#so much being left unspoken... so many double meanings... this would work really well in the script format i think because with a script

[camgoloud]

(fic title ask) "I couldn't get the boy to kill me"

(ask game here)

ough okay. no one in the world follows me for if we were villains content not least because i never even post about it these days but that shit IS what i was reading when i was a sweet impressionable 17 years old and i also discovered richard siken at right around the same time so a lot of those poems are always going to be about Them to me on some level. anyway my summary for this title would probably look something like this:

~

JAMES: I don’t know what you think this is, Oliver, but I don’t want— OLIVER: Who says this is about what you want? [A beat.] James, it’s going to be okay, I promise. No more be grieved at that which thou hast done— JAMES: No. Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t even start quoting the sonnets at me now, Oliver, I won’t be able to stand it. OLIVER: And you could stand it when we did the tragedies? JAMES: [Another beat.] We shouldn’t have done that either. We shouldn’t have done any of it.

(Five conversations in the visiting room at the Illinois River Correctional Facility, 1997-2003.)

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Part 17

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

A/N: It is here! So sorry for the late update lovelies! I’ve been having really bad writers block lately and my job keeps switching my hours up so now my sleep schedule is all fucked up. And after writing this part I want to go stargazing so bad but the light pollution kind of sucks where I live. 🥲 Also this is my first time writing a steamy scene so I’m sorry if it’s awkward. Feedback is much appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 😊

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appears at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, angst, some foreplay and making out

You had still been wrapped in Zemo’s arms, the two of you indulging in each other’s presence in a silence, which combined with the faint beating of his heart, you only found to be comforting. The meteors still swept by the earth’s atmosphere above you in flashes that lit up the sky, leaving behind trails of white that resembled the strokes of a brush, as if your mother Asteria had painted the celestial bodies using diamonds onto a canvas that was the night sky. You could only make out the few stars and constellations that were scarcely scattered across the vastness above you, caused by the light pollution that unfortunately managed to mantle the wonders and beauty that settled just beyond, separating humanity from the marvels of the universe. The stars flickered like the diminishing of the flame of a candle, a farewell to the billions of years lived by the remnants of those enormous spheres of hot plasma, thus leaving behind the birth of other stars to fulfill their legacy. However, there was a certain star that did not flicker like the ones around it, a certain spectacle distant in time and space that still managed to burn bright despite the innumerable amount of light-years that separated Earth from it. The remaining light of your planet Olympus. You stared at that particular star, your brows knit together and your face etched with this certain melancholy that one could not explain. How could one thing be so near, within the reach of your fingertips, and yet be entirely outside the capacity of reach.

“Draga.” You heard Zemo softly speak, his chest slightly wavering beneath your cheek from his words.

“Hm?”

“Something troubles you.”

“What makes you say that?” You stared off, your eyes still fixated to the fading existence of your world.

“Your eyes draga.” Zemo looked down at you, his eyes scanning over the troubled creases that masked your features. “I have seen this shadow in your eyes that has seemed to occupy them as of recently. What troubles you?”

“…………You see that star there, right between those two constellations?” You pointed above you.

“Mhm.” Zemo nodded as he followed the line of your finger, his eyes now focused on the same exact star yours have not yet left.

“That’s my planet………Olympus.”

“You’re welcome to tell me about it if you’d like.”

“Well, when I was little, I used to live with my mother in this quaint cottage by the sea, similar to the one I live in now with my daughter. She used to bring me out most nights for stargazing. She had built this outdoor platform with bedding and blankets and we would have a small fire going to keep us warm as we watched the stars and constellations while she told me different tales and epic poetries. As silly as it sounds, she would make shooting stars appear in the sky for me knowing how much I loved them. Gods, I wish you could’ve seen my home back in its days, back when everything still remained. Everything was so…..beautiful, and the skies, gods the skies, you could see the different planets and galaxies as if they were only miles away. To this day, I have yet to see anything in my travels that compares.”

“I would have loved to seen it Schatzi. Your mother sounded like a wonderful person.”

“She was the kindest soul I knew.” You turned your body so that you could look up at him, resting your chin on your hand.

“You miss her.”

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss my family and planet.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them Schatzi. I wish you never went through what you did.”

“If only I could bring them back. I’d do anything to be able to just see them again.”

Zemo was silent, believing that no amount of words could have provided you comfort, no matter how deep the meaning or how significant. He could not imagine what you went through. He had lost his country and his family, and you had lost your family as well, but you lost your world, your entire race, leaving you to be the last remaining entity of your people, the last Olympian and the last Chthonian. Words could not bring your family back, just as they could not with his. So he only did what he was able, making a silent unspoken promise within the abyss of his damaged heart to be there for you as he held you closer to him and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A sudden feeling of guilt crawled up your spine like a venomous scorpion ready to sink its stinger in your skin with means to cause nothing but pain and suffering. You felt guilty for being here, lying next to Zemo wrapped in his arms like a pair of star-crossed lovers from the pages of a novel. A part of you felt selfish for what you did, undeserving of the affection that was bestowed upon you from a man who had suffered enough from the loss of his family. How much longer did you think you could give in to your mindless emotions without a single thought of the consequences it might bring about. Did you really think you could go on as if nothing is happening? As if you can conceal your true form from him forever. No. You could not. You did not have the heart to keep such knowledge from him. If you wanted to pursue what you had with him, you would have to tell him the truth when the time came.

“We should probably get back before Sam and Bucky notice.” You mumbled, blinking back the tears, your heart aching to go back to the way things used to be, wishing you could leave all of this and just be able to go back home. You didn’t belong here on earth, an immortal amongst mortals. At least on Olympus, if your titaness form had been revealed, many would not have bat an eye. They had already seen the likes of Titans before and the locals had become accustomed to you. But here on earth, you were nothing but a stranger, a drifter.

The two of you walked back to his place in silence, the only sounds being the whistling of the wind, the chirping of crickets, the voices of the few pedestrians and the humming of the cars that drove by. Your hands brushed against each other, craving to intertwine your fingers with his as you walked down the stone paved streets lit by the lamps that lined it, the two of you still withdrawn despite what occurred between you both. You felt it would have been silly, holding his hand like a couple of teenagers, though a century ago, you wouldn’t have gave it a second thought.

You arrived at his place, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the double doors with Zemo opposite you, illuminated by the street lamp that stood just behind. Feelings of conflict washed over you, drowning you in waves of despair. As much as you wanted to be with him, a small part in the back of your mind kept telling you that it was wrong. Neither of you wanted to go through those doors just yet, wishing you could have spent the night under the stars. But life seems to have a way of working against your favor. The Wakandans would be here to collect him possibly tomorrow, and you would have to bid him farewell, separated from each other for what could be forever. As much as you did not look forward to that moment in having to turn him in and never see him again, you wouldn’t stop the Wakandans from what they were promised. And though you hadn’t said a word, Zemo had already knew what your decisions were regarding it, and he could not blame you for it. You were a woman of justice and you followed a code, and he respected that.

“Zemo.” A frown appeared on your face.

“Please,” Zemo whispered to you as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Call me Helmut.”

You looked at Zemo once more, a look of longing hidden behind your eyes as you unconsciously swiped your tongue across your mouth, watching how his eyes followed the movement before lingering on the wetness of your lips that resembled the petals of a rose after the pouring of cold rain in the midst of spring. Oh how he wished to be the drops of rain that were gifted the pleasure of grazing upon the velvety petals that belonged to such beauty of a flower, a symbol of union between the two domains in which the heavens came down to declare its love for the earth. A pulling sensation filled within your core, drawing yourself to Zemo as if he were the sweet berries of deadly nightshade that have lured many unfortunate souls. Banishing the thoughts of doubt that clouded your mind, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Zemo was initially shocked by your bold gesture and stiffened from the way your mouth moved against his, surprised you would pull something like this when just a wall away Sam and Bucky were awaiting your arrival, before loosing himself into your embrace.

Your fingers clenched the collar of his sweater and your fingers grazed across the exposed skin of his neck while his hands went to your waist in a desperate attempt, fumbling to grab at anything and bunching up the bottom fabric of your sweater as he pulled you against him. The tips of his fingers brushed against the skin of your waist that was exposed below the hem of your sweater, leaving behind goosebumps in its trail. You smiled into the kiss from the way he completely melted under your touch, a part of you amused from the affect you held over him as you managed to elicit a moan from deep within his throat. Zemo’s brows were furrowed in the passionate moment, something you have noticed when you first kissed him, a small crease in the muscles of his face that showed just how lost he was when encased in this moment with you, and it absolutely melted you. He was addicted from the warm numbness, the ecstasy he felt from kissing you. Your lips were like heroin to him, leaving him yearning for more, and it didn’t ameliorate the fact that his years spent in a German prison had left him somewhat inexperienced and filled with a chasmic longing for touch and intimacy from the lack thereof. Deep within him, masked by his ideas and objectives, Zemo wanted to be able to love someone again, a chance at a new life and a family, and perhaps, he saw that possibility with you. But, behind the passion of the kiss you shared with him, there was something else, a poison that laced your lips with feelings of despair and forbidding that consumed you as if you had tasted those sweet berries of nightshade, slowly loosing yourself to its malice. His lips which were at first warm to the touch, now felt cold like ice and sent shivers of dread through your veins, as if this would be the last kiss you shared with him.

You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, your teeth softly grazing against his bottom lip as you did so. Both of you were left breathless as you rested your foreheads against each other, panting as your breaths fanned each other’s face as if you had just been trapped in the depths of the ocean before breaking through the surface to allow oxygen to fill your lungs.

“If you keep doing that Draga.” Zemo rasped between breaths, “I won’t be able to compose myself.”

“Good. Maybe I don’t want you too.” You smirked before placing a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “But I really should go back inside, and you should do the same. Just make sure you go unnoticed.” You slipped his coat off your shoulders, his cologne that lingered on his fur collar leaving your senses with discontent as you returned his coat to him before going over to the doors, stopping to turn back to him with a smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Gods, what the hell did you do that for???? You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you wanted to slap yourself for pulling a move like that.

“Gods I’m stupid.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hey.” Bucky smiled once he spotted you, his voice soft as if he were afraid you would shatter at any moment from the discussion that took place earlier. “How was your walk?”

“It was nice, relaxing. I went to the park to stargaze.”

“That’s good. As long as you feel better.”

“I do, actually. Thanks Bucky.”

“You look flushed. You okay?” Sam noted as he stepped over to you.

“Huh?” You stopped short. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I just had to kind of uh power walk back here so you guys wouldn’t get worried. But I’m fine, yeah. Anyways, I’m going to hit the sack since I’m feeling a bit tired. Goodnight you guys.” You waved them off before going to your assigned room, making Sam and Bucky give each other questioning looks before they both shrugged it off.

You shut the door behind you, letting out a breath of relief that they had not caught on to anything and praying that Zemo had managed to sneak in. You had just gotten off the phone with Maze and your daughter, catching up on their activities after cleaning yourself up and changing into your nightgown. You had pulled up a chair next to the window that was in your room, your feet tucked underneath you and a warm cup of rose and blackberry tea in your hands. Your robe hung loosely off your shoulders as your index finger twirled above the small silver spoon that swirled in your cup, mists of violet wrapping around the handle of the spoon as you used your powers to stir the contents of the tea. You stared out the window onto the old streets of Latvia before glancing down at the teacup that was nestled in your hands, the glow of your eyes reflected off the window pane along with the tiny stars that swirled through the small globe of your necklace your mother gave you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the moments that passed and the ones that have yet to come.

There was a knock on your door, interrupting you from the thoughts that had resided in your mind. “Come in.” You spoke as you looked through the reflection of the window and saw a figure step in. “Zemo?” You stopped using your powers, the clinking of the spoon scraping against the sides of the porcelain cup coming to a stop. “You know, you gotta stop sneaking into my room.” You teased before frowning, seeing the expression that sat on his face. “What’s wrong?” You got up from the chair, setting your cup down on the table before walking over to him.

“The Wakandans will…….be here for me tomorrow.” His eyes were lowered to the floor, the browns of his irises which reminded you of the dunes of the Sahara desert were whirling in thought, resembling the dunes caught in the midst of the fury of a sandstorm, as if searching for an answer to his troubles.

“Ze-Helmut, I………” You sighed, your tongue and mind lacking the ability to compose any words that might have provided some solace. “I’m sorry………..I don’t know what to say.”

“Y/n, schatzi” Zemo grabbed your hand, tracing his thumb over the bumps of your knuckles. “You don’t have to say a word. My actions………must be accounted for.”

You were silent, your brows knit together and your lips sealed as if your voice was ripped from your throat. Your heart wanted to tear itself from your chest, begging to be released from its cage so that it could be free to lament, so that it may be able to express the words that held it captive. But your tongue was tied, held back between the prison that was your teeth as you clenched your jaw. Zemo’s hand still held yours, stroking the soft skin on the back of your hand which were a contrast to the small rough patches on your palm, before you heard him speak again. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, lips parted in surprise that he would even ask such a question when you were honestly willing to kiss him any time of the day. The Zemo you had come to know was far different than the one you had heard about, his cold demeanor seemed to completely fade when he was around you, like a fog that dissipated with the coming of daylight. A part of you pondered whether this was how he used to be, before the events that happened. Though he hadn’t had a chance to share such affection with anyone and lost practice, you still found him to be great kisser and it always managed to leave you breathless. “Yes, please.” You whispered, your voice barely audible before you felt his lips brush against yours. What was sweet at first became more feverish and filled with hunger as an unfamiliar spirit seemed to possess your body, darkening the amethysts and golds of your eyes that resembled the galaxies, into the blackness of the abyss that swallowed the outer edges of space where not even the slightest bit of light could reach, almost as if you were sinking your claws into your prey.

A heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filling your body with an electrifying warmth as his mouth moved against yours more confidently this time, catching you utterly by surprise and leaving your knees weak, a feeling similar to the stillness in the air a mere second before lightning strikes the ground beneath your feet. His hands slipped down to grab the flesh of your waist, dehydrated, and filled with an intense thirst that could only be quenched by your body that was the ocean, your skin separated by the silk fabric of your nightgown. Your hands went up to grip his shoulders as a gasp escaped your lips upon feeling him move down to your jaw and neck. Gods, since when was the last time you were touched like that?

“Helmut.” You rasped, struggling to hold back a moan as his lips sucked on the skin where your collarbone met your neck, making you lean your head back to allow him better access. Your robe had fell to the floor, leaving your arms completely bare while Zemo’s hands caressed the skin that lined them before resting on the dorsal part of your upper arms, the combination of the frigid air and his fingertips that felt like the touch of fire sending shivers through your body. “What if they hear?”

“Let them.”

“No……….I’m…….serious.”

“Well if you’re that worried Draga.” Zemo stopped to look at you. “The walls are thick enough.”

Gods that completely sent you over the edge. It felt as if you were on a high, your mind was not even within this dimension as Zemo met your lips again. You had to throw your arms around his neck to keep yourself from collapsing as the two of you shifted in the room, Zemo guiding your body before the back of your knees came in contact with the side of your bed. You let yourself fall back into the soft mattress, bringing Zemo down with you. You both were a mess, your hair disarray, the thin straps of your nightgown fallen past your shoulders had almost left your breasts exposed, and the skirt of your nightgown had ridden up to your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Zemo squeezed at the soft flesh of your thigh before attacking your neck again. He didn’t know how to describe it but you tasted absolutely divine. Perhaps being a goddess made you taste of ambrosia; the golden, honey-flavored fruit that grew on the trees of Olympus. You were in absolute bliss and thanked the gods he wouldn’t be able to leave a mark, at least you hoped not.

“Helmut.” You moaned, your nails digging into his biceps as his warm lips made a trail down your collarbone and lower to where the lace trim of your nightgown met just above the curve of your breasts, lingering on the space between, filling your mind with thoughts of a certain region you desired those lips to be. “Fuck.” You hissed from the contact, your hand moving its way to his head as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your nails raking across the back of his scalp as the heat between your thighs only grew. You unconsciously pressed your heel to the lower part of his back, beckoning him closer to that heat between your thighs as you bucked your hips up. Zemo growled at the movement, slightly nipping at the skin where your breast had started to form, causing you to gasp and your eyes to fly open from the sensation.

“Apologies draga.” You heard him mutter before tenderly kissing the spot where his teeth had been.

Seeing Zemo in a close proximity above you in such a position had you dazed, wanting him to take you right then and there and not caring if the others heard you or not. And as your eyes wandered lazily over the sight of him, they widened in horror once they glimpsed at the image of your hands. Your nails became sharp, claw-like, and that deathly color had returned once again, slowly making its way up your arm like the tendrils of a shadow belonging to a demonic spirit.

“Helmut.” You whispered, your voice becoming panicked as you loosened your grip on his arms, being careful not to pierce his skin. “Helmut wait.”

