids as it tilted its head.

"No, this isn't happening, they don't talk." I whispered to myself, closing my eyes allowing the tear to slip down my cheek.

'I said, do we have your attention?" The voice repeated.

———-

"So, she seems kinda cool, does she play rpg's?" Ned asked Peter as they both waited outside the restroom.

"I.. I don't know." Peter replied as he leaned against the wall, four girls walked out looking at both Ned and Peter before continuing on.

"So what's with the no touching thing? Is she like afraid of germs? Or?" Ned asked him.

"It's just a personal thing." Peter replied, looking toward the restroom opening.

"I just mean, you grabbed her hand when we headed over here, if she's new, like how long have you known her? Is it just after a certain time.." Peter slowly tuned Ned out as he watched the opening, the lights flickered. Peter stood straighter as he watched the lights dim out about before another light flickered. "Peter?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, could you do me a favor Ned?" Peter asked, whipping his head back to his friend.

"Sure."

"Watch for anyone coming in here. I'm going to go check on Echo." Peter stated as he walked in rapidly, Ned opened his mouth to ask a question but it was too late.

———

'Echo, we want to talk to you.'

"No, no, no." I cried shaking my head as slipped to my knees, closing my eyes tight to the image in front of me.

'The other one, it's coming.' A raspy voice spoke out.

'Saved by the ittsy bisty Spider. We'll talk later Echo.' The first voice spoke to me again.

"Echo?" I heard Peter cry out as the rapidness of his foot steps approached. The lights all flashed on at the same time as I opened my eyes and he knelt next to me. "What happened?"

"They.. they talked." I told him stuttering, tears still falling from my face as he wiped them from my cheek.

"The shadows?" He asked, his eyes tracking across my face. All I could do was nod in response to his question. "Guessing they never did that?"

"No." I replied, feeling a new batch of tears fall. "Peter, I need to get out of here."

"Alright, hold on." He stood and walked over to the bathroom windows and pushed one open. He looked outside for a moment and then came back. "Stand up."

I did as told and followed him to the window, looking out and down toward the ground. I had forgotten we were on the second story, and I looked back at him as he climbed on the window ledge and reached for me. I stared at him in disbelief before he pulled up his sleeve and I saw the devise strapped to wrist.

"Never leave home without them." He shrugged, I climbed onto the window ledge with him. Peter held me close with one arm as he aim the other up toward the roof.

———-

Ned waited outside the restroom awkwardly smiling at anyone that came near. Two girls approached and he stepped in the middle on the opening.

"Sorry, bathrooms closed." He stated cheerfully, the girls ignored and walked past him. He listened closely and didn't hear anyone comment on a man in the woman's room.

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[uas-fics]

Title: The One That Almost Got Away, But Came Back

Summary:  While fleeing for his life after enraging his ex-friends, Tweek hides in a tree at the church graveyard. When the coast is clear, he tries to climb down, only to fall and hit his head against a headstone. When his vision clears, Tweek sees the transparent face of a kid he knew was dead.