Zemo stopped, pushing himself up to meet your eyes as his concern grew from seeing the frightened look that filled them. “Schatzi, what’s wrong?” He brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair. “If you’re uncomfortable let me know.”

“No, gods no. If anything I don’t want you to stop.” You breathed out, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just that………….”

“What is it schatzi?” His voice was soft as his fingers caressed your cheek, afraid that he might have offended you in some way, afraid that he might have been too forward.

“I’m sorry Helmut. I want to, I really do, but not like this.” You shook your head as you got up, shifting over to where the dark shadows of the room fell on the bed to hide your arms, afraid to meet his eyes as if you had made a fool of yourself. “Not like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me y/n.” Zemo smiled at you. “If you’re not ready, than I’m not ready.”

“Thank you Helmut.” You smiled back before giving him a delicate kiss. “I’d………uh like to think some things through.” You prayed that he didn’t see your hands, hoping that the darkness of the room managed to disguise it.

“Of course draga.” Zemo placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before leaving your room, stopping at the door to give you a comforting smile as he carefully shut it behind him.

Your eyes still lingered on the door, waiting to make sure he didn’t come back before turning on the bedside lamp and staring down at your hands. You had managed to stop the color from spreading up your arm, yet it strangely still remained, stopping halfway up your forearm. This wasn’t good.

“What the hell?” You scrunched your nose, trying to use your powers once again to remove it but to no avail. Fear coursed through your veins as you attempted to remove the color, spell after spell, hoping those vine like tendrils would crawl back down your hands and disappear. You cursed under your breath as each attempt proved to be as futile as the one before. What the hell was going on? Why were your spells not working? It vanished before from your magic, why wasn’t it doing so now? You were struck with a sudden realization that perhaps this change would become permanent, that maybe suppressing your true form for all those years had caused it to spiral out of control and in turn try to overpower you as if it had a mind of its own. You growled through gritted teeth, the furniture around you shaking as your fists were clenched in frustration, the violet mists of your powers encompassing your hands and sparking with small bolts that corresponded with the vexation that overwhelmed you.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the mist around your hands disappearing and the shaking of the furniture coming to a stop. You had to work something out. You were left no choice but to keep your hands covered from now on until you found a solution. If any of them questioned it, you had to have a damn good lie. Getting up from the bed, you walked over to the double doors that led to the small balcony and opened them, your hands gripping the cold iron rail as you stared out at the view of the Latvian streets and buildings before you. Oh how you wished your sister Athena were here. She knew everything.

“Oh Athena.” You stifled a sob as you stared up at the stars, focusing on the light of your planet as if she could have heard you, a tear cascading down your cheek and dropping to the streets below. “Gods I wish you were here. I really need your help.”

Despite your pleas, you knew she wasn’t there, her existence only an artifact of the past. You were praying to nothing but a memory. It was extremely urgent that you got information on this matter of your form and the words of the prophecy that still threatened and echoed within the depths of your mind. And since you couldn’t obtain such knowledge from another Olympian, you would have to gather it from the old texts. Muttering a few words in Ancient Greek, you waited, searching, until a small white moth came into view, fluttering in your direction. You held out your finger, letting the tiny creature come to rest upon it.

“Hello little one.” You smiled at the moth as you gently stroked it in greeting, bringing it closer to your face so that you could speak to it in your language. “Please send word to my familiar and tell him to gather as much information he can on Titans and the prophecy. And tell him to come find me when he is done. Thank you.” The moth looked at you with understanding behind his tiny black eyes, it’s antennaes twitching before fluttering away into the moon. You sighed, watching it disappear into the night before giving your distant planet one last glance before shutting the doors and going back over to the bed. You laid down under the covers, your hands rested on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, dreading the day to come. How could you face Zemo? And however were you going to keep your hands a secret? Surely the three are bound to find out sooner or later? You just prayed that the message you sent would be returned in a short time. You needed to fix this before it would be considered too late. And the sooner you found Karli the better. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest and forcing those thoughts away. Gods help you from this moment on.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thehornyles @awhorewithissues @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful @ilovespideyyy @peakyrogers

[headcanonthings]

WinterHawk Fic Rec List

Disclaimer: None of these authors have requested to be on this list. These are all stories that I’ve read and enjoyed. Keep in mind that your taste might not match up to mine and that’s ok! Just because I’ve included it doesn’t mean you have to read it (I won’t be offended if you skip over this whole list). If you do check out a story and like it, please remember to leave kudos and/or a comment ❤

P.S. Always check out the story’s tags so you don’t get surprised by something.

Gen Fics - These stories highlight the friendship between Clint and Bucky so may feature them included in other ships i.e. Clint/Natasha or Steve/Bucky

Clint Barton’s Guide to Friends and Ceiling Vents by NoliteTimereEos (Rated T; Word Count 6,488; Features Clint/Natasha) In which Clint Barton meets a missing assassin in the vents and somehow becomes friends with him. Things don't go as bad as they could have. 

Clint and Bucky: Lost and Found by twangcat (Rated G; Word Count 2, 075; Features Steve/Bucky and Clint/Coulson)  The first time Bucky sees Clint limp into the Avengers tower pretending his ribs aren’t bruised while brushing his wild blond hair out of his eyes, Bucky smiles. When Clint immediately starts railing at Tony for blasting the guy Clint was fighting because, “I didn’t need rescuing Tony, I had him!” Bucky does a double take. 

  Learning to Say Hello by heartdesire456 (Rated M; Word Count 11,229; Features Steve/Bucky and Clint/Coulson) Clint had woken up one morning about three weeks ago (Well, Clint guessed about three. Definitely more than one. Maybe.) and stumbled down to the living room only to realize there was a guy on his couch. The guy just happened to be the Winter Soldier, who Clint knew was actually Steve’s old best friend, Bucky Barnes. Barnes had been having a staring contest with Lucky (one eye shut, to make it fair, Clint had noticed) and Clint had decided to just leave him to it and make decisions after he’d had some coffee. (In which Hawkeye befriends the Winter Soldier and discovers the Epic Love Story of Steve and Bucky nobody knows about)  Shooting Stuff Is Better With Company by WriteThroughTheNight ( Rated T; Word Count 11,636; Features Clint/Coulson and Steve/Bucky) "Natasha tells him that HYDRA is inside SHIELD (which Clint can hardly believe), and that the Winter Soldier is on the playing field. She says the latter with fear and awe, but Clint smiles, small and real, for the first time since New York." OR Clint and Bucky have been friends for years and it's to the archer that he runs after the events of DC.

WinterHawk Fics - Stories where Clint/Bucky are the main couple 

I’ll Keep you Safe Here With Me by sara_holmes (Rated M; Word Count 110,566) Yes, Clint is avoiding the other Avengers. No, he does not want to go back to New York. But then again, he didn't exactly want to be kidnapped by the Winter Soldier either. Really, he just wants to go back to bed.

(Side note: Pretty sure this is the fic that got me into WinterHawk)

Clint Barton’s Super Secret Sniper’s Club by sara_holmes (Rated T; Word Count 67,057; Other ship include Tony/Steve) Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.) "When Steve brings Bucky back to the tower for the first time, Clint’s first thought is that Tony Stark’s pride and joy is quickly becoming a less of a very tall and expensive ‘fuck you’ in the faces of investors who don’t believe in self-sustaining energy, and more of a superhero rehabilitation center." Boyfriends, compromises and learning to like oneself.

(Side note: would recommend pretty much any WinterHawk fic by this author)

Left Foot Forward by shatteredhourglass  (Rated M; Word Count 22,307; Other ships include Pepper/Tony and Bruce/Natasha) There was an unspoken rule among the Avengers that they didn't talk about Clint's soulmark. They didn't talk about it, they didn't look at it, and they didn't bring it up. 

Falling Off the Face of the Earth by Teeelsie (Rated E; Word Count 77,500) Cap relaxes his hold, but he stays where he is, still looming over him. “Clint. The compound’s been breached,” Rogers whispers urgently, then finally sits back and lets go of him. There’s another explosion, closer this time and throwing more light. He turns his head sharply and sees Bucky Barnes hovering near the door, looking… off. Clint pushes Rogers and he finally stands up so Clint can scramble out of the bed and grab some clothes. He’s wearing only boxers because it’s fucking hot in Wakanda, and he catches Barnes’ eyes flicking across his body. Clint long ago stopped being bothered by people’s reactions to the many scars on his body – not that that many people actually see them - but that doesn’t mean he appreciates when they stare. “Like what you see?” he asks with a hard edge as he pulls on his shirt. Barnes turns his head, at least having the decency to look embarrassed for being caught staring. Rogers looks at them both impatiently and quickly switches gears. “Clint, I need you to take Bucky. Get him out of Wakanda and somewhere safe.” OR Bucky and Clint fall into each other. Bad shit happens. Then it all works out in the end.

Lost & Found by mariana_oconnor (Rated M; Word Count 89,972; Other ships include Tony/Steve and Natasha/Sam) Clint Barton’s got a bag full of stolen money and a burning desire to stay under the radar. His old friends in the Carnival will be looking for him and they sure as hell won’t be happy. In a desperate attempt to stay off their radar, he ends up in Timely, a small town so far off the beaten track he’s surprised he even found it, and waits for Barney to comes and get him. Because Barney will be coming. Clint knows he will. But there's something about the town. Maybe it's the strange wolf that watches him from the trees, and the way people finish conversations when he enters a room. Or it could be the bartender, Bucky, who decided to hate him on sight. Something’s going on in this small town, and Clint’s not sure if he’s jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Thank You for Staying with Us by Noxnthea (Rated T; Word Count 14,390) Ex-special ops, millennial motel receptionist Clint Barton is pretty sure that one of his guests is an honest-to-god assassin, but he's also pretty sure he's willing to let that slide because hot damn have you seen the dude's face? Besides, the only guy he's killed was kinda evil, so there's really no reason for Clint to do anything about his realization, right? or: five times Clint looked the other way, and one time he couldn't look away.

Historic Features by flawedamythyst (Rated T; Word Count 19,254; Other ships include Tony/Steve) “Electrical surges with no source, and music coming from the air, and that damn baseball game no one was watching, and I swear I sometimes hear voices right on the edge of hearing when I should be alone,” said Tony. “What does that sound like to you?” “Sounds like-” said Steve, then hesitated. Tony gave him a pointed look. “Sounds like a haunting,” he finished, reluctantly. “Oh no,” said Clint, in tones of mock-horror. “Ghosts!” Bucky laughed and kissed him. “Man, I hope they’re friendly.” Clint and Bucky are haunting the new apartment that Tony bought in Brooklyn to try and impress Steve.

[supercorp-hosie]

My thoughts for Legacies 314:

1) Clarke!!! I like his air of cockiness when he do all this things, and especially when Hope break this air😂😂😂 I think since the show is constantly letting him show up like this, maybe at some point he will eventually turn up or be brought back by my Sowanby team? Oh my Holarke heart! I just love their dynamic like how I’m entertained by Lizdon dynamics🤣🤣

2) I still see that artifact that was broken because of Landon unnecessary move, why? I thought the arc was over? It’s just hilarious when Clark tried so hard to break it, even using explosives, but Landon just break it by throwing it to the monster😂 these brothers, I can’t 😂 (I know it’s because of the presence of Cleo, but still, funny!)

3) Okay, the way Hope just ended up with Wade, doing a drama about undying teenage love, I can’t imagine 🤣🤣 sorry Hope, but Wade can be a good teammate. And Wade has a last name - Rivers! Congrats! Poor Jed, another person that’s appear later than him and got a last name.

4) I just inevitably thought about the other witch Gaby, and relates back to Penelope😆. What if Penelope comes back and starts a war with Finch, that would be fun🤣 I can imagine they somehow would have to work together to protect Josie if something happens to her. They can look past that because they both care for Josie so much. Penelope/Josie/Finch anyone? (I’m secretly shipping Penelope and Finch too in my head, OMG can you imagine the volcano erupting? Enemies to lovers trope??)

5) Finally SBS has a teacher other than Alaric now.

6) I do think that the compelling works. Anyway, considering what’s going to happen, I’m certain that somehow Ethan is going to remember what happened with MG. If he’s going to be a supernatural, I’m rooting for vampire. We are really lacking vampires here.

7) I love Hope’s magical surges♥️ and how other students is taking that like it’s a normal thing around them. Unlike the school tour.

8) I love Hope needn’t to turn around to know that it’s Josie right away♥️ and Josie do catch up things around Hope when she’s not around after she returns.

9) Josie lied to Hope that Lizzie needs help(even though it turns out to be true doesn’t mean she didn’t lie), to help Hope with her mental state. Is this toxic or supportive?? Maybe I should just count it separately?

10) The twins clothes!! Contrast colours, love them!

11) I wonder who drove there....Hope didn’t have a dl in s1 (but two years has past now?) while in 307, Josie apparently walked to Mystic Grill to find Finch(but Lizzie did drive before in s2)....so? I bet it’s Hope...but how the hell did they even have time for driving education?

12) Hope, looking at Josie: like I said, trap. 😂😂but she just doesn’t even get mad at Josie?? Exactly how many times did she let Josie escape like that?? Poor Landon got grilled when he lied😂

13) We don’t worry about dick here🤣🤣🤣🤣

14) I love Finch just confidently stand up for herself, challenging Jed. But no, I don’t like Jed being thrown down by a new wolf again. But having female alpha is appealing too, I love to see that when Finch challenge the old system, then get to improve the abusive hierarchy towards the omega/new wolf in the pack. I was conflicted. I love how they resolved the issue in the end! It’s win-win situation and I love how Jed and Finch bond! Brotp/Sistp! And I love that from Finch perspective, we can see that the wolves let Jed win because they love Jed as much because they know Jed cares about them a lot and just willing to let him win. Not because Jed was oppressing them.

15) Btw, I can’t believe they are using pool/billiards/snooker to decide who becomes the alpha. Really I just don’t like how it works, like leading a pack is a game. But some wolves are born alpha. In real life, a pack’s alpha is always the one to lead hunting, be vigilant of any threat that can harm the pack, they really care for their packs, like Jed. Whilst there’s this beta position in the pack, they recognise the alpha’s leadership, help the alpha keeping others in line, help take care of other members too. Just like what I’d imagined, Finch can fit the beta position very well, for the time being, because of their dynamics. I’m not saying that Finch doesn’t fit as alpha, I think that beta always has the potential to be the alpha of a pack. I just love that now the dynamics in the pack somehow really resembles how the social hierarchy of a pack of wolves in real life.

16) appreciation to Finch being badass at pool/snooker/billiards

17) when Andy just called Hope’s name, why don’t the trio be surprised? It’s not like they even meet before?

18) when MG showed up, I just immediately believe in him. Love that Alaric defended him. I understand Dorian though, he’s always sensitive of rippers as his family was butchered by one. Please don’t blame him too much. MG living in a cave breaks my heart, I just recalled that Hope was homeless when she’s out of Malivore too! Double heart breaks.

19) MG diaries! I’m so proud of him, even Alaric validates his effort and his kind heart! I just rewatched 106 last night to do some fact checking for my hosie interactions 2.0 and twins relationships 1.0. MG has always wanted to be a superhero that saves lives. He has grown so much, from first fighting zombies, to super squad fighting monster, until now, saving normal people lives. I bet now Penelope can’t laugh at him when he first pitched his feelings to Penelope. Good job!

20) I’ve talked about the Finsie sitting together, so I only want to talk about how the relationship between Finsie is healthy for one another (for now, and at least they are not cringy for these two episode).They function independently and Finch doesn’t need to constantly worry about Josie all the time, like what Penelope fear of. Ofc it may also because that the twins have grown healthier.

21) even though Hosie were mind controlled, I just love how they have unspoken understanding between each other😂 Josie doesn’t need to tell Hope to make Lizzie stay with them to have Hope “as sonnum” Lizzie. Then only Josie said “stay with us”.

22) Hizzie hugs, and HOPE ANDREA MIKAELSON 🤣

23) I just love how Lizzie knows what to say to break Josie’s peace, while Josie knows how to break Hope’s peace. I see another spoken parallel from 308 about blindspot😂 Lizzie -> Josie -> Hope.

24) so if the drug sometimes doesn’t work on Lizzie, that means that there are times that Lizzie is really blue! Really at peace! I’m so proud and happy for her! Go Lizzie!

25) “ALL I WANTED FOR YOU IS YOUR HAPPINESS” this is so powerful! My Hosie heart! And really the last painful sentence, is fact. I’m sad for Hope because she’s so into that relationship until she can’t bring herself to do it and only leads to Landon leaving, but it’s also classic Mikaelsons(I feel), never giving up for their love ones. Appreciation to Landon, but still it’s strike three for leaving, please don’t let them be together again. It’s derogatory to Hope’s self-esteem.

26) I love badass Hope so much!! All the bodies she left! If I’m not already gay, she would have bent me into a mosquito coil by that scene, (so bent that I can’t be straight anymore). I love how Josie just let Hope outing her anger on these witches, freeze Andy, waited patiently for Lizzie and Hope to deal with Andy together.

27) I died laughing at these Pandemonium 🤣🤣🤣🤣 the badass trio in panda suit😂😂😂😂 I can’t! They’re so cute! And the height difference🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

28) How Hope tries to focus and dead serious in dealing with the upcoming monster but fails inevitably and miserably at Josie’s antics! All Josie does is laughing cutely at Hope and poking(?) her.

29) I love the trio so much!

30) haven’t watched any Star Wars, so I really thought that the one in the mask was Clarke until the Star Wars theme song started😫 too bad that Landon must have missed it.

31) Lizzie kissing Ethan is the last thing ever to have crossed my mind, so again, what the fuck?(sorry, language)

32) when I first thought about team building, I was thinking about finch + MG + Jed + Kaleb, but pack bonding, I’m satisfied too.

[painless-innit-colourful]

(Liveblogging ‘Tommy Faces His Traumatic Past’ stream)

'Hi I am currently thinking about that moment after Tommy asked Ranboo to leave after the Prison moment went badly, and he waited for Ranboo to go and then swallowed and let the atmosphere hang for a moment and held his totem in his main hand (I’m pretty sure; he was definitely holding it) and I am telling you, the shot of fear that went through me as I thought “No... He’s not gonna ask Tubbo to kill him, is he?” Now that’d be one way to overcome a fear of dying, holy heck.'

---

Rough edges, shining eyes, a heart of gold. He supposes there's a metaphor or a comparison that could be made there, but to be quite frank, he's sick of the poetic parallels and the dramatic ironies. It's not a tale spun of rhetorical devices and an audience: it's his life, and it hurts. 

Appropriately, the skin on his palms is still tender from scrabbling at the walls of the mock cell, and he can feel every groove of the wood the totem's outside is carved from as he grips it firmly. He's doing away with the allusions and analogies and beating around the bush: there's no easy way to ask this, so why make it even harder? 

It's going to be difficult. It's going to be painful. It’s going to be helpful in future.  Just get on with it Tommy.

Ranboo vanishes up the ladder, and Tommy and Tubbo are left alone in their unused replica of the Final Control Room ('cause their dear friend Eret had a more accurate one). When he turns his eyes to his best friend, Tubbo's giving him a quizzical look. Tommy opens his mouth to begin, but fear stoppers his words, and no sound comes out. He holds fast to the totem and to his courage.

"Are you alright?" His friend's light touch to his arm leads him back. Right. Tubbo. Totem. Question. 

"It didn't work." He says despondently. "I couldn't- In there, I couldn't keep it together." "Tommy-" "Look, Tubbo," Like a paranoid exile hiding in a cave, he casts another glance towards the ladder, double-checking that they are truly alone. "And you can't tell anyone this, but I need you to trust me, because I've thought a lot about this." 

Tubbo's expression is unreadable for a moment, like his solicitude is elsewhere, like he's remembering something, and then he's back and he's squeezing Tommy's arm. "I trust you, Big Man." And Tommy can tell he's being earnest, so he pushes on. "What is it?" "We had the chance, back in that vault- We had the opportunity to slit Dream’s throat, and we didn't, and- And we agree on this right? Dream... Dream needs to go." 

Tubbo seems to think about it for a moment, "You think the revive book isn't worth it?" "Tubbo, I-" If his words could stop clogging up his throat every five seconds, that'd be lovely. "Listen to me, I've been to- to the other side, and I've been here, and I've been in between, and- and I mean this, I would've rather- rather stayed there than be in between again." "Really?" Tommy nods curtly. "Really. It's not worth it." "Well, I'm glad you came back, even if it sucked for you." Lightly, but not without a hint of worry in his voice, Tubbo half-laughs. "That sounded selfish." And Tommy feels wretched about what he's going to ask him to do. 

"Look, Tubbo," He clears his throat for good measure. "If I'm going to kill Dream, I can't get into the prison cell and panic. That- That could cost the whole operation, and I can't let that happen." "Tommy, you-" Tubbo cuts himself off this time, "Tommy, do you really have to do this?" 

"Yes, I do." His quiet determination matches Tubbo's building exasperation. "I have to do this because he's- he's ruined me, he's broken me and I can't let anything else happen to this server because of our fighting." Their faces and feelings fall to the same resignation as swords impale them against the walls of a room very much like this one, as L'Manberg burns behind their eyelids every time they blink. 

"Would you like to try again?" The reproduction of the cell, his tomb, beckons, but Tommy's mind is made up. "I can come in with you this time." A jolt of warmth emanates from his heart at the offer (he wishes it were that easy) and races through his bloodstream, momentarily soothing the aching feeling all around his body, from his head to his feet to his fingertips, and he feels practically like a person again for a few seconds. 

"Actually, I- I want you to- Only if you- I won't force you but-" He's abruptly aware of a substantial volume of saliva in his mouth, or maybe he's just too scared to say it out loud. Tubbo waits, his fingers mussing with the end of Tommy's sleeve. "What is it?" 

He raises aloft the totem so they're both looking at it, and then very carefully, so he knows he hasn't said it wrong, he says it: "I want you to kill me." 

"What?" His adrenaline spikes; no turning back now. "I want you to kill me, and because I have this totem I'll be fine. I can't be scared of dying if I have a totem on me, but I still get scared of getting close, so I want you to kill me. Please." He tacks on hastily, opting to look at the sword at Tubbo's side so he doesn't have to meet his eyes. 

"You... Where are you gonna get another totem then?" And Tommy squints at Tubbo for a second, because really, that's what you come out with after that? "I don't know, your husband?" Tubbo giggles a tad despite the concern in his eyes. "Excuse me, I'm the gold-digger here, get your own." And they both crack up, and some of the tension lifts from Tommy's shoulders. 

"Okay, seriously, you want me to kill you?" The terse air settles between them as Tubbo's hand floats to his sword. "I- Yeah." "Because then you can't be scared of being close to death." "Mmhm." "So you want me to kill you, right now, right here?" 

Tommy nods steadily, and Tubbo, still uncertain, unsheathes his sword. The blade isn't the sharpest, but it'll do the job. Tommy swallows thickly. "I- I trust you. If it were anyone else... Never." 

He thought about how, whenever he'd asked to be hit earlier, it was Tubbo who'd stepped up to the plate. Certainly, it was true at the time that he'd felt the jolt of terror and pain, but he was always glad it was Tubbo. There was an unspoken promise in their shared glances, their short requests and careful responses. 

“You know I’d never do that, right?” An echo of an old memory, from a less-than-ideal location. “I won’t turn on you or go insane like Wil and Techno.” “Mmhm… And I you.”

"Ready?" Tommy waves the totem around to illustrate, "This better not be a bloody decoy." Their shared smile is forced and wavering, flickering like a candle, shaking like fraying ropes, reaching for a hand that isn't there. The hand is on his shoulder, Tommy notes faintly: it steadies him as the sword pierces his gut, snatching all the air from his lungs. He's drowning in a sudden wave of 'Why here? Why the hell did we stay here?' as a familiar numbing sensation starts to wash over him like the tide, receding in parts and then coming back for more. The darkness entices him - the very same darkness he's been fighting to outrun all along, the same darkness that engulfs him and all his friends in his nightmares. Once, many moons ago, they were all blissfully ignorant of that shadow that stayed firmly three steps behind them and six feet below. Except now, at least for Tommy, death is a memory, and with a totem in hand, he rises to meet it. 

Tubbo rips the sword out, and the body of his best friend crumples to the ground like paper disregarded and consigned to oblivion. His weapon hits the ground with a clatter and his sword arm falls limp, reluctant to acknowledge Tommy's blood on the blade as he watches, hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms, as the totem in Tommy's hand starts to glow, golden light emanating from the emerald eyes and intricate details. About time. About bloody time. 

It's pitch black, and the totem is gone. Tommy feels weightless. Tommy feels like a person made of pieces, loosely strung together like a marionette doll. Tommy feels helpless and alone, and quite possibly dead. 

Make no mistake; there's also that perverted sense of comfort, ever-present as it seems. A welcome gift, he supposes, to what should be the rest of your eternity. He feels all his 'worldly worries' start to scatter, leaving him feeling so empty he's clawing at nothing to get them back. No worries, no troubles and no meaning. That is the lot of the dead. Yet, Tommy will not be one of them, not today. 

Everything returns to him so quickly, it almost feels like he's having aspects of his personality thrown back at him with the force of bricks launched from cannons. Should he reach out to grab them, or should he let them go? The darkness begins to melt away, leading him back to a room full of chests and a friend, and for a second he imagines he hears a familiar voice tease: "You should take off your coat Tommy, you look like you're not staying." 

The instant his soul is catapulted back into his body, instincts kick in, and his wobbling legs somehow get him halfway across the room before they get too tangled up and surrender. He doesn't bother cowering - it's Tubbo - instead, he chooses to pull his shirt up to his ribs. The entry site of the stabbing has healed, golden radiance under his skin like godly blood swirling away from the closed wound and leaving it the proper crimson hue of mortals. It worked. He's back. He's back. 

Suddenly, he's hit with a force equitable to several small dogs and, oh, it's Tubbo. His arms rest wearily against his best friend's back as the smaller boy buries his head in Tommy's shoulder, folding him into his arms and cradling him tightly. "I- I'm ok- Are you crying?" His response from the shuddering mass of brown curls next to his head comes quietly, "Don't ever make me do that again." "...Okay. I won't." 

Eventually, they break apart, Tommy noticing the red rims around Tubbo's eyes as he messes with Tommy's shirt. "Ah, dammit." "What?" He gives a tiny snort-laugh marked with tears. "I've put a hole in your d*mn shirt." He looks down at it too. "That's alright, long as you fix it." Consequently, Tubbo gives him a funny look, which he raises his eyes to meet with bemusement. "Yeah, right. I'll fix it, it's nothing." 

Tubbo holds his eye contact for close to ten seconds. "You have..." He shifts across the floor to the left, putting one of the lights at his back, before reaching out and taking Tommy's face in his hands. "You have little flecks of gold in your eyes, dude." "I- What?" Tubbo drops his hands and nods. "You've got gold in your eyes now, boss man." "Does it-" He jumps to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and strikes a pose. "Does it make me even more incredibly good-looking?" 

Tubbo snorts. "Something like that. It's not bad, just... After-product of the totem, I'd guess. Which is interesting to know." He gets to his feet too, hand finding Tommy's side and holding on by a fistful of cloth. "Hey, how about, are you alright?" Tommy asked, picking the hand up and slinging it over his shoulder so they stood hip-to-hip, heads tilted up and down for each other’s benefit.

"I'm fine, just... That wasn't the most fun." Tommy ponders for a moment before responding. "I think I'd be concerned if it was." They chuckle a little. "No, but seriously man, thank you, for doing that." He says sincerely. Tubbo smiles back, all of a sudden seeming too tired to even stand, and Tommy stoops a little to catch him before he faints or something. "Just... did it work?" 

Did it work? The darkness still terrified him, ripping the warmth from within him, and he wasn't totally expecting to go back there when using the totem. So, points for new knowledge discovered, perhaps? Despite all that, though, the look in Tubbo's eyes makes his mouth move on its own. He looks so weary. 

"Yeah. I feel... less afraid now. Honestly." He tacks on, for the dubious non-believer by his side that could always tell when he was lying. "I... I can do this now." "...Okay."

[2dmenenthusiast]

Bring me down (Arvin Russell x Reader)

Plot: Rather than God, you find solace in your only friend in Coal Creak, Arvin Russel, not knowing that he just might need you just as much as you need him.

Words: 4,176

Warnings: None really? Some swearing, suggestive themes, Arvin beating the crap out of people

A/N: heeeeey so first post yay lmao. (I have another blog tho so yeah) but after watching TDATT I just had to write something about Arvin. The movie is so amazing and if you haven’t watched it I suggest you do. Plus Tom Holland in that movie was just absolutely amzing (and hot af). But I hope you guys like this! I also tried to make the reader as gender neutral and non specific as possible for everyone, so let me know if I messed up anything. Also let me know if you’d like to see more!

There wasn’t a whole lot to do in Coal Creek, West Virginia. Besides driving aimlessly or stopping at the few diners around town, there wasn’t much that people did other than go to work and go to church every Sunday morning. However, people that grew up in Coal Creek still found ways to have fun, whether that was getting their rocks off in some abandoned parking lot or terrorizing some unsuspecting soul walking in the night. Most resorted to just getting drunk on a Saturday night before going to church the next morning, pretending that their head wasn’t pounding from the mass amounts of alcohol they drank the previous night.

Which is why you couldn’t understand for the life of you why Arvin did nothing but get himself into trouble.

“Christ, Arvin,” you sighed, rubbing the wet cloth under his nose to try and clean up the dried blood. “I don’t understand how you get in these damn fights all the time. Can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to them maybe?”

You knew immediately how ridiculous you sounded when the words came out of your mouth. There was no talking to Gene Dinwoodie and his lackeys. You just hated seeing Arvin so beat up all the time.

He scoffed and pushed your hand away, looking off to the side to avoid your gaze as you frowned.

“Fuck that. That no good sonuvabitch is gonna keep messin’ with Lenora unless I do somethin’ ‘bout it.” He then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ talking. Jesus, do you know who you sound like?”

You weren’t expecting him to suddenly face you, and you sighed as you sat down on your bed next to him.

“Emma, I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You reached over and took his hand in both of yours, thumb gently brushing over his bruised and split knuckles. “It kills me to see you constantly getting bruised and beat up. And I can’t even do anything about it.”

You felt Arvin squeeze one of your hands, and you brought your gaze back up to meet his, your eyes slightly drifting to the purplish discolored skin below his left eye.

“Now that’s not true. Who else would patch me up everytime I get the shit kicked out of me, hm?” he asked, his lips splitting into a grin.

You scoffed and took your hand out of his to push at his shoulder before laying back on your bed, resting your intertwined hands on your stomach and staring at the white discolored ceiling.

“You’re lucky I even still do this for you. My daddy’s startin’ to throw a fit, constantly seeing you over here.” You sat up on your elbows to look at the boy. “He don’t like you too much, y’know.”

Arvin hummed and laid down next to you, turning onto his side and resting his cheek in his propped up hand, and you felt yourself wanting to shrink under his gaze. You and Arvin had some unspoken thing between the two of you. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but you knew for sure it wasn’t something as plain and simple as friendship. You had never kissed or anything like that. Well, besides when you both were about twelve years old and wanted to see what it was like, constantly seeing the adults around you kiss like it was something they did all the time. You were both young and curious, and you couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else, so it only made sense. Of course, it wasn’t anything spectacular. You were inexperienced kids, and at the time you weren’t really aware of your feelings.

Of course, you had loved Arvin since you were little. You met him when he transferred to your school after moving from Ohio. He was pretty quiet at first, didn’t really talk unless a teacher made him, and he’d get picked on and beat up by the older kids. He was new and didn’t have any friends, so of course he was an easy target. It wasn’t until he met you that he actually started opening up. You were friends with Lenora and often went over to her house, spending the night and going to church on Sunday with her and her family. Your relationship with Lenora sparked your friendship with her stepbrother, and you two were inseparable ever since. 

As you grew older though, you grew distant from Lenora. You had stopped going to church ever since your mother died, your faith pretty much nonexistent at that point, and you began to question everything about religion. You didn’t blame God for letting your mother die. In fact, you didn’t really know how to feel. All you knew was that rather than getting her some actual help, all everyone did was pray.

“Pray for her, y/n. God will save her,” is what they said.

What a load of horse shit. Praying only seemed to make her worse. And when she died, you completely closed yourself off from the rest of the world. Hell, Arvin could barely get through to you sometimes. But despite how angry you were, you still found it in yourself to let him in. The town didn’t like you too much after all that. People who didn’t go to church in Coal Creek weren’t really accepted by the public. They were cast out as outsiders for not finding solace in the Lord’s name. Not that you minded much of course. The town was full of fake people that weren’t worth your time. The only person you cared about was the boy laying on your bed at the moment.

“I miss her sometimes, you know,” you muttered softly, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

Arvin raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by your words. “Who? Your mom?”

You shook your head. “No… Well, I mean yeah, I do miss her, but… I’m talkin’ about your sister.”

It was silent for a moment, neither one of you speaking as you laid comfortably in each other’s presence.

“... Does she ever ask about me?”

Arvin sighed, running his hand through his slightly untamed hair.

“Sometimes. I mean, she doesn’t really ask about how you are or anything. More like she interrogates me about what we're doin’ when we hang out.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, standing up from the bed and walking over to your bedroom window, watching as the sun began to set. You then heard the bed lightly creak and footsteps getting closer to you, and you’d be able to tell from a mile away that it was Arvin due to his signature boots. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and you slightly tensed up as his arms wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, looking out at the evening sky with you.