Rating: T

Ships: Twenny

Other: Season Six is one of my favorite seasons, and while thinking about it, I wondered what would have happened if Tweek stayed with Stan and friends a little longer and how it would affect the following episodes. Obviously, the answer is a dumpster fire for Tweek.

~~~~~

Tweak bolted past the iron gate into the graveyard. There had to be a good place to hide from Cartman's wrath here.

He heard someone scream his name as he chose his destination: a large tree near a corner of the yard. Ducking down to crawl on his hands and knees, Tweek hurried behind the headstones.

He muttered apologies to the dead he crawled over. He just barely knew how to handle when the living picked on him. He had no idea how to pacify the dead!

Finally, Tweek came to the tree. He dared a glance over his shoulders.

Cartman stood on the sidewalk, but he hadn't spotted Tweek yet.

Pressing his back to the bark of the tree, he looked up. The branches were low enough he could easily climb up.

Stan and Kyle came shouting up to Cartman. They were mad at Tweek, too, but at least they didn't have an aluminum bat in their hands and murder in their eyes.

Cartman opened the graveyard gate, and Tweek was on his way up the branches.

The branches scraped his arms. On the fourth branch up, his shoe fell from his foot and landed in the snow below. He stifled a squeak of panic.

There was no going back for it now, so Tweek kept climbing.

If he got high enough, they couldn't see him amongst the evergreen needles, thanks to his dark green shirt.

Or that was what he hoped.

Tweek pressed himself against the trunk, taking shallow breaths through his nose.

Cartman walked right under his feet.

“Do you guys see him? Tweek! Tweek, come out!” He bellowed.

Not a chance, man! Tweek thought.

Kyle marched up, hands on his hips. “I told you he went to the right.” Kyle scowled at a nearby grave.

Stan followed Kyle. His hat balled up in his hands.

“Fuck this,” Stan snapped, “and fuck Tweek. All in favor we kick him out and find a better fourth friend?”

Stan raised his hand. Kyle and Cartman followed suit seconds later.

Throwing the bat over his shoulder, Cartman took a deep breath to shout, “Tweek, if you're here, know that you're a fucking bag of dicks and you were a terrible Kenny! You're kicked out! We hate you! Have fun sitting alone at lunch, you twitchy weirdo!

“Yeah!” Stan and Kyle chorused.

Tweak flinched. A lump formed in his throat.

His gut told him being friends with those three would be nothing but trouble, but Tweek had been so desperate for a permanent friend group, he ignored the feeling.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

If Tweek had a time machine, he’d go back before the friend tryouts and punch his past self in the face.

Sitting at any empty seat at lunch was so much better than all the bullshit he went through with those three! He should have left after everything that happened with Spielberg, but no, against his better judgment, he stuck around!

“Come on, you guys. I bet we can talk Cartman's mom into making us some cookies or something.” Stan waved his hand.

“Yeah, I guess.” Kyle's shoulders fell as he followed along.

Cartman screwed up his face into a determined expression. He looked up and down a row of graves then took a few steps towards the tree.

Tweak stiffened. If he looked behind the tree, Cartman would see his shoe and know he was here.

The setting sun glinted off the bat like an executioner's blade.

A step from the tree, Kyle called to Cartman to hurry up. Cartman heaved a sigh before turning around and walking towards his friends with the bat dragging behind him.

Tweak waited nearly twenty minutes before he found the courage to start down the tree.

When he put his weight on the final branch, it snapped out from under him. Thinking fast, he ducked and rolled onto the snow.

His skull struck against hard stone. The world doubled. His head spinning, he sat facing the tree with his hand against the tender lump forming on his head.

When he finally blinked the stars from his vision, he found himself face to face with a boy that Tweek knew was dead.

Kenny tilted his head to the side, eyebrow raised.

“You were falling really well until you hit the ground,” He told him. “Seven out of ten.”

Tweak stared at him, frozen with eyes wide.

Then he screamed.

Tweek tried to scramble back, but he found a wide rectangle of stone stopping him.

His fingers brushed against the letters carved into the stone as he pressed against it: “Kenny McCormick."

“Oh my God. Oh my God...” Tweak gasped. “I'm dead. I sn-snapped my neck when I fell!”

Kenny laughed and shook his head. He floated over Tweek and twisted his body so he laid on his stomach.

“No, you're not dead. You're still in your body. Weird you can see me, though.” He tapped his chin. “Maybe because you smacked against my headstone?”

“You're dead,” Tweak whimpered. “You died in December.”