You lightly shrugged. “It’s all right. You’re all I need in this shit town anyway,” you said, turning your head to look back at Arvin with a small smile. 

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes drift down to your lips for a moment, but couldn’t put anymore thought into it as you suddenly felt his lips against your cheek, closing your eyes at the sensation. It was over all too soon when he pulled away, your body feeling cold as he released you from his arms, and you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and get some of that warmth back.

“I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, picking up his jean jacket that he had thrown on the floor once he entered your room and slipping it on.

You hummed and nodded, giving him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you resisted the urge to ask him to stay the night. He’d spent the night at your house before, but asking him now seemed a bit too intimate. As he walked towards the door, you felt something bubble up in your throat, and as he began to step out of your bedroom, you took a step forward, reaching a hand up before you could properly think.

“Arvin, I…”

He turned to face you, all the words you wanted to say suddenly getting stuck on your tongue, and you sighed as you let your hand drop to your side, feeling a bit pathetic.

“Please… Please be careful,” you said softly, your concern clear in your expression.

Arvin gave you a small smile and nodded.

“I always am, darlin’. Don’t you worry about me.”

You let out the breath you weren’t aware you had been holding once he stepped out, and you watched from your window as he drove away in his beat up car. It was a miracle that thing hadn’t broken down already. You two had so many memories and adventures in that car, staying out late at night listening to the radio or going on short road trips outside of town that you wished never ended. It was one of the only times you ever felt peace, being in that shabby old car with Arvin. And as you fell back onto your bed and reminisced, you couldn't help but feel your heart ache a bit, thinking that one day all of this might come to an end.

_____________

“So is there any reason in particular you need me to be here?” you asked, looking at the front of the high school building from the passenger seat of Arvin’s car.

Arvin puffed on his cigarette and turned to you, blowing the smoke in your face, which you in turn punched him in the shoulder for as you coughed.

“You never know when to stop askin’ questions, do ya? I’ll let you know after we drop Lenora off to see her mom.”

Your eyes slightly widened at the mention of his sister’s name. “L-Lenora?”

As if on cue, the girl came running out the double doors of the school, pausing for a moment when she saw you in the front seat, before finally hopping into the back, Arvin turning his head to meet her gaze. He then looked back towards the school when he heard Gene Dinwoodie and his buddies shout for Lenora as they ran towards the car before he sped off, and you could hear vague shouts of “sister fucker” as you drove away.

The tension in the car grew thick, and you could feel Lenora’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you let out a shaky breath. You were going to kill Arvin once you got him alone. He knew your relationship with Lenora was rocky, and yet he decided it was a smart idea for you two to be in a car together?

“God fucking dammit, Arvin!” you thought, your fists clenching in your lap.

You glanced over at the boy, catching his gaze for a moment before he looked away, fingers visibly tightening on the steering wheel. Once he pulled up to the church, you all sat in silence for a moment, the only noise being the loud rumbling of the engine.

“That preacher’s a little flashy,” you heard Arvin say, and it was clear he was trying to relieve some of the tension between all of you.

Lenora then piped up from the backseat: “Are you not coming?”

Arvin shook his head. “No, I got some things to do before we go home.”

Lenora looked at you again before dropping her gaze to her lap, scrunching up her dress in her fists. “Does it have to do with them?”

You sharply inhaled and dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, turning your head to look out the window to try and stop yourself from saying anything too mean. Why was it even any of her business? Sure, they grew up together and were basically siblings, but Arvin was a grown adult who could make his own decisions. And what, she had a problem with you just because you didn’t go to fucking church?

“Go on, Lenora. I’ll be back to pick you up,” Arvin said, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

She didn’t move at first until Arvin told her to go again, and she stepped out of the car, slamming the door a bit more forcefully than she needed to before stomping off towards her mother’s grave. Once she was out of sight, you immediately turned to Arvin and sent punch after punch to his arm, brows furrowed and teeth clenched in anger.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Arvin?! You couldn’t have given me a little warning?! Or maybe picked me up after you dropped your sister off?!”

“Ow, ow! Hey, would you just-!”

He grabbed ahold of your wrists, leaning over you and pinning you against the car door as you struggled underneath his grip.

“Would you cool it?! I wouldn’t have had time to come get you after dropping Lenora off, and I want you to be with me when I do this so I don’t fuckin’ kill someone, you understand?!”

You stopped struggling, looking up at Arvin with slightly widened eyes as your chest heaved, trying to catch your breath. You then became very aware of your position, face flushing as your eyes searched his face and trailed down to his lips. Before anything else could happen though, you pulled your hands out of his grasp and pressed them against his chest, feeling his lean muscles through his tight shirt, and pushed him off of you, quickly sitting up and pressing your back against the seat.

“What… What do you mean by that? So that you won’t kill someone?” you asked, finally looking over at Arvin.

He sighed and glanced over at you before putting the car in drive and driving away from the church, hoping that Lenora didn’t just witness the interaction between you two.

“Fuckin’ Dinwoodie and those other assholes aren’t gonna leave Lenora alone unless I do somethin’ ‘bout it. And I really just need you there to keep me in check. Make sure I don’t beat those sons of bitches too bad. You… You’re one of the only ones that calm me down, so…”

You stared at Arvin for a moment, taking in what he said before letting out a light chuckle and shaking your head.

“Fuckin’ christ, Arvin. You’re a damn idiot, you know that?” you said, your shoulders relaxing a bit as you noticed Arvin forming a smile of his own.

“Yeah, but you still put up with me.”

He sent you a wink and you rolled your eyes, letting out a small scoff as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“All right then,” you sighed. “Let’s go beat up some fuckers.”

_____________

It was raining by the time you and Arvin pulled up to the school, Arvin watching the doors like a hawk for Tommy Matson to come out. Neither of you said a word, simply listening to the radio as you both passed around a cigarette. This must’ve been what Arvin meant when he talked about waiting for the right time. He always mentioned it and told you it was something his daddy taught him when he was younger, but you had never seen him get into an actual fight, you were just there for the aftermath. Well, until now, that is.

Once you saw Tommy exit the building with some girl under his arm, Arvin let out a long exhale through his nose and handed you his half finished cigarette, stepping out into the rain as you took a few puffs. Your eyes then widened when you saw him walk towards the buses with a tire iron in his hand, quickly stepping out of the car and grabbing his arm. He turned around to look at you, the look in his eyes asking “what the hell are you doing?”

“I thought you said you didn’t wanna kill nobody. You’re gonna beat his face in with a tire iron?”

Arvin pulled out of your grip, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Won’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to teach him a lesson.”

He then shrugged off his jean jacket and draped it over your shoulders, the look in his eyes telling you that nothing was going to stop him from doing this. Not if it kept him from protecting his sister.

“Stay by the car,” he muttered, parting with a kiss to your forehead and adjusting the tool in his grip.

It only took a few minutes for Arvin to come back, his steps a bit faster and his chest heaving, and he gestured with his hand for you to get back in the car as he threw the wrench he used to beat Tommy with into the backseat and got behind the wheel, speeding out of the school parking lot. While you wished that was the end of it, you knew he still had Orville Buckman and Gene Dinwoodie to take care of. And while you didn’t really like all the violence, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of adrenaline course through you as Arvin drove a bit past the speed limit, tongue swiping out to wet your bottom lip as you glanced over at him.

Arvin soon pulled up to the side of a garage, putting the car in park and stepping out, this time without the tire iron. You knew he probably wanted you to stay in the car, but you couldn;t help but let curiosity get the best of you as you quietly stepped out and followed a few paces behind him, watching as he came up behind Dinwoodie and slammed the hood of the car he was under against his head twice. The scene unfolded so quickly, you didn’t really know how to react, your eyes wide as Arvin kicked the door into Orville and sent blow after blow until his face was bloody, covering his face with a paper bag after rubbing a Twinkie in his face and punching him some more.

At first you didn’t notice it, but your eyes soon caught Gene getting up, regaining his balance as he grabbed a long wrench and began making his way towards Arvin who still had his back to him, completely unaware.

“Hey, asshole!” you shouted, purely acting on instinct as he turned to face you, and you sent a right hook straight to his face, your foot coming up to kick him in the groin afterwards.

You felt a strange, sick satisfaction as you watched him crumble to the ground, hands over his crotch as he wheezed, and Arvin looked at you in amazement for a moment before crouching down next to the moaning boy and putting a paper bag over his head as well. His hands held him by the neck as he made threats to kill him if Gene or his buddies ever messed with Lenora again, the boy wheezing out apologies through the bag, and once Arvin was satisfied, he got up and stepped over Dinwoodie, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you back to the car.

He drove until the garage was far behind you two, pulling over onto an abandoned stretch of road and letting out a shaky breath as he parked the car on the gravel. You two sat there for a moment, listening closely to the sound of Arvin’s heavy breathing before he reached across you and into the glovebox for a rag to wipe his bloody knuckles with.

“Here, let me,” you said softly, grabbing the rag from him and gently dabbing his knuckles with it.

You could feel gaze on you, staring so intently it was like he was trying to burn a hole through you.

“You’re staring, Arvin,” you said, your voice still quiet like you were afraid to speak up.

He didn’t answer, still staring as you grabbed his other hand to clean it as well. You let out a sigh, looking up at the boy.

“Arvin-”

His lips were on yours before you could get another word out, inhaling sharply and tensing up as you felt his hands on your face. It took a second or two for you to relax, melting into the kiss and placing your hands against his chest, gripping his shirt as you felt one of his hands slide around to the back of your neck, pushing your lips further against his as his arm looped around you to pull you against him. This was overwhelming, your mind not able to catch up as Arvin kissed you with everything he had.

“Arvin,” you muttered against his lips, trying to get his attention.

But he didn’t stop, his kisses only becoming more desperate as the rain pounded harder against the windshield, almost as loud as the drumming of your heart. You felt a calloused hand slide up the front of your shirt, and that’s when you knew you needed to stop this before things got way too far.

“A-Arvin!” you persisted, pushing against his chest, and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver go down your spine as he let out a growl against your lips, not happy with being interrupted.

“Fuck, what?” he asked breathlessly, his hand still pressed against your side underneath your shirt as your wide eyes searched his expression.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I… I-I just-”

“Y/n,” Arvin muttered softly, his thumb gently brushing over your bottom lip as you caught his gaze.

You let him kiss you again, Arvin capturing your lips with his and being a bit more gentle and slower than he had been before. However, when you let out a soft moan against his lips, it only seemed to spur him on, causing him to part your lips with his tongue and deepen the kiss as he gently pushed you until your back hit the passenger door. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, your skin hot to the touch, and you didn’t know if it was just you or if it was Arvin’s hands that were causing your whole body to heat up.

You let out a small gasp when you felt his hands go to the front of your jeans, attempting to make quick work of the button and zipper, but your hands stopped him, causing him to pull back with his brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-... Isn’t your sister waiting for us? I mean, we’ve been gone for a while,” you said softly. Not that you really cared, you were just trying to buy some time so you could catch your breath and think for a second.

Arvin scoffed in amusement and smirked down at you.

“Since when did you give a shit about what my sister thinks?”

You knew he had you there, and you saw he was about to say something else, probably just to tease you, so you quickly reached up and laced your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to shut him up with another heated kiss. His smirk remained as he kissed you, and in that moment he knew he would never be able to get enough of you. He had always been aware about his feelings for you, and he realized that waiting for the right time could be applied to more than just beating the shit out of people. But perhaps he had waited a bit too long this time, because as his lips locked with yours over and over, he realized he should’ve done this much sooner.

“Arvin, um…”

He pulled away when you began to speak, bringing a hand up to gently hold your face as his thumb caressed your cheek.

“Do you think we could um… maybe do this somewhere less cramped? My dad aint gonna be home til later, so…”

Arvin looked at you for a moment and nodded, giving you one last kiss before pulling away from you and putting the car in drive again. You would occasionally glance at each other during the ride back to the church, not able to help the blush on your face from appearing, and he chuckled at your embarrassed expression, reaching over to hold your hand. He knew once he got you alone, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you. 

By the time you got back to the church, the sun had started to set, and Lenora didn’t say a word as she got into the backseat. And if she noticed Arvin’s hand resting on your thigh, she certainly didn’t say anything about that either. She didn’t even question her brother when he didn’t get out of the car after he dropped her off at home, just watching the both of you drive back towards your house in the rusted vehicle. The giddiness was practically radiating off of the two of you as you thought about being alone with each other, Arvin’s hand squeezing your thigh.

But little did you know, your lives were about to get a lot crazier in the months to come.

[sorcererinthestars]

I wrote this a while back for @shadeofazmeinya and realized I never posted it. Their request was something along the lines of a museum date and as I’m currently in grad school for museum studies, I jumped on it!

Ships: Micheoff

Thank you to beloved @gayafsatan for teaching my idiot self how to do readmore on mobile lol

-

Michael knew from the moment they approached the huge doorway that he didn’t want to be here. More, he didn’t belong here. He was scum from the pits of Jersey, even dressed up in nicer clothes and given a new job didn’t mean that he was allowed to cross the threshold of a place like this.

But Geoff was already striding forward, a content look on his face, and Michael really didn’t want to be left behind, so he skittered forward after him. He hovers behind Geoff’s left arm, not sure what was the correct protocol, and follows him through the big double doors.

The museum’s foyer is warm and inviting, with cascading light from many windows and marble floors. They click over them as they approach the front desk. Geoff grins at the woman behind the counter and she glances at him a bit warily for a moment - taking in all the tattoos - but then returns the smile. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I’m just taking my friend here around. I’d like two tickets, if you don’t mind,” Geoff says smoothly, glancing over and gesturing for Michael to approach the table. The woman glances at him, taking him in, but she nods and completes the transaction, handing over the tickets. “Don’t miss the new exhibit on the third floor,” she hums. “We have a few Van Gogh paintings. They’re truly exceptional.” 

Geoff’s eyes light up and Michael does have to hide a smile. There we go. That was the real reason they were spending a few hours touring a shit museum when Michael could be out racing cars or cleaning his guns or playing a few rounds of Rocket League. Their next heist was simple - they were going to break in and steal those paintings. Any Van Gogh on the black market would be worth an exorbitant amount. Plus, as Geoff explained, they hadn’t hit the Los Santos Art Museum in quite some time. It’d be fun to do it again.

He hadn’t expected Geoff to pick him as his ‘date’ to case the museum and the exhibit. Certainly Jack would have been a better pick, or even Gavin who was more familiar with the security layouts and would probably benefit from being inside. But no. Geoff had picked him of all people. Just saying that he would like a day alone with him.

He couldn’t refuse. Not when his boss wanted him to go, anyways. So Michael, Jersey street kid and scum of the gutters, was standing in possibly the most beautiful and classy place he had ever been in. He follows Geoff closely, unsure of how he should act in a place like this.

Geoff chuckles at his anxiety. “Relax,” he hums. “We need to check out the exhibit upstairs, but nothing says we can’t enjoy ourselves first.” His hand gently brushes Michael’s and the boy turns a bright red. “Take in some culture,” he teases. “I think you fucking need it.”

“Don’t be a dick, Geoff,” Michael retorts a bit awkwardly and they start to wander in and out of some of the more permanent exhibits. He can’t help but admit that he’s taken aback a bit by some of the pieces. Every time he catches Geoff’s expression out of the corner of his eye, the man seems... fond. Which makes Michael uneasy, but he can’t dwell on it, because around every corner there’s something more... magical.

He can’t explain what the feeling was. Just that this place - with a bunch of art, most of which he only cared about the price tag - was doing something to him. It wasn’t really the art. While pretty, it was just something to look at. Or it would be if they stole it.

However, the positioning, exhibit designs, interactives... It was washing over him from every direction and soon - like a kid with hyperactivity - he just felt the need to continue bouncing, continue exploring. Geoff follows along, warmth blooming in his chest. 

“Michael,” he asks after stopping the man’s diatribe about how the blood was painted incorrectly on a painting of a murder, “have you ever been to a museum before?”

Michael pauses, a bit taken aback. “No,” he admits with a touch of pink. “Is that obvious?”

Geoff laughs. “Not really. I like it though. You’re so excited.” He wraps his arm around his shoulder. Michael leans in a bit despite himself. The feeling is so warm and genuine and he likes how well he fits in the crook of Geoff’s arm. “I want to do this more with you. There’s some other museums in LS. We don’t have to be stealing from one to go check it out.”

Michael’s ears turn crimson. “... you asking me on a date, boss?”

Now it’s Geoff’s turn to become a bit pink. “Not a date, Jones.” There’s a bit of a pause and Geoff doesn’t let go. The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Not unless you want it to be.

Michael glances around. It’s late in the afternoon on a Wednesday, before the work crowd releases. No one else is in the room with them. Michael’s heart thumps wildly in his chest. Geoff... his boss was such a pillar. Someone he respected more than anything in the world. But...

Geoff releases his arm around his shoulder and brushes some of his flyaway hair off his face. “It would be fun as dicks,” he finally says with a bit of a smile. “But we can worry about that some other time. Come on, we have the third floor to visit and we need to focus.”

He turns and starts walking, leaving Michael flustered and waiting in the middle of the exhibit hall. Michael can watch Geoff’s mannerisms turn back into Ramsey with every step. Colder, more detached. And with every step away from him, Michael feels something tear inside his soul - some small bond that was forming between them that had the potential to become so, so much more.

“Geoff, wait!” he calls, taking a frantic step forward. Geoff turns around, raising his eyebrow, as if to ask what?

“I’d... I’d like to go,” he says quietly. “To another museum with you, that is.” He bites his lip. It’s not an admission he’d like a date. He’s not quite sure how to even ask that, especially not of the boss of the criminal empire he was trying to join.

But the smile that erupts on Geoff’s face makes it all worth it. It’s warm and large and genuine enough that it makes Michael smile sheepishly back. He takes a few quick bounds back over to Michael .. it’s Geoff again, not Ramsey, just the warm happy-go-lucky man that only a few get to see.

“Really?” he hums. “You would?”

Michael nods a bit wordlessly, taken aback by the smile on Geoff’s face. It twists his stomach into knots, but good knots. It’s something he thought he would steal every piece of art in here just to see again. Geoff squeezes his hand warmly and without hesitating, leans down and brushes just the briefest of kisses on Michael’s lips.

There’s an electrifying pause and Michael’s eyes are as wide as saucers when they break apart, his heart thudding a million miles a minute as his body processes what just happened. But before he can say anything, Geoff is turning away. “Come on, now,” he hums. “We have work to do.”

Like he didn’t just kiss his newest hire in an art gallery.

Michael manages to kick his body back into gear just as Geoff was disappearing through the door, running along behind him. Work now, for sure. He could do that. But later....

Later, he’d have to see how much a membership to this museum cost, because he could get used to this.

[thefloorisbalaclava]

okay. i’m supposed to be editing the next pre-pragma one shot but i’m stopping to write a little something about this. can’t resist when it comes to frankie.

this was such an inspirational ask. thank you for sending it. nearly 2k words!

Imagine…

It’s early. The sun is barely over the horizon when he wakes you. And, of course, he never just shakes you awake, no, there’s kisses and nuzzles and a “come on, sleepyhead” or “good morning, beautiful”.

Frankie is certainly a morning person so you’re not surprised to see that he’s all dressed and ready when you finally wake up.

“What’s going on?” you ask, rolling out of bed.

He shrugs. “Let’s just go somewhere. I packed us a few things already.”

“How long have you been up?” You walk to the bathroom.

“A few hours. Come on.” He taps your bottom and you giggle. You shower as quickly as you can then throw on some comfortable clothes. You’ve learned that when Frankie says he wants to go somewhere that means it’ll most likely be a long drive. He loves getting away with you. He turns his phone off and everything.

By the time you get downstairs, he’s already loaded up his truck and is waiting for you. He’s leaning against the truck, arms crossed, shades on and smiling. “Ready to go, babe?”

“I’m always ready to go with you, baby.” You walk up and kiss him. “Where are we going?”

“We’re just…going,” he says as you walk to the other side to get in. Once he gets in, he pulls out his road trip mix CD and puts it on. It has a little bit of everything and you both always end up singing along to almost every song.

He stops about an hour and a half in to get gas and stretch his legs. You offer to drive but he always tells you he just wants you to sightsee. He knows how much you like to take pictures and he stops whenever you ask him to.

“Are you liking it so far?” he asks, putting the gas pump back in place.

“Of course. I’m with the love of my life going on an adventure. What’s not to like?”

And that’s what he loves about you. He loves that you call these little road trips adventures. He loves that you enjoy spending time with him. He loves you.

“What are you thinking about, Frankie?”

“You, duh.” He turns his head to you for a kiss before pulling back onto the road.

“I never noticed those mountains over there,” you confess, pointing. You realize that being with Frankie helps you notice and see things you never really have before. A new appreciation for everything around you had blossomed in your heart all because of him. He helps you stop, take a breath, and take in the world around you and what you’ve been missing. What can be greater than that?

“Wanna stop for pictures?” he asks when he sees the way you put you lean on your arms out the window.

“When we get closer.”

*

The sun is high in the sky now and Frankie pulls over for another little break. You both sit in the bed of his truck eating the sandwiches he packed. He passes you your water bottle—it's one he bought for you a few years ago. It is dented and worn from how many times you’ve used it on your hikes and adventures but you’ll never get rid of it.

“Thank you, sugar.” You take the bottle from him and just enjoy the peace and quiet of being away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. When you look at him again, he’s smiling from ear to ear. “What?

“I just…like when you call me names like that.” He shrugs shyly and lowers his head so you can’t see his face under the bill of his cap.

“You mean like baby, handsome, sweetie, cutie…Francisco?”

He nods, swallowing the bit of sandwich he had in his mouth. “Especially that but…” He puts down what he was holding and pushes you onto your back, making you giggle. “That’s liable to get you in trouble.”

“What kinda trouble?” you ask, taking his hat off and putting it off to the side.

“The good kind.” He kisses you and you run your fingers through his hat hair.

“Didn’t know there was such a thing,” you tease.

“With me there is.” He kisses you again, trembling as you scratch at his scalp. “We keep this up the road trip ends here.”

“If it did, I’d still love it. Always an adventure, remember?”

“Always.” He sits up and puts his hat back on before hopping out the back of the truck then helping you down.

*

Three hours in and he’s taken you towards the mountains you pointed out earlier.

“You didn’t have to, Frankie.”

“Yes, I did.” He takes your hand and kisses it.

“You’re so good to me.”

“No other way for me to be. Wanna stop for pictures now?” You nod and he finds a good spot to pull over. He reaches into the backseat and pulls out your camera. “Knew you’d need this.”

“What would I do without you?” You take the camera from him and get out the truck. He follows you, watching as you take pictures, moving here and there, kneeling, standing…then you turn to him.

“Uh…no…” He tries to cover his face but he’s too slow and soon he’s laughing and you’re capturing it all.

“You are in your element, sir. Pose,” you say dramatically and he rolls his eyes, leaning against the truck and crossing his arms. “Oh yes!”

“Stop it,” he chuckles, turning away which only makes the sunlight shine onto his face in the loveliest way. You always tell him he is a work of art and you mean it. “Don’t you have more interesting things to take pictures of?”

“Nope. There is nothing more interesting than you.” You snap a few more pictures of him then turn away, looking at the view. “I mean this view is great but you’re beautiful.”

“Really? I don’t think anyone’s ever called me beautiful before.”

“Well, I am. You’re beautiful, Francisco.”

“Gimme this.” He takes the camera from you and starts taking pictures of you. “Pose,” he quips and you actually do—silly poses, silly faces that make him nearly double over in laughter. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Liar.”

He stands beside you again, taking in the view before looking at you. “I mean it. You’re gorgeous.”

“Eh…not like this.” You look down at your clothes.

“I think this is when you’re the most beautiful,” he says. “Not a care in the world, relaxed, smiling. This is you.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“Not trying to be. Just speaking the truth.” He pulls you against him and sways slowly. “We’re surrounded by all this beauty but I only have eyes for you.”

“Frankie…”

“Don’t get me wrong, this view is stunning but you’re even more so. And I get to look at you and see you every day.”

“Well…doesn’t that make me less special after a while? The same face over and over again.”

“But it’s not the same. I come home from work every day and the first thing I wanna see is your face. Whether it’s stressed out or sad or frustrated or happy…I get to see it. I get to kiss it better and be the one to make you smile if you’re sad. I’m luckiest damn guy in the world.”

“I didn’t think I could love you anymore than I do but you help me break my record every day.” You sniffle and wipe your eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what? What I just said…”

“Yes, but also for reminding me of the beauty in the world. For making every day of my life an adventure. For showing me this.” You spread your arms out. “But, most of all, thank you for loving me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” The kiss that happens after he says that is a thank you, but it’s also an ‘I love you’ and ‘I can’t live without you’. It’s all those words that are left unsaid, all the things you may forget to say out loud. The kiss is an unspoken ode to love, an unwritten love letter. It takes you on another adventure as your heart beats in time with his.

*

You fall asleep on the way back so you miss the little glances Frankie sends your way. He is so in love.

He pulls onto the side of a quiet road and you stir a bit, but he still wakes you up in his own way—kisses and whispered sweet nothings. A nuzzle here, a gentle touch there and you’re awake.

“Damn, did I miss anything?” you ask as you stretch. The sun had set now.

“Nah. Come on, let’s stretch.”

You get out of the truck and look at him. “Let’s stay out here tonight,” you suggest.

“In the truck?” he asks and you nod.

“Another adventure,” you say.

“You got it.” He always kept a blanket in his truck.

“Look at those stars.” You are always so amazed when you look up at night. But Frankie, he didn’t need to look up to see his moon and stars. He didn’t even have to look up to see the sun. All he had to do was look at you. Every celestial body paled in comparison.

He helps you into the bed of the truck then hops in beside you, kicking off his boots and helping you take off yours. He pulls you close as you lie down and takes his hat off.

“You’ll protect me from the bugs, right?” you ask.

“I’ll protect you from all the bad things in the world especially the bugs.” He chuckles when you roll your eyes.

“You wanna know my favorite thing about our little random road trips?”

“Hm?” Frankie’s eyes are closed already.

“I get to go on them with you. I get you to myself for a day.”

“I’m yours all day every day…for the rest of our lives,” he says sleepily.

“That’s a pretty long time,” you say, snuggling up against him.

“A lifelong road trip, babe. A lifelong adventure.”

[chrysalispen]

#1 - Foster

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33640546/chapters/83598181

"She's getting so big," Vittora cen Remianus says. 

"She is." 

L'haiya agrees more to make conversation than aught else. The Miqo'te's two-toned eyes flicker in the direction of that little head with its riotous crown of rolanberry-gold curls - now bent studiously over a modest tower of wooden bricks - before turning her attention back to the drawn, exhausted face of the child's mother. Vittora has never really been what one would call robust, but at least the composer's pallor had been offset by a bit of spring in her step once upon a time. There is color in her cheeks, of course, a bright rosy flush, but L'haiya suspects the credit for it belongs to artifice and a half-bell spent before a dressing mirror, not to improved health.

"And so very, very bright." There is a note of quiet pride in the Garlean woman's voice, one which L'haiya has previously only heard from her when she speaks of one of her completed commissions premiering in the state playhouses. "I aim to have her brought to my studio on her fourth nameday. She is old enough now to begin pianoforte lessons."

"I wish you good fortune. You will need it," L'haiya laughs. "Small children are rarely wont to sit still for long, especially if something of greater interest catches their eye."

Vittora's shoulders lift and drop, the movement loose and listless, as though her arms are lifted by marionette strings. "Then I shall simply have to be the most fascinating thing in the room," she says, and L'haiya's brow creases before she can stop herself. 

"You did not call me here to talk about Aurelia's piano lessons, surely."

The statement, faintly accusatory, falls like lead from her lips. Were it anyone else, she would not have dared to speak thus. The layers of social hierarchy in the Garlean Empire are many and complex, like the fine layers of sponge in a princess cake: upset even one, and it can upend the entire concoction. Vittora is of common stock, but common or not she is still a true Garlean, and one married into one of the realm's most powerful military families at that.

But if the lady of the house is in any way offended by the boldness of her social inferior she does not show it: a rueful smile curves her thin lips. The light in her eyes seems muted, as though refracted through green bottle-glass. "I did not, but this matter very much concerns my daughter."

There is no hiding her worry. Vittora has had occasional spells of illness as long as they have known each other: brief and always fleeting, never longer than a day or two. But the physical strain of carrying a child and the long and difficult labor she endured to bring Aurelia into the world--these have left her a shadow of the sprightly, ambitious woman she once was.

Mingled with the pride in her eyes is sorrow: sorrow, and bone-deep fatigue.

L'haiya swallows past the sudden constriction she feels tightening her throat. "Well," she manages at length, "out with it, then."

"Julian has requested an audience with his brother and with his superiors." L'haiya waits patiently while Vittora coughs into one thinned palm, the sound of it shallow and dry. "The head of the family thinks it best if we take our leave now that Aurelia is old enough to travel."

"...You mean to go to the provinces with him?"

"I do. We were to leave the capital at the first opportunity that presented itself and now that day has come. 'Twas ever a condition of the family's agreement not to disinherit Aurelia for our indiscretion. I fear they have only delayed due to my ill health, and I would not see my child subjected to the ignominy of being declared a bastard." 

For the trouble which I have brought upon them. Vittora's self-recrimination hangs between them unspoken and L'haiya does not press further. She is well familiar with the heavy price that her friend has paid, in both her career and her reputation, to marry for love. It does not bear repeating.

"I will do what needs must for her sake, L'haiya. And in this case, those needs coincide with mine own."

"I don't understand."

"The chirurgeons believe that the harshness of the winter months has greatly contributed to my... present deterioration. Master Severus has advised Julian that if at all possible, he should seek a second villa in the southern provinces." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "He suggested Rabanastre."

L'haiya's homeland. "And you want me to come with you."

"Yes. Now, I know how you feel about Dalmasca-"

"You don't. Not truly. But that is neither here nor there, I suppose."

Vittora's brow knits with her consternation. "...You would not have to see her if you did not wish it. The villas where officers and their families reside are well removed from the rest of the city."

That is not the problem L'haiya faces, but it is not one Vittora would understand. Many have chosen to resist imperial occupation just as there are many who chose to accept their altered circumstances, and L'haiya has seen and heard what the various splinters and pockets of Dalmascan resistance scattered throughout the Estersands do to perceived traitors. "I fail to see why my presence is required in Rabanastre."

"Someone must care for Aurelia."

"Aurelia has her mother. She needs her mother," L'haiya says flatly. "She does not need me." 

The Garlean woman folds her hands in her lap, eyes half-shut with her lowered gaze. 

"I think I shall not be in her life for very much longer, L'haiya."

"Vittora-"

"You can see the way of things- how it is with me." Leaf-green eyes, seeming enormous in that drawn face, gaze at her with a silent plea in their depths. The distant sorrow has returned and with it a gleam of fear. "The chirurgeons are very careful not to voice their thoughts, but every night when I close my eyes to sleep I can feel another piece of my strength slip away. One more piece I know I shan't have back. They don't need to tell me what I already know."

Understanding strikes her like a bolt of wild levin- or perhaps a brutal punch to the gut. Looking at Vittora with this newfound discovery she can see a knowing look in her friend's eyes. It is as though Vittora can sense the spectral hand of her own mortality reaching forth from some as yet unwritten future to claim her for its own. 

"L'haiya. Please." Vittora's voice is soft, conciliatory. "Julian goes to these lengths because he is not yet willing to face the truth. I need you to be there for her when-"

Vittora doubles over, wheezing, clutching at her chest with one hand. The commotion startles the child out of her play, and L'haiya sees a flash of gold and wide, anxious eyes of a curiously dark blue. Immediately the little girl shoves her toys aside with a loud clatter and clambers to her feet with the clumsiness of the very young. In moments she has reached the grand high-backed chair where her mother sits wreathed in a nest of blankets and soft sheepskin. 

"Mama," she tugs on Vittora's sleeve, tiny features crumpled with anxiety. The motion bounces her hair; her still-developing third eye is visible for just a moment beneath that cap of curls, a sliver of pearlescent white no larger than the tip of a fingernail. Her mother's coughing fit recedes, surf pulled away from the shore by a rising tide. 

"All is well, sunshine." Vittora's hand falls back to her lap and she raises her chin. Her lips are suspiciously reddened, but she smiles at her daughter and runs her fingers through her hair. Tears stand in her eyes but do not spill. "See?"

"Up, Mama." Heedless of aught save her own desire to give and receive comfort, Aurelia attempts to drag herself onto Vittora's lap. L'haiya gently plucks her fingers from one of the coverlets piled atop her mother's legs, then hoists the child into her arms only for her to make her displeasure known with a thwarted whine. "No!"

"Your mama needs her rest."

"Mama," Aurelia insists, her lower lip wobbling. It's a trick she's used on countless servants and even her own parents in the past but L'haiya is unmoved by it, and merely adjusts the girl's weight from her arm to her hip. As the toddler squirms in her arms, the Miqo'te turns her attention back to the child's mother.

"Since it's clear you'll badger me until the decision is made in your favor, pray consider it done," she says at last, somewhat testily. 

"I am eternally grateful." Vittora's smile is in turns sad and knowing, and she cannot bear it for more than a few moments. "Thank you, L'haiya."

Her eyes turn to the wall of white swirling in the storm beyond the window. Somewhere beyond it are the slow blinking lights along the walls that separate the imperial palace complex from the rest of the city, and L'haiya forces herself to shove down the sudden surge of bitterness. 