Kenny nodded. “I am. I did.” He rolled over to look up at the star-flecked sky. “It's not so bad, you know, being dead. Hurts a lot less than when I was alive and sick.”

Tweek’s heart skipped a beat.

That's right. Kenny died because he was sick. He didn't know what Kenny had. It seemed like no one ever talked about how he died, but he overheard Butters say Kenny looked bad in his last days.

“His face is all skinny and pale like a sheet of paper,” Butters had claimed with a frown. “I hope he gets better soon so we can play together again.”

Kenny didn't look skinny now, or no skinnier than he was before he got sick. If not for the ghostly transparency, he would have looked perfectly healthy.

Tweek swallowed hard, standing up and trying to carefully walk around the ghost. “Oh, that's, um, good. I'm glad you're not, urk, hurting anymore.”

Kenny spun back around. “Nope. Ghosts don't feel anything like that, actually. It's weird, but you get used to it.” Resting his cheeks on his knuckles, he asked, “What was with you and my friends, by the way? Cartman looked out for blood. Also, you should go get your shoe. It’s cold outside. Don't want to lose your toes to frostbite.”

Tweek winced, backpedaling a few steps towards the tree to retrieve his shoe. “I, um, I fucked up. They won the drawing at Lolly’s for the all you can grab raffle. I lost the ticket.”

Kenny furrowed his brows. “I think I had the ticket. I put it in my lockbox so it would be safe.”

“Y-yeah, i know. Your sister told me when we went to talk to your mom. She, ah, your mom I mean, showed us your urn and everything.” Tweek still didn't understand why they kept an urn around for Kenny. He clearly had a grave right here. Did his mom want to keep him around that much she pretend they put him in there?

Kenny frowned. “They cremated me?”

Tweek didn't know what that meant.

Kenny looked down at the headstone, confused, then made a sound of understanding. “Ah, ok, ok. I think I get it. Probably. Continue.”

Without asking for an explanation, Tweek went on, “So, we got the ticket, and those idiots handed it to me to hold! Me! I'm the worst person to hand important stuff too!” He threw his hands in the air at the memory.

“Did you rip it?” Kenny asked

“I tripped,” Tweek slumped down, “and dropped it in a puddle. Lolly wouldn't take it since the numbers were smudged, so Cartman started chasing me. He even stole a bat when I ran through the park.”

Kenny sat up with his legs crossed. “A reasonable reaction to me.”

Tweek glared. “It was not! It was an accident! I wanted the candy, too, man!”

Kenny half shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Why were you hanging out with them?”

“I’m you, or I was you. Your replacement.” Tweek twiddled his thumbs. Kenny didn’t look particularly offended, just disappointed.

“They replaced me? With you?” He asked incredulously.

Tweek nodded. “Um, yes. Well, first they tried with Butters, but it didn’t work out so they had auditions and everything. I don’t think I was a very good you, though.”

“Well of course not!” Kenny burst out. “I’m me! I’m the only me there is!” He sighed. “Those bastards...They couldn’t have waited...never mind. Doesn’t matter.” Kenny scowled at his headstone. “Still, they replaced me with Butters? He’d make a horrible me!”

“He did, that’s why they kicked him out for me. I think because he started wearing tinfoil and playing with this second grader.” Tweek pushed himself into a more comfortable sitting position as he put his shoe back on. He supposed he should be scared. After all, he was talking to a ghost, but after the first shock, Kenny wasn’t all that scary

“My death really shook him, didn’t it? Poor Butters.” Kenny mused.

“They all miss you. We all do.” Tweek offered as a condolence.

Kenny smiled at that. He looked up at the sky. Tweek followed his gaze. It would be night soon.

“You need to get home, don't you?” Kenny asked.

Tweek stood, dusting off his pants. “Yeah, I do.”

Kenny hummed, wagged his head side to side as he thought. After a moment he moved so he was standing as well, though he was floating off the ground, putting him a little taller than Tweek.

“Would you mind coming back here to talk to me sometime?” Kenny requested. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to in a long time. It's boring here.”

“Aren’t there other ghosts around?” Tweek looked around. “It’s a graveyard.”

“Well, there is one other ghost around, but she’s old and doesn’t respond when I call to her,” he shook his head, “and none of the people around my grave are ghosts and I can’t go very far. So, please? If you want, anyway.”

Tweek chewed his lip. With Stan, Kyle, and Cartman kicking him out, it’s not like he had any other friends to hang out with after school. The other boys only invited him when they needed an extra for a group game.

“I guess I can.” Tweek nodded.

Kenny beamed so brightly, Tweek almost forgot he was dead.

“Awesome! Thank you, dude!” Kenny exclaimed.

Like an infectious disease, Tweek found himself smiling right back at the ghost before he waved and headed towards home.