What else is there to say? To do? She knows she could not have refused. She loves Vittora Remianus with the surety of a beloved sister, and she knows what she would do for her own half-sister should such an unlikely circumstance ever occur, and so she will raise this child for her friend's sake. Of course she will. And just as every other citizen of the Empire must do when called to bend to the whims of its rulers, her own dreams are not so much relinquished as they are flung into the darkness, to be discarded along with all the other parts of herself she has sacrificed to fill an imperfect mold.

She feels as though she has just given her life away. She knows she has.

Outside, the northern wind howls around the villa's steel eaves like a despairing scream.

[honeym4rk]

station (jjh)

college! jaehyun x reader word count: 3.0k summary: four times you find yourself alone with jaehyun at a bus station.

There is comfort in the silence.

With every step you take, there is a crunch of fallen, juniper leaves at your feet. Your canvas tote bag is looped around your shoulder, your fingers clinging to the straps like it would shield you from the awkwardness of the current circumstances.

He’s got his hands hidden in the cavity of his hoodie. His knuckle cracking is sporadic, and you cringe at just how many times they’ve made an encore in the past two minutes.

You really should have begged Mark to tag along and leave the shindig so that this wouldn’t have happened- but alas, the boy was still hooked by the prospect of winning the next round of Mario Kart against Donghyuck. ‘It does some good to my self-esteem,’ he’d said. 

So here you are, sauntering bashfully to the bus stop with Jaehyun.

“So, uh- what bus are you taking?” You muster up the courage to speak up after a few minutes of painful reticence. 

“I’d have to take 922 or 153 from the opposite stop to get back to hall,” he sighs. It’s clear that he reciprocates the weird, distinctive tension here.

“And you?” He faces you with his raised eyebrows and you’re baffled by the sudden eye contact made. Your eyes dart elsewhere.

“Oh, I’m taking 922 from here.” You nod your head imperceptibly at the bus stop ahead of you.

A few metres away, there’s a zebra crossing, and you thank your lucky stars that you’re finally about to part ways. Oh, you’re sure Jaehyun is a nice person and all, but that doesn’t change the fact that the unspoken, kind enmity in the air is capable of being taut so hard around your neck that you asphyxiate. 

Ten more steps. Come on.

Five steps. 

Three steps.

“I’ll see you next ti-” 

Yet he doesn’t stop at the crossing. Instead, he continues his stride in tandem with yours towards the station. You stop in your tracks, slowly gesturing towards the beaconing street light with the hand you raised to bid adieu. 

“Aren’t you going to, you know..?” Eyes hinting at the yellow streaks of light, at the bus stop across the road, anywhere away from his own. Jaehyun notices your halt and follows suit.

“Well, I mean, Mark did ask me to see that you got home safe....”

You immediately wrack your brain for an appropriate response to his chivalry. It’s unclear how you should react; he really caught you by surprise. And from the way he’s gnawing at his inner lip and raising a hand to scratch the nape of his neck, you infer that he’s abashed too. All you manage is a small, “Oh,” as more silence ensues, before you start to blabber,

“No, no, thanks, Jaehyun, but it’s really fine, you don’t have to.”

His lips are taut into a firm, straight line and he lets out a surreptitious hum.

“Let me just wait ‘til you board your bus. Is that okay? It’s getting pretty late.”

You want to vehemently object. 

And you’re about to, but you let out a consenting “Yeah, alright.”

He’s invading your desiderated solace- yet something about his offer seems so genuine and saccharine that you comply out of curiosity. You’d heard things about Jaehyun around in school before, good things, especially seeing that he was well acquainted with your friends like Mark, but you’d never really encountered him until tonight, thanks to Donghyuck’s birthday celebration. Being a Linguistics student, fate hadn’t really presented many opportunities for him to meet someone majoring in Pharmacy. 

Therefore- you think to yourself- it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s unlikely that you’ll actually talk to him again, since you’ll probably never be within a radius of at least ten metres from him again. It’s alright, it’s okay. You decide to let him be a gentleman.

So you bask in the quietude shrouding the two of you, as you sit on the metal form, awaiting the arrival of a yearned 922. 

After all, there is the slightest hint of comfort in the silence.

There is also comfort in the familiarity.

You’re sure there’s a sense of déjà vu. It’s a similar scene to what had ensued a few weeks ago, at least, and you’re definitely surprised to be here again, with him . However, you’ve both abandoned the multi-layered cake of unease. It’s almost been completely devoured now. Fortunately.

Jaehyun’s chuckling relentlessly- nearly doubled over laughing- as you recount the earlier occurrences of the Friday night. 

“Yeah, no, but I’d give anything to see the look on Donghyuck’s face again.” His eyes crinkle into small crescents as he runs a hand through his silver hair.

“He looked so confident that it was going to work and I’d already told him otherwise, but I really don’t know what he expected.” 

Tonight, there had been an effort to study in Donghyuck’s apartment; considering the looming exam season. This purpose was indeed fulfilled, to some extent. 

Then Donghyuck, feeling rather ravenous, decided that he wanted to indulge in a quick and easy two-ingredient Oreo mug cake. The video tutorial truly looked too good to be true- you’d seen multiple YouTubers debunk the content-farm produced recipes. 

The wide-eyed boy was too desperate, however, as he credulously decided to fill his mug with crushed oreos and milk to the brim. He swore that it looked and sounded promising until a loud Pop! reverberated in the kitchen 30 seconds into heating.

Everyone gathered around to watch Donghyuck cry over his spilt milk, literally, as his appliance perpetually emitted smoke, its glass door burst open. Burnt mounds of moist black and white cookies were thrown at the white, metal walls of the microwave. Donghyuck fanned the plumes of smoke hastily.

“It looks like a volcano erupted.” Mark added, coughing, as he tried to swallow the chuckle bubbling at the back of his throat.

“Dude- I don’t want to say I told you so but,” You began to implore, before Donghyuck interjected.

“Maybe I should just try again, I think the microwave setting just wasn’t right.” 

And so he did- but to no avail.

The two of you approach the tiny station side by side, and you relish the warm, fuzzy feeling establishing in your stomach. Not quite butterflies, but maybe more like a tiny sprout popping out of the ground.

“To be fair, though, it didn’t taste half as bad as it looked.”

You snort. “Sure, because it’s literally sugar and milk with a dash of hidden carcinogens.” 

He lets out a low chortle. Jaehyun nails the bellowing dad laugh right down to a T, and some part of you finds this endearing.

A flash of bright light emerges as you look up from your feet. 922 has arrived and you’re rummaging through your bag for your bus card. 

“I feel like I left my card at Donghyuck’s, shit,”

The bus halts. 

“Here, use mine, I’ve got a spare.” Jaehyun offers without a second thought, pulling his card from the pocket of his denim jeans. 

“Go on, the bus driver’s waiting.”

You would have thought this through for a little while longer, but he was right. A scowl that said ‘Stop wasting my damn time,’ is plastered on the driver’s face, and it urges you to carefully pick the card slotted between his fingers. 

“Thanks so much- I’ll return it tomorrow, or something.” Your eyebrows furrow together and you clench your teeth together in a grimace.

“Yeah! Yeah, whenever. Good night, Y/N. Get home safe,”

“You too, thanks again!”

Boarding the bus hastily, you wave at him through the glass door as the bus sets off. He doesn’t leave until you’re out of sight.

You can’t help but grin as you examine the portrait on his student pass. He’s handsome, skin clear and glossy, hair parted such that there are a bunch of strands obstructing his forehead. It’s black in this image. You wonder how many colours it's been dyed. His dimples replicate the poked slime in the myriad of videos you’ve seen, and his cheekbones are incredibly prominent. 

It dawns on you that you don’t have his number, or follow him on Instagram, or have any means to contact him at all. You guess that you’ll have to fish something from Mark, but Jaehyun seems to beat you to it.

Unknown, [2340]: hey this is jaehyun lol hope you get back safe :-)

A sudden flash of the many possible outcomes this could entail breezes past your mind. You’re quite uncertain about how this will play out, and you unlock your phone to reply.

Y/N, [2341]: hii hahah thanks again! i can return your card tomorrow, just lmk where i can drop by

Jaehyun, [2341]: yeah sure, i think i’ll be cooped up in starbucks doing work w my friends lol 

Jaehyun, [2341]: u can join if ud like :o

There is comfort in the unknown.

There is comfort in the noise.

Your whole herd of boisterous friends are walking uphill from yet another study session at Donghyuck’s- there’s been quite a number of them since the first. You’re honestly amused by how many people can fit in his apartment. The study group has expanded from a mere four to a whopping seven people in total.

Thankfully, there haven’t been any microwave oven explosions since then, but you’ve had your good share of fun and company, and more importantly, productivity. 

The pack of young adults currently divulging the extensive, latest gossip and hall horror stories, you and Jaehyun stray further behind. You’re trying to listen in and pick apart information, but you’ve joined the conversation a bit too late for context. 

“Oh my god, Lia, you’re going to hate hearing this, but…” Jungwoo begins, his voice entering a decrescendo.

“But Jeno has a girlfriend? Yeah, I figured.” Lia wails. “I saw them together in the library the other day, being all cute and shit. My heart shattered .” She emphasises this by hitting Jungwoo’s shoulder out of pure frustration. 

“How long have they been together, though?” Ryujin quips, to which she gets a reply, but you try to drown out the rest of their conversation.

You tug at the arm of Jaehyun’s sweatshirt, and he leans closer to you as you query, “Who’s Jeno, again?”

“Cute dude that she keeps bumping into at hall, I think,” he mumbles. His words are semi-intelligible, because of the commotion right in front of you.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” The infinite frequencies are hard to tune out, and it gets increasingly arduous to do so when Ryujin gasps.

“Oh shit, the bus is here!” Your friends are immediately ready to break into a sprint, but Jaehyun’s feet seem heavy as he continues to meander with you. 

“Jae, aren’t you coming? The next one’s in thirty minutes!” Jungwoo shouts as they begin to dash across the road.

“It’s fine, go on! I’m just a little lazy. See you!” Jaehyun dismisses him with the wave of his extended hand, and receives an incredulous look. The lame excuse confuses you, bamboozles you, but you wave goodbye to your friends anyway.

It’s been long since you’ve been caught alone here at the bus stop with Jaehyun- you usually head home with Mark every Friday. He’s not here, though. He’s crashed at Donghyuck’s for tonight.

“Uhm, what was that ?” You chuckle nervously, the little sprout in your belly magically reappearing. Truth be told, after the many lighthearted, late-night messages exchanged over the past few weeks, and after unravelling Jaehyun bit by bit, the sprout has grown into a pocket-sized garden. It brings its own butterflies, but you don’t quite have the audacity to admit this. There’s a different kind of trickiness lingering in the air tonight.

“Well, you know- Mark…and it’s- it’s getting late, kinda.” He’s timorous tonight. Under the luminescence of the bus station’s lamps, you see the pink tint land on the tips of his ears, something you’ve learnt happens when he’s rather shy. 

“I wanted to ask you something, too, though.”

“Okay, shoot.” You take a seat. He sits a modest distance away from you, cracking his knuckles instinctively.

“Well, I uhm, I’m not quite sure how you’ll react to this but,” he licks his lips.

“But?” You encourage him to carry on, staring as you await his continuation.

He looks as if he’s got the words at the tip of his tongue, the sea of sentences about to overflow from his mouth, and they’re spilling when he starts speaking again.

“Would you-” You listen intently, attempting to read his lips. However, he’s cut off by the booming wails of a velocious ambulance. You whip your head around to watch the vehicle pass by. 

Jaehyun breathes sharply, exhaling in frustration. The cries subside, so he tries again. 

“Y/N,” he clears his throat, and you face him once more.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“I was wondering if-” 

A fire truck zooms past the bus stop, and your attention is grabbed by the monotonous siren that raids your ears. Jaehyun notices your bus approaching, and he panics. The air-raid isn’t becoming distant; the truck’s obstructed by the imposing red-light flashing. There’s only so much time left to ask what he’s been dying to- and he can’t believe he’s getting cockblocked by the emergency services right now. 

You’re hearing Jaehyun spill a string of words but they’re incoherent- all you can seem to comprehend is the blaring repetitions that are relentless.

“What?!” You shout, fighting past the cacophony. “I can’t hear you!” You’re signing this to him, pointing to your ear and shaking your hand vigorously.

Your bus halts before you. Jaehyun’s in an absolute frenzy now. He doesn’t want to do this online. Something about hiding behind his screen sounds so ingenuine to him, and you’re already standing, shit, but he can’t win against the absolute pandemonium and doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the small crowd that’s alighted the bus, but he’s also not sure when he’ll get to talk to you in private like this again, 

So he clamours.

“Do You! Want To Go Out! With Me!” He’s cupping his large hands around his mouth, screaming into the makeshift amplifier with all his might, as you walk towards the front doors of the bus.

You look like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide open in disbelief as you gawk at the boy who’s sheepishly glancing at everyone and using his hand to defend himself from their stares. The butterflies that have erupted in you are merciless.

And then you burst into a fit of laughter- Jaehyun curses the sirens for piercing through such a pleasant sound- and you nod profusely, one foot already boarding the bus.

The glass doors shut close, and you’re enthusiastically gesturing to your handphone, waving at him. The bus whizzes away.

He’s shell-shocked, and he’s unable to will his hands in drawing his phone from his pocket. The sudden series of vibrations brings him back to his senses.

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝),[2257]: WAIT ask me again

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: idk if i heard u right

Jaehyun, [2258]: k

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: dude come back </3

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2258]: YES lol

Y/N (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝), [2257]: yeeeeeeees

It heavily hinders Jaehyun that night, but there is comfort in the noise.

There is comfort in the isolation.

It’s only the blinding fluorescent lights and the cool breeze presenting company at the bus stop- you’re grateful that the occasional cars speeding by are helping you break down the very last walls of tension between the two of you, if there are any.

Whoosh. 

“I really enjoyed today.” He smiles and steals a quick glance at you. You’re at a different bus stop now- a month later and you’re amazed that you’ve gone out with Jaehyun at least three times now.

You catch the slight twinkle in his eyes as he scoots a whole foot nearer towards you on the cool metal bench. The distance between the two of you is closing slowly yet your heart rate is augmenting. It’s accelerating now- faster than any of the rambunctious vehicles that race down the road, their engines revving dirtily.

Whoosh. A black BMW zooms past you both and you take the opportunity to reciprocate the cheeky glimpse.

“Me too.”

There’s fumbling of fingers and twiddling of your thumbs before you notice the sudden influx of light and buzzing and realise that your bus has arrived. Pure languish rushes through every vein in your body- you don’t want this night to end.

Jaehyun begins to stand and shoots a quizzical expression when you don’t follow suit. 

“Let’s wait for the next one,” you grin, your legs swinging back and forth as you continue to glue yourself on the elevated seat.

The sound of his chuckle envelopes you into a warm hug- it’s deep, and strong, yet soft at the same time- and then you’re pulled to your feet by your wrists before he embraces you with confident hesitation too.

“Is this- it’s okay, right?” He just wants to be sure.

“Yeah- very.” You breathe, and his boyish smell fills your lungs. There is difficulty in naming what scented cologne he’s used today; but you devote no more attention. You just wallow in the tangy, mellow fragrance that has permeated your senses.

He’s got his arms coiled around your waist, his palm extended to press your back closer to him. You’re playing with the sharp, freshly cut hairs on the back of his neck. You run your fingers through them and he dives his head further into the crook of your neck. Jaehyun’s muffled voice is tickling your shoulder-

“Your hair smells really nice.” The corners of your lips edge upwards into an unrelenting grin.

“Thank God.”

There is comfort in Jaehyun.

[vagrant-love]

Justin’s Love Chronicles - Story 1

This is a Waverly Place fic. This was meant to be a one shot one chapter story of several stories unconnected where Justin find love and sex in different scenarios. However, I degressed too much in this one so the rest of the story will have another entry.

The next entry will have sex and all the good stuff.

Inspired by S04E19, Wizards vs Asteroids

“We received a report from NASA that an asteroid has changed its course and is heading straight to earth, this means the end of life as we know it” The Russo family, Zeke and Harper were all gathered on the Russo’s family living room watching the television in disbelief as it delivered the horrifying news. Alex, who was usually carefree and youthful, ready to dismiss any terrible news with a joke or witty remark was left speechless, unable to find in her vast mental Rolodex of comedy anything to say that could even remotely lighten the mood.

Harper, who was an alarmist by nature did what was expected of her, she made a mental note of all her favourite outfits, which she would now wear, one after the other, until the end, but she then decided she would not have time to change to all of them, so instead she would make a new one, or die in the process.