~~~~~

By some stroke of luck, Cartman’s rage had waned by school time. He still glared at Tweek and tried to trip him in the lunch line, but he didn’t threaten his life with a blunt instrument. Stan and Kyle, on the other hand, refused to look at him. Tweek preferred that.

After the final bell rang, Tweek waited at the crossroads. If he headed straight, he could cut through town and go to the shop, or he could head to the church and the graveyard.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Tweek ran over what happened the day before in his head. Did he actually see Kenny’s ghost there or did he dream it? There was still a tender knot on the back of his head from the fall, so that was real at least.

But if it was real, he did promise he would come back. Kenny would be disappointed if his first companion in months didn't show--or maybe he would be mad. Tweek knew enough to know mad ghosts were the worse. What if he cursed Tweek to a life of always finding a pointy rock in his left shoe? What if he entered Tweek’s dreams and wailed 'The Song That Never Ends'?

Tweek squeezed his eyes shut, tensed his body, then spun towards the church.

~~~~

Kenny sat on his headstone, knees to his chest, singing a song that Tweek didn’t know. It sounded classic and old, like the songs that floated down from mass during children's church.

He didn’t seem to notice Tweek as he walked up, so Tweek waited with fingers tapping against the straps of his backpack.

Kenny had a good voice. Tweek didn’t know that. It was oddly operatic and rich and resonated around the graves, giving life to the graveyard.

When he finished, Kenny looked up. He jumped.

“Tweek, you came back.” He dropped his legs so they draped over his headstone.

“I said I would,” Tweek stepped closer. “What was that song? It sounded pretty.”

“It’s Mozart!”

Tweek furrowed his brow. “So it’s...Polish?”

“German,” Kenny corrected, “The song is ‘Leck mich in Arse.’ Guess what the song is about.”

Tweek shouldered off his bag and sat beside the headstone. “No idea,” He replied, unzipping his bag, “What does it mean?”

A crooked grin spread across Kenny’s face, revealing the gap in his teeth where one was missing.

“‘Lick my ass.’” Kenny cackled.

Tweek snorted, nearly dropping his pencil. “No way! What does it mean, really?”

“It does mean lick my ass, but I was read that a better translation would be ‘kiss my ass,’” Kenny  kicked his legs.“It’s, like, a party song Mozart wrote. Isn’t it weird to think people in powdered wigs had fun?”

Tweek settled his math homework on his lap. “Where did you learn that song? I know some Mozart from my piano lessons, but I never learned that song.”

“A tape on music from the library. I didn’t know you played the piano.” Kenny leaned forward to look at Tweek’s homework. “Is piano hard? Do you like playing it?”

“It’s ok. I like doing things with my hands.” Tweek wrote out his first math problem in the space under the question.

‘If Johnny has two dozen apples, and he wants to share his apples with three friends, how many apples with everyone have? Please show your work.’

“I think most people like doing things with their hands. It’s easier than using your feet.” Kenny pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross but paused halfway to let one leg stay down.

Tweek shook his head. “No, I mean, I think bett—nevermind. It’s not that important.”

Tweek turned his attention back to his work.

Why was he so chatty? Maybe because Kenny wouldn’t be able to get other students to gang up on him? Was it because Kenny was safe to talk to? No, that wasn’t it. He just felt weirdly comfortable. Did all ghosts make people feel like this?

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going try to explain all his weird quirks to Kenny, who probably didn’t care anyway.

“Two dozen = 12 + 12 = 24.” Tweek wrote.

As he drew out the division diagram, Kenny waved his hand in front of his face. He’d slipped off the headstone and sat against it with his head cocked to one side.

“Did you hear me? I asked what you meant.” Kenny dropped his hand to his lap.

Tweek spun his pencil nervously. “It’s nothing. You’ll laugh.”

Kenny puffed out his chest, then crossed his heart with his finger, holding up one hand. “I swear not to laugh. Boy scouts’ honor.”

Tweek put his pencil eraser in between his teeth and chewed on it. He bit off a sliver of rubber and swallowed it.

Hacking, Tweek fished out his thermos from his bag. He ran out of coffee around lunch time, so now it only had water with the faintest coffee taste. He chugged it.

“Hey now, don't die on me!” Kenny laughed at his own joke.

Tweek wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Sorry, I, um, I think better when I have my hands doing something. I get full of e-energy when I, urk, just sit around, but at least I multitask well.”

Kenny pursed his lips. “So you can’t stay still at all? I noticed you fidget in class a lot.”

“I can, but, it’s hard sometimes.” He explained, working through the problem. “But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I get so into something, I don’t move for hours. I once made an entire city of Legos on a Saturday. I didn’t leave my room once to go to the bathroom or eat until Mom got me for dinner.”

“That sounds kind of weird,” Kenny stated, but not in a judgy way.

“I know,” Tweek replied, circling his answer. “I’m a freak. Everyone says so. A freak, a, argh, a spaz, a w-weirdo.” He sighed. His chest felt like someone dropped a thousand-pound anvil on him. He swallowed the lump in his throat then shoved his homework in his bag.

“I need to get home.”

“Wait, Tweek!” Kenny scrambled to his feet. “I didn’t mean—”

Tweek didn’t zip up his backpack before darting down the hill. If he lost something, he didn't care. From the grave, he heard Kenny shouting at him, but he didn’t turn around or wait to listen.