Max, who had a mind as feeble and as free as a butterfly in a breeze, almost child-like despite being now a teenager, turned to his family and beloved friends and realised that he would no longer see them. This idea filled him with immense sadness, he felt his shoulders heavy, and his eyes teary. “Guys, I know I am usually lost in everything that is happening around me, or with you guys. But now that the end is coming, I just want you guys to know that I love you guys, and I care for you, and I wish I was more present, more aware”.

Teresa could not help but to love the youngest of her beloved children. Yes Max problematic. Yes Max created all sort of havoc. Yes Max… well, they all knew all that Max did, but one thing they all also knew is that Max never did anything maliciously. He was pure and innocent and they all loved him. She took him into her arms with tender love that only a mother could give, and stroke his beautiful brown hair that resembled hers so much.

“It’s okay Max, we love you just the way you are. Right Jerry?”

Jerry nodded in agreement, like Alex he too had no words for that was happening. He was a big softie after all, they all knew it, and knowing that the world would end and they would never see his family again was a burden no heart could bear, specially not Jerry’s heart. He enveloped both his wife and Max, holding them tight in his arms, feeling their warmth for the last time, smelling the sweet scent of vanilla shampoo in Teresa’s hair, one thing that he loved about her since they started dating, she almost smelled like vanilla. He even appreciated the minty smell coming from Max’s hair, which he hoped was form his shampoo, but he knew was probably from eating too many magical mint cookies to disguise Max’s sour smell of not having bathed for a couple os days.

The only one who wasn’t in a fatalistic mindset was Justin, who’s rational mind was working overtime doing calculations, trajectories, thinking about the physics, rotations, heck, even dark matter if it helped. He turned to Zeke who stared back at him, they shared an unspoken bond, they knew what each other thought without having to say any words. Justin nodded. Zeke nodded. And both went up to Justin’s room.

“C’mon Justin do you really think they could have made the wrong calculations? They are the freaking NASA man. We are so doomed!” Zeke whined as soon as they entered the room. He wanted to be right, but being an emotional bouncing chipmunk he was he could not help but fall in despair when confronted with the idea that he, Zeke, could be right when NASA was not.

“Zeke, we have been tracking asteroids for years. You know the calculations, you’ve done it yourself man. We are RIGHT!” Justin said, almost barking the last word as he usually does the he wanted to emphasise his excitement. He took Zeke by the cheeks, holding each side with one hand and forced Zeke to look straight back into his eye. He had this new theory he thought after considering Plato’s theory on the soul. If a soul was the essence of a being, and decided how the ‘vessel’ would behave, and if Shakespeare was right when he said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, then maybe if he stared at Zeke he could make HIS mind force Zeke’s mind to behave more like Justin, and less like Zeke.

Not that Justin didn’t like Zeke’s soul, far from that. He adored him. Zeke was his best friend, his confident, more often than not a should to cry on. He was there when Justin lost Juliet and Rosie, and he never judged, or made fun of him for expressing his feelings in an ‘unmanly’ way. Zeke was always kind to Justin. *** The day Juliet went away Justin was in shambles. His heart was shattered, exploded and each particle was so small that if one could see they would think he had sand in his chest. It was an adequate metaphor, because Justin did feel like he was suffocating after his girlfriend went away, as if had a whole beach in his lungs. He could not breath, and it felt like every heartbeat was a struggle. After that fated day he didn’t want to go home and see his family. He loved his family, but some things are not meant to be shared with family.

He called Zeke as soon as they got home.

“Hey’, he said as soon as Zeke answered with his cheery ‘Hiellow’. He could not help but to grin, even if just slightly, at the sound of his beloved friend. His overly cheeriness, carefree and over-the-top attitude was something that Justin always felt balanced his more sober, geeky and rational attitude. Together they were balanced… perfect.

Justin explained what happened to Zeke. Not in detail, just enough so that he could ask him if he could come over and maybe spend the night. “Of course man, stay as long as you want. I’ll call my parents to double check but you know they love you, I’m sure they won’t mind. I’m here for you bro, you know that, right?”

“I know Zeke, thank you”, was all Justin could mumble before hanging up. Zeke was very wealthy, his parents had a beautiful and large apartment on the Upper East Side, which wasn’t too far from Waverly Place, but it felt to Justin as if he was entering a different universe whenever he visited Zeke. It was a place of money, Teslas, Chanel suits, Versace underwear and diamonds. A lot of diamonds. He remembered one time when he was younger and he saw Zeke’s mother going out with his father, both looking very chic and well dressed. She was wearing a beautiful necklace, two strips of diamond with a large blue diamond in the middle. Justin was obsessed with it, he never seen something so sparkly in his life. Even magic could not rival it. It was as if one million pieces of glitter had been crushed together to form just one stone. He must have stared at it so badly Zeke’s mother could not help but notice.

“Do you like my necklace little Justin?”, she asked, she had a bit of an accent but he didn’t know where from.

He nodded.

“Would you like to have a closer look?”

Again, he nodded, and the lady took the necklace off her swan-like neck, and handed it to the younger lad who took hold of it as if he was holding a bomb with how careful he was handling with the jewellery.

He adored it, he wanted to have it, to wear it. He wished for a brief second that he was a girl to be able to wear such things. He put it in his head and wore it like a tiara, and looked at himself in the large baroque mirror that was placed in the large living room. He smiled brightly, shining his pearly teeth for all to see. Zeke’s mother laughed heartily, and Zeke’s father smiled kindly to him, giving him a look that Justin never quite understood. It was a kind look, but also a mysterious one.

“You truly are most adorable little Justin, I am glad my Zachary found you as a friend. I told you George that sending him to public school was the best idea. I went to one and I tuned out well. Yes, private education has its perks, but our boy should be grounded and down to earth.”, she said, half to her husband and half to the two young boys staring at her.

She held her slender hand with beautifully manicured fingers to Justin, who noticed she had a bracelet that matched the necklace. Justin handed the necklace back to her, but he never forgot how he looked with that necklace on his head.

Justin wasn’t sure why he remembered that on his way to Zeke. Maybe it was because he hasn’t been to the Beakerman’s house for quite some time. He was very busy with school, magic, etc. So the chances to go to the Upper East Side were scarce. He was happy he was going though, he liked there, but most of all, he liked Zeke.

When he arrived he went through he dark oak heavy doors into a refined reception room, neatly decorated with a classy baby blue carpet that covered the floor and matched the cerulean paint on the walls. On the centre there was a huge glass candelabra that Justin could not even imagine how it was cleaned without magic. To the left side surrounded by white marble was the reception, hosted by a Juan, the oddly young and handsome concierge. He was probably ins his late 20s, Justin would guess 28? He had thick jet black curly hair, not too voluminous, just enough to give him a youthful look, as if he had just left the ocean and his hair dried with the sad from the sea and, sorta stayed that way. With dark green eyes, and a very shallow stable, he almost looked like a model on his day off, except for the cute little cap he wore to match his nice suit. He wondered if the suit came with the job or is Juan bought it to match the opulent surrounding.

“Hola Juan”, said Justin.

“Hola señor Justin”, replied Juan, with his useful cheerful tone. He didn’t often meet Juan, but he always had a tone that was almost as if he was smiling through his voice. It made Justin happy and he pondered for a split second that his natural charisma was too great to be left isolated from the rest of the world, secluded in that beautiful cage of a Manhattan reception. Juan should have been a model, or an actor maybe… thought Justin, considering if he would allow himself to use magic to maybe change Juan’s fortune.

“Señor Zeke told me you were coming, go right in, the code is this”, he handled Justin a piece of paper neatly folder with the number 24.

Justin thanked him, walked into the large elevator at the end of the reception, typed in the cold and went up to the 5th floor, where the door to the elevator opened straight into the beautiful living room he had reminiscence not too long before.

Not much had changed, apart from some furniture changing and moving, the colour in a wall going from white to marsala, and a piece of decor here and there which he remembered not being there, or being somewhere else.

“Hey Justin”, said Zeke, coming from the sofa and greeting him at the entrance. He was wearing only a white tank top and silver cotton pyjama trousers. His hair was a bit messy. It wasn’t early but not late enough that Zeke should be sleeping, thought Justin. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting your nap or anything”

“Not at all man”, Zeke said, shining his naive smile at Justin. “My parents are travelling in Asia so I have the apartment for myself. I decided to have breakfast food for dinner and I thought hey, if I am gonna have breakfast then I need to be dressed for breakfast. So I dressed up like this and messed up my hair. What do you think bro?”

Justin laughed, which felt a bit weird, he hadn’t felt at all happy ever since Juliet had been taken by the mummy, let alone after she went into the woods, but Zeke had this natural ability to make others laugh, it was what made him so charismatic and something Justing envied a little about Zeke. While Justin was more handsome than Zeke, he always lacked this easiness that Zeke had into fitting him.

“Oh I’m so sorry Justin, I’m being so insensitive talking about breakfast when your girlfriend turned into a million years old and disappeared into the woods. Oooooh man I’m a terrible friend!”, whined Zeke in his usual chipmunk manner.

“It’s fine Zeke, I laughed so that’s more than I have done in the past months so, thank you. And I think you look dashing my friend.” He said, giving Zeke a wink and a couple of gun finger pointing.

“Thanks Justin, you’re awesome man. Come in”, he said, leading Justin down the hall and into his bedroom, which was almost as big as the living room.

Zeke’s bedroom as dreamland for any geek. He had Dark Star replica hanging from the ceiling. A book shelf full of fantasy books and mangas, Zeke loved his Sailor Moon and made a point to buy each one from the original Japanese print. Zeke’s bed was enormous, and was probably the size of all the Russo’s beds combined. Justin was always surprised that Zeke didn’t use custom sheets of his favourite series, Doctor Who, but he had a feeling that had something to do with his parents. The rest of the room was filled with other nerdy things, but overall looked like a normal teenager room. There were clothes spread out around the floor, the bed was unmade, and there were a couple of plates of food left on top of the many cupboards around the place.

“Sorry, I gave the cleaning guys a break since it’s only me, so things are a bit messy”, Zeke said apologetically. “Sit down tell me what happened again”. Justin took the seat on the bed, right next to Zeke who sat on top of his leg as he usually did, facing Justin. He wasn’t sure he could reciprocate the gesture. When he thought about talking about what happened to Juliet he immediately felt his eyes filling with tears, and the sand in his chest moving up to his through, choking any words that attempted to break free from his vocal cords.

“I-I… Sh-She…”, he tried saying, but the sobs had already started. Justin hid his face with his hands. He was so embarrassed, he was meant to be the cool one but there he was crying like a baby.

“Hey hey, it’s okay dude, it’s okay to cry. Come here”, he pulled Justin by the shoulders, an action that surprised Justin so much it made his sobs stop and for him to look at Zeke with a horrified face. Not because Justin was avert to Zeke’s touching but because never in their friendship they had been this intimate. Yes, they were very close, but only in the manner that people would see it as acceptable.

“It’s okay dude, there’s nothing weird about this. I know people think us guys can’t like, cry or hug, but the truth man is that you’re my best friend and if you’re sad, I want to give you a hug”, Zeke said without an inch of malice in his voice, without so much of a hint of an ulterior motive. His honesty and frankness were so genuine Justin couldn’t help but feel disarmed. Justin pondered, for a second, and decided that this was okay.

He allowed himself to be embraced by his friend, who put his head in his shoulder and held him tight. He rubbed Justin’s back slowly and gently, and Justin felt himself letting go of the sand in his heart, of all those feelings of lost and despair he had felt since Juliet went away.

And he cried, loudly. And Zeke stayed there with him, holding him, rubbing his back and squeezing his shoulders, whispering ‘It’s okay buddy, everything is okay, I’m here for you’.

Justin knew, at that point, he loved Zeke.

[rufousnmacska]

Secrets and Confessions Part 5

A Crescent City Ruhn-Hypaxia fic

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

*****

Part 5

*****

Ruhn was in the process of sorting through a pile of probably useless tech when the knock came at his door. Expecting Bryce, he yelled, “No one’s here.”

The door opened to reveal Tharion Ketos, wearing a tailored suit and a smug grin.

“Fuck,” Ruhn grumbled. “What the fuck do you want?”

Ketos walked in as if he owned the place, pulling out a chair and taking in the room with curious eyes. The books on the seat were moved to the desk, atop a precarious stack of papers. “Hello to you too. Do you always swear so much?”

“All the fucking time,” Ruhn said, not bothering to return the greeting. He left the junk and turned to face Ketos. “Who let you in?”

“Your band mates.”

“What?”

Ketos wrinkled his brow. “Aren’t you three in a band or something? The way you all dress made me think-“

Ruhn growled. “What. Do. You. Want.”

The mer held up his hands in a peace offering and leaned back in the chair. “I’m here to discuss some things.”

“This better be Aux related because if it isn’t, I’m throwing your ass out.”

“Well I’m in luck because it is about your Aux unit.”

He hoped Tharion couldn’t see the disappointment on his face. He’d heard nothing from Hypaxia in the last few days. And he was too much of a coward to contact her, even though his control was eroding. He was embarrassingly close to calling her. Signaling for Tharion to go on, he sat on his bed, willing himself to concentrate.

“How many of your Aux unit would follow you?” the mer asked. “Hypothetically. Rough numbers.”

“To overthrow the asteri? Or to overthrow my father?”

“Both.”

Ruhn barked a laugh as Ketos was apparently done with the bullshit. He held the male’s sharp gaze as he thought about it. Just a few weeks ago he’d wanted to be involved with the rebels. Had even considered this very question, on many occasions. His Aux unit was comprised of the best of the Valbaran Fae. The strongest and smartest. All of them would follow him against the asteri.

Against his father though …

“Are they mutually exclusive?” He didn’t give a shit about his father. But he wasn’t sure if he was ready to lead a coup either.

“Not necessarily. If you can suggest a way to do one without your father becoming an equally bad replacement, I’m all ears.”

“Shit.” He really didn’t need to say anything else. The rebels might not know the extent of his father’s plans, but they had to have a good idea. They’d be idiots to not have a plan for the power vacuum if they were successful against the asteri.

Tharion stood and straightened out his suit jacket. “You can think about it. Let me know.” He headed for the door, and just as Ruhn was about to break and ask about her, Tharion said, “She wanted to tell you. Since the Summit. I know you understand why she couldn’t.” He made a vague gesture in reference to the ever-present cameras and recordings throughout the city. “And I know you understand that it was for your safety as well as for ours. Now, I can’t speak to anything personal between you two. But Hypaxia is the last person in the world to manipulate someone. Even for this cause. She’s the moral compass of the operation. And if you can’t get over whatever bullshit betrayal you’ve concocted in that pierced head of yours … Well, I guess it’ll be your loss.”

Ruhn said nothing as Tharion opened the door and started out. But the mer wasn’t done. With a wink, he said, “Your loss might be my gain.” And before Ruhn could throw something at him, he shut the door, yelling back, “Call her you fucking idiot!”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “What the fuck just happened?”

A buzz came from his phone and he rolled his eyes. The evening check in.

Did you clean your room yet?

For fuck’s sake Bryce. What’s with this obsession about cleaning?

It’s a good distraction when you feel like shit. Believe me. I know.

The truth in that made his annoyance fade. And made him feel bad for wallowing in self pity for so long. She’d survived much worse than a break-up. Considering where they’d been less than a year ago, barely speaking, fighting when they did … He smiled, glad that she was hounding him.

He sent her a photo of the progress he’d made, which he thought was pretty good. She disagreed and told him to get back to work.

As you wish your highness.

Don’t fucking call me that.

Ok your highness.

If you keep it up I’m coming over to supervise.

He sent a princess symbol with a heart. The heart always worked to end her tirades.

Laying back on his bed, he stared at his phone, wondering if he should take Tharion’s advice.

Tomorrow, he thought. After I straighten some shit out.

In the meantime, he went out into the hallway and shouted for Flynn and Dec. They came up after getting rid of the drunk fae and shifters they’d had over. Luckily, Dec was stone cold sober, and Flynn was close enough.

“How many from the unit can we trust?” He didn’t need to go into more detail. They knew everything he did about his father. Hel, they knew everything about him.

Everything except the truth about the Oracle’s prophecy. Which now seemed like it might be a good thing. If ending the bloodline meant ending the threat posed by his father, then Ruhn had no problem with his destiny. He’d proudly sacrifice his title if it led to a meaningful peace for Midgard.

His fingers itched to call Hypaxia and tell her exactly that.

But just then, Dec began rattling off names. Tristan nodded along, a far off look in his eyes that meant he was planning. And so Ruhn began planning too.

*****

The room was much emptier than Hypaxia had been expecting. Instead of a table surrounded by all the upper echelon rebels and their seconds, a lone figure sat at the far end. There wasn’t a single ashy blonde hair out of place on Jesiba Roga’s head, and her eyes were as unforgiving as the sharp edged nails she tapped on the table.

“You’re early,” she said by way of greeting. Hypaxia almost let out a breath of relief, thinking that meant there would be more coming. But the witch had seen, or sensed, her reaction and said, “It’s just us today.”