~~~~

Tweek stared up at his ceiling and all the glow in the dark stickers he placed above his bed. He felt terrible for running away. He knew Kenny wasn't being mean to him. It was true. Tweek wasn’t normal. He was a disorganized mess of a person who couldn’t sit still for more than three minutes or could only sit still for three hours. He twitched and made weird, little noises. He was a complete freak for all those reasons!

Among other things...

Tweek rolled to his side, pulling his blanket to his nose, to stare out his bedroom window.  The snow drifted softly down, illuminated from below by the street lamps. Were there lamps close Kenny’s grave? Could he see the snow too? He couldn’t feel it, of course. Maybe he was listening to it, to the soft sound of it gathering on the tree branches above him.

Tweek slipped out of bed and walked to the window. He placed a hand against the cold glass, leaving a handprint in the condensation. Guilt gnawed at his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek whispered. “I’ll come by tomorrow right after school and stay until it gets dark. I promise.”

~~~~

This time Tweek found Kenny curled into a ball on his side. His eyes had a faraway look to them and his mouth set in a pout.

Tweek cleared his throat a few times before Kenny stirred. He sat up.

“I’m sorry,” He said before Tweek could speak. His words sounded rehearsed. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t think you’re a freak or weirdo. I really like your company and—”

“It’s ok.” Tweek cut him off. “I don’t usually tell people about my problems like that. I didn’t know how to react to your answer, I guess.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t have called you ‘weird,’” Kenny told him. “I don’t really think that’s weird. It’s cool you can get so super focused on projects.” He rubbed his chin. “Imagine if my friends and I were like that. Usually, we get distracted halfway through and have to have someone, remind us to get back to work.” Kenny set his fists on his hips. “Imagine if we could work that hard. The town would have been blown up four times less than it already has been.”

Tweek burst out laughing. “Don’t you mean four times more?”

Kenny relented with a shrug. “Speaking of my friends, how are they? How is everyone in the class? Did anything big happen while I've been gone?”

Tweek sat down. “You’re friends are fine. They took your death hard, from what I can tell. They played it very safe for the first month or two because they didn’t want to lose another friend.” He rolled his eyes. “Not that that lasted too long. Those fuckers almost got me killed, you know! I pointed a bazooka at Steven Spielberg! We nearly had our faces melted off! I became a god and genocide happened in my name!”

Kenny chuckled. “Well, that’s just a day in the life of me and my wacky friends!” Raising his eyebrows jokingly, he made a move as if to jab Tweek in the rips, but caught himself before his elbow touched Tweek’s side.

His smile faded after a moment. “Well, I guess that would just be my friends now...”

Tweek felt his heart twist in sympathy. Kenny’s friends might have been major assholes, but they were still his best friends. He needed to get Kenny’s mind off of them!

“Ah, oh, and, Bebe! Bebe started to get her, you know,” Tweek waved his hands over his chest, “boobs!”

This got Kenny's attention. He stared, wide-eyed, at Tweek with his mouth slightly agape.

“Boobs? Like on her chest? For real?” He jumped up. “Tell me about them! Were they huge? Did they jiggle when she walked? Have you touched them?”

Tweek blushed. “What? Urk! Touch! No! Hell no! They’re not huge. If she wears a thick sweater, you can't even tell she has them, but they...they do weird things to us, man.” A shudder ran down his spine. “All the boys started fighting each other over being her friend.”

“If I was still alive, I’d want to be her friend too...” Kenny smiled to himself.

Tweak shook his head. “No, dude, they really made all of us act nuts! We fought each other like animals.”

Tweek didn’t add in that he still didn’t really understand why all the other boys acted like it was such a big deal. Stan had tried to explain it, but he just didn’t get it, so he pretended that he did and his involvement in the fights hadn't been in self-defense. So she had some bumps on her chest. So did Tweek after he got some mosquito bites last summer. All the boys didn’t beat each other up over him.

“If Bebe let me be her boyfriend, I’d definitely kick every boy in our class’s ass,” Kenny proclaimed. “Next school picture, you have to bring me the class photo so I can see her.”

“I will, if I can,” Tweek promised.

“What else?” Kenny bounced. “What else?”

Tweek spent the next two hours recalling funny or interesting school happenings to Kenny. He got the ghost to double over, roaring in laughter, three different times. Kenny’s voice even caught in his throat when Tweek told Kenny about seeing his sister playing with some girls in her grade.

Kenny drummed on his knees. “Wow, damn, I’m missing out on all sorts of fun stuff at school. Never thought I’d say that.”

“Man, at least you aren’t having to do fractions.” Tweek shuddered.

“Would you mind if I helped you with your homework some time?” Kenny requested. “I might be a ghost, but I don’t want to be one of those uneducated ghosts.”

Tweek didn’t think it mattered if a ghost knew fractions and long division or the history of America or what the difference between a metaphor and a simile was, but maybe Kenny just wanted an excuse for Tweek to keep coming around. He didn’t think he minded that.

Without his stupid friends around overshadowing and talking over him, Kenny was a really nice and interesting person.

“Ok, I can do that.” Tweak stood, adjusting his backpack. “I'll come back in a few days, and we can work through my homework together.”

Kenny's face fell. “In a few days?”

“I have to help at the coffee shop at least three days a week to earn my allowance,” Tweek explained.

Kenny nodded glumly. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He shook himself before smiling at Tweek. “I'll see you then, alright? Bring me some really good gossip, ok?”

~~~

Tweek visited Kenny more often than not for the next few weeks. He brought what little wisps of gossip he heard passing by in the cafeteria and hallways, then Kenny would try to predict what he thought would come of the news.

“If Red is going to wear the same dress, then she and Annie will get into a fight over it, or at least talk behind each other's backs — which for girls, is the same thing as fist fighting. They’ll make up before look long through.” or “I know Cartman, dude. If he can show up Kyle as the golden child, he will.” or “Stan and Wendy broke up? I give it a week before their all over each other again.”

He was right every single time.

“That's amazing!” Tweak exclaimed. “You have a superpower, Kenny!”

Kenny scoffed. “I have a better superpower than understanding how my classmates think.”

Tweak took a bite of the snack cake he brought with him. “You do? What is it?” He asked around the heavy cake and creme filling.

Kenny looked down at his lap as he sat on his headstone.

“It's that....it’s...I can't...” Kenny shook his head. “I don't think it works anymore anyway.”

His voice held something Tweek from Kenny since meeting him as a ghost: fear.

Whatever this superpower was, it must have been a big loss for death to take it away.

Tweak wanted to pry, but Kenny jumped to his feet and clapped his hands.

“Tweek, I need a favor.”

Tweak swallowed his cake. “What?”

Kenny had asked for favors before. Little things like how a particular sports team was doing or news on a celebrity he either admired or despised.

“Can you check on my sister?” He requested. “Karen? You don't need to talk to her if you don't want to, but just get a good look at her. Make sure she's doing alright.”

Tweek shoved his wrapper into his pocket. “Um, I can try. Why? Are you worried about her?” His eyes wander to the half-eaten snack cake, then widened. “Do you think your sister is starving? That she's not getting enough food?”

Tweek took the wrapper back out to wrap up the snack cake. He felt guilty eating right now.

Kenny laughed. “Oh, no, I'm not worried about that. With me gone, she gets enough.”

Sorrow twisted Tweek's gut. Sometimes Kenny's dark humor over his death made him uncomfortable, but Tweek didn't think it was his place to tell the ghost to stop if it made him feel better.

As Tweek stored away his snack, Kenny explained, “I just want to make sure she’s happy. Kevin’s a good enough older brother. He can protect her when Mom and Dad argue, but he’s not so good at comforting.” He shrugged. “That fell on me, but since I’m not there...”

Tweek didn’t need him to finish to understand, so he agreed. Tweek didn’t have recess with Karen, but her class left the cafeteria at the same time as Tweek’s came in. Maybe he could look at her then.

Deciding to figure out a plan of action later, Tweek zipped up his backpack.

“Tweek,” Kenny beamed, “you’re the best, dude.”

Something about Kenny’s bright smile made Tweek’s heart stumble in its beat. His ears grew hot as he scrambled to his feet.

“I have to go.” Tweek pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’ll be back on Saturday, though.”

“Aaaah, that’s a whole four days,” Kenny whined. “I thought you only had to work three days to get your allowance.”

“It's supposed to rain and sleet all day Friday,” Tweek told him. “The weather might not make you cold, but it does me.”

Kenny sighed. “Alright, alright. I understand. I’ll see you later then.” As Tweek walked away, trying to keep his pace even, Kenny called, “Remember, find out if Karen is happy, ok? Stay warm until I see you again!”

The moment Tweek left the gate, he ran, his heart pounding and stomach twisting.

~~~

Chapter 2