Sitting a fair distance away, she said, “I was told the full group would be meeting. Did I receive incorrect information?”

Jesiba didn’t answer, just took a drink from a glass that held a golden brown liquid. It looked like scotch, but Hypaxia didn’t know for sure. And she wouldn’t, as the witch didn’t offer her anything, alcohol or otherwise.

Hypaxia was tired. Already tired of the political bullshit required not just in her role with the rebellion, but as queen. Technically, regardless of what she’d renounced and who she now claimed to serve, Jesiba was one of her subjects. Hypaxia wasn’t stupid enough to order her to do anything. But for Cthona’s sake the witch could show a little respect. If not to her queen, at least to another person.

The grin that twisted Jesiba’s mouth made her remember where she was. Remember her place. Queen or not, she wasn’t in charge here. But she’d be damned if she played the good little witch to this sorceress.

She suddenly thought of Ruhn, realizing his fondness for cursing had rubbed off on her. Ignoring the pang in her heart, she returned Jesiba’s smile.

“I assume you are aware of the various prophecies at play here,” Jesiba said, the unspoken “girl” successfully conveyed in her condescending tone.

Refusing to be baited, Hypaxia simply said, “I am the Witch Queen.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Which means you’re aware of what role your lover is to take. Or, is it former lover? I’m afraid I haven’t kept up on the state of your affairs.”

Wanting to roll her eyes at the stupid double entendre, she let it and the insult go. “Of course I am aware. That is why I want him recruited.”

“Still?”

“Still.”

Jesiba ran her finger around the lip of her glass as she studied her. It made a wavering, melodic sound that left Hypaxia thinking of Ruhn again, and his sensitive hearing. She’d never considered herself a good singer, but he adored her voice. Whether she was speaking or singing, humming or moaning, he would sometimes close his eyes in appreciation.

“The union of the sword and blade is not something to be left in the hands of the fae. The Autumn King is a fool if he thinks otherwise.” Jesiba’s brusqueness tugged her out of the soft memories.

“The Prince is not a fool. And he is not a minion of his father.”

Those cold gray eyes were like shards of ice and Hypaxia felt her skin prickle. She knew Jesiba was skilled in all kinds of power. Witch magic as well as whatever ghastly practices she’d learned from the Under King. But Hypaxia had been taught by her mother, by the wise, old witch elders, and by the other ancient beings hidden in their mountains. Jesiba’s attempt to enter her mind would not work.

“I have nothing to hide Ms. Roga. Why don’t you just ask me your questions and we can both return to our work.”

The witch smiled that knife-like grin again, giving off a fleeting look that Hypaxia thought might be admiration. At her ability to keep Jesiba from shuffling through her thoughts or her bluntness, she wasn’t sure.

After another drink, Jesiba said, “Danaan is necessary. I don’t like it, but he’s necessary. As critical to our goal as his sister.”

At the mention of Bryce, Hypaxia caught another quick expression on the witch’s face, like that of a parent worried for her child. She’d seen it often enough on her own mother’s face to recognize it.

Jesiba continued. “Mirrors of the starborn siblings begot by Theia. Both of Theia’s daughters inherited their mother’s power, but not equally.”

Hypaxia wanted to argue that Ruhn had more to him than met the eye, perhaps even his own eye. But she didn’t. Those powers were his to wield. His to understand and develop. He’d kept them hidden for a reason and it was not her place to reveal them.

“Bryce is the horn,” Hypaxia said, knowing the prophecies as she’d already stated and hoping to shorten Jesiba’s lesson. “She will open the rift so we may dispose of the asteri and then seal it.”

“It’s not quite that simple.”

The previous disdain in Jesiba’s tone had returned. Her own annoyance bubbled close to the surface. Hypaxia knew damn well that it wasn’t that simple. The asteri were ancient, immensely powerful beings. “So why is the prince necessary? Beyond the sword?”

“The sword isn’t his.”

That stopped Hypaxia and she couldn’t help the shock that settled on her face. “What do you mean? He pulled it from the stone in Avallen.”

“It calls more strongly for Bryce. For her starlight.”

She held Jesiba’s icy stare, thinking, remembering the prophecies and the visions she’d just claimed to know. Running through all the arcane knowledge passed on from her mother. When it hit her, she felt her eyes widen. And saw another brief look of approval cross the witch’s face.

“He is the blade,” she whispered.

The approval disappeared as fast as it had come. Sorrow, genuine and unexpected, met Hypaxia’s gaze now.

Despite all her training, this had been a detail left unexplained. Either unknown by her witches, or unspoken.

The blade did not truly exist. Not literally. It was a metaphor. And like Helena’s sister, Theia’s lesser known daughter, the blade was to be the sacrifice.

Prince Pelias had killed the younger sister himself with the Starsword, joining her fractional amounts of starlight to his own to ensure the rift was sealed.  

Jesiba had known.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of such news,” Jesiba said, having the grace to continue looking sorry.

Hypaxia sat, silent and unmoving. Ruhn was to die for this rebellion to succeed.

She’d been under no illusions that most of them, or even any of them, would survive this. She wasn’t foolish. And yet, she’d allowed herself to fall in love with him. Let him become such a huge and necessary part of her life, that she didn’t want to imagine her life without him.

“He knows,” she croaked. “About the rebellion. He caught me meeting with Tharion and he overheard …” She trailed off. Jesiba wasn’t reacting. Which meant she’d already heard about it from Tharion. “Why are you telling me this? Why now?”

“Against my better judgment, I like you. I will never recognize you as my queen, but … I am pleased that you are leading the witches.”

Hypaxia didn’t reply, not sure if the admission was a veiled slight against her mother.

“Hel,” Jesiba went on with a harsh laugh, “I even like Danaan. You two are a good match.”

“Then why? Why refuse me every time I asked to bring him in?”

“I should think that is clear. Though, maybe my reputation has outgrown itself. I may be a coldhearted bitch, but I’m not entirely heartless.” After a pause, she said, “I knew you were growing close to him. Even if his role in this won’t be borne out for several years, making you live with that knowledge was not my first choice. With the loss of your mother still fresh, I didn’t think you should have to deal with another death.”

Another death.

Unbidden, a memory of her mother consumed Hypaxia. It was from shortly after she’d been diagnosed with her illness. Queen Hecuba didn’t look sick, which made the news harder to bear. And she didn’t seem concerned about the death sentence she’d just been given. Instead, she was calm and cool, like always, smiling at her daughter.

You will get through this, her mother had said, insisting on comforting others instead of seeking it. There will be worse to come. More battles to fight. But you will prevail. And at the end, you will not be alone.

At the time, she hadn’t considered that what her mother was saying might be prophetic. But now, she knew. It had been a vision. And while the words seemed vague, to a witch’s ears, they were anything but. From a mother to a daughter, the deeper meanings were obvious.

She blinked to find Jesiba still staring at her. Still examining her. There was no attempt to probe her mind again, just genuine curiosity. And anticipation.

“That’s not going to happen,” Hypaxia said forcefully, expecting some sort of dismissal. But Jesiba just smiled. What Hypaxia had once seen as contempt on the witch’s face, she now saw as respect. It was still that of an elder towards a student, a superior to an inferior. But it was there, genuine and appreciated. And it made her sit a little straighter.

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear,” Jesiba said. “Bring him in. And do whatever the Hel it takes to get around that damn blade prophecy and make sure he lives. I’ll get you access to all of my resources.” Seemingly without thinking, Jesiba added, “You’re not the only one who would be devastated by his death.”

Bryce, Hypaxia realized, feeling stupid for not making the connection sooner. The only person Jesiba seemed to care about, despite her ridiculous threats to turn the woman into whatever low creature struck her fancy.

Jesiba rose to leave and reached the door as Hypaxia said, “Wait. If he agrees to become involved, I’m not hiding anything from him. He will be told everything.”

The witch shrugged. “That’s your call.” But her eyes narrowed and the air seemed to crackle around them in warning. “Telling Bryce is mine.” And with that, she was gone.

Under her breath, Hypaxia said, “You could have at least given me an idea of how to tell him.” Then, with a deep sigh, “Fuck.”

To be continued...

*****

Tagging @itach-i @queen-of-glass

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to be tagged let me know :)

Fanfic masterlist

[sondepoch]

XXIII: Saeran's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

When it came to formalwear, you'd only ever seen Saeran in his black suit, back at the Mint Eye.

And he, your usual believers' robes and the magenta dresses that Rika had forced you to wear.

As such, it was a pleasant surprise for the two of you to see each other the morning of the RFA party—Saeran, in a white tuxedo selected by Saeyoung, and you, in a delicate (f/c) dress that hung at your knees.

"You look beautiful, princess." Saeran pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as soon as the two of you stepped out of the car. He'd been eyeing you since you slipped the dress on, but had evidently held back in all your haste to arrive at the party. Now that the three of you were here, though, he seemed to pay no mind to the venue, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

"Your suit," You mumbled into Saeran's lips, eyes closed and unable to hold back a smile. "You look perfect in it."

If he heard your compliment, though, Saeran made no indication of such, ignoring even his brother's pleas for the three of you to come on and get inside already.

Finally, when you were breathless (and just a little needy) from the kiss, he released you.

"All right, let's go."

As you followed the twins into the party hall, you couldn't help but sigh at Saeran's inexplicable ability to kiss you as if he'd never kissed you before, and then act completely normal the next moment, as if nothing had happened.

He really doesn't know what he does to me, you realized with an amused smile. Though that only makes him more precious.

You entered the party hall, listening absentmindedly to Saeyoung's chatter as he talked to you about the previous parties that had been hosted. In truth, you didn't care much. All that mattered was the present, and the fact that this party hosted would directly help everyone who had been touched by the Mint Eye's distorted ways.

After this party, everything would go back to normal.

Everything.

All the believers and disciples would disband, find new paths to take in society. Rika herself was apparently under the care of V himself, and would also be given a chance to heal from the wounds she'd inflicted upon herself and others. And, perhaps most importantly, you and Saeran would finally be able to continue your relationship in peace. The Mint Eye would be a thing of the past, leaving only an unbound future for you to march into.

"Ah! Saeran, (Y/N), you made it!" You turned to see the calm smile of V. "I hope you'll both stay til the end of the party. I have a small surprise planned at the end that I'm sure you'll both enjoy."

"Saeyoung has decided that he won't leave until even the party cleanup has finished, so we'll definitely be here a while." You smiled warmly at the man who, somewhat inadvertently, had helped free you from your old life.

"That's good to hear. How have the two of you been faring in Saeyoung's bunker?"

The next few hours passed like that. Small chatter with the various guests, Saeran pulling you off to the side every now and then to whisper in your ear or to kiss you, Saeyoung pulling you two back into a new conversation.

When you escaped to the bathroom, you ran into MC, who seemed rather uncomfortable to be caught alone in your presence, especially now that she knew the full story about everything that had happened. She was by no means kind in her words, but her halfhearted "We should talk sometime" seemed like an unspoken offer to make amends. It wasn't anything tangible, but you suspected that, if things continued down that route, there might come a day when the two of you would be acquaintances. Maybe even friends.

You had the pleasure of meeting the people Saeyoung worked with at the RFA: from Yoosung, the blonde college student (who you learned was Rika's cousin) to Jumin, the executive corporate heir of some company that you recognized the name of from your orphanage days.

"V, isn't it time you began the final event?" A man named 'Zen' asked.

"Ah, you're right." V smiled and bowed his head lightly. "I hope you'll all excuse me."

Before he could go, though, Jumin spoke up.

"Truly, V? You're positive that you want to sell your pictures for this event?" The black-haired man seemed skeptical, and for good reason. You'd heard from Saeyoung that V's pictures were sought after in the industry, and selling them at this specific event (noble as the cause was) might not have been the best decision for the man's career.

"As things stand, this event hasn't raised enough finances to help all those affected by the Mint Eye. If selling my pictures can play a role in sealing this chapter of Rika's past...I'm sure she'll be much better for it."

"You really still want to be with her after everything she did to Saeran and (Y/N)?" Saeyoung's question was fueled more by curiosity than anger, or any past resentment, but it made V stiffen nonetheless.

"I understand that everyone has mixed feelings...but Rika is just as broken as her followers, maybe even more. I...I just want to help her heal. And hopefully, this time, things will be different. She now has the support of her family, after all." V smiled lightly and glanced at Yoosung. Upon hearing the word 'family,' the blonde seemed to burst with energy, his smile doubling in intensity.

As V walked toward the stage, leaving you all, you couldn't help but hear Saeyoung murmur somewhat wistfully, "At least Rika brings Yoosung happiness."

And as much as the woman had wronged you, you couldn't help but agree. The blonde boy seemed to radiate joy—and after being separated from Saeran only to reunite, you would recognize the look in his eye anywhere: bliss. Bliss and relief, at reattaining that which was once lost.

Before you could dwell on the matter further, though, V's clear voice echoed through the room. Instantly, all chatter ceased, and the guests turned their attention upon him.

Well, most guests.

As V politely thanked everyone for attending the party and spoke about the important sponsors, you turned to Saeran.

"How are you feeling?" You kept your voice low so that only he could hear you, knowing how mixed his feelings still were on V and this whole situation.

"Not as bad as I thought things would be. Better, since you're by my side." Saeran smiled softly down at you, pressing a kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but lean into his touch when he laced his fingers in yours.

You wanted to say more, perhaps thank Saeran for even agreeing to come here in the first place with you, but before you could, the sound of cheering erupted all over you.

Oh.

V had begun the auction.

You watched as, all around you, people began bidding for his work. Indeed, you understood why the demand for his pictures was so high. As V unveiled album after album, you began to realize why he was a world-renowned photographer.

"Ah, this collection is one he's been asked to sell countless times. I'm glad he's finally releasing it to the public," Saeyoung murmured from next to you, providing you tidbits of information with each new album.

You watched in awe as four albums were revealed and sold, the first album sold off separately in pieces, but the others bid upon as full sets—and couldn't help but let your breath catch in your throat as each new picture was revealed.

Art.

There was no other way to describe it.

V's camera didn't just capture moments and scenes: he captured emotions.

The first album, Flowers in Laughter, left you shook with its brilliance—breaking down any questions you might have had in mind over V's capabilities.

The second, Myriad Memoir, almost scared you with how much raw emotion it brought forth.

When you saw the third, you almost forgot to breathe: each picture in Glass over Truth seeming to resonate with not just your heart but memories you thought long buried.

And even when your eyes settled over Observing Lies, when you were so confident that nothing else could shake you, your bottom lip trembled as you continued glancing from picture to picture.

You felt your heart rise and fall as each album took you on an emotional rollercoaster, bringing you to lows and highs, showing you sorrow and joy, and the delicate smidgens of hope buried underneath it all.

Truly, you couldn't look at a single one of his pictures and bear to tear your eyes away.

Your heart wouldn't let you.

And that, perhaps, was why when V's final album, was revealed, your entire body felt like it was short-circuiting.

"This album is a product of my most recent work. As many rumors have been circulating, my eyesight is indeed beginning to fail. But it is known that, in my work, I aim to photograph more than what our eyes can see—I photograph what the heart feels, and immortalize it. Which is why, despite my decreasing capabilities of vision, even I am not so blind as to fail to recognize the pure love that these individuals have in their hearts."

V pulled back the curtain that was revealing the final set of pictures, and Saeran's grip over your hand instantly tightened.

"This collection is my most prized work, a culmination of everything I sought to capture when I first decided to be a photographer. I call this album: Where Futures Begin."

Without even formally opening the bidding, people were already shouting numbers—every soul in the room wanting to own this masterpiece collection.

Because no matter how brilliant all V's previous works were, this album put them all to shame. There was no mistaking it: the angles and light and object organization left nothing to the imagination: looking at these pictures, even the biggest fools would have to see what V had managed to capture so beautifully.

You stared in awe.

Each image in the album was filled with the purest emotion: love.

Each image in the album was of you.

You and Saeran, to be specific.

You gazed at the first picture. The two of you were locked in a tight embrace just outside the Mint Eye, seeking not comfort in each others' arms but stability, as if in that time of turmoil the only reliable, unchanging foundation in your lives was each other.

The second image—you didn't even know that V had been present, but looking back it made sense that he would have seen it—was one of where the two of you were in the rain under a single umbrella. At the time, you hadn't even registered that both your outfits were varying shades of grey, but the black-and-white nature of your clothes and the background only made the splashes of color on both your cheeks all the more prominent as you clung to Saeran's sleeve while he gazed down at you adoringly, a rare smile eternalized on his face.

The third, a chaste kiss outside V's apartment when Saeyoung had brought the two of you there to speak with the man. You stared at it in awe, wondering how the image managed to capture the fleetingness of the kiss despite the lasting nature of the picture.

The photographs continued like that, all moments that you had never been aware that V had seen, but captured and developed nonetheless. He had found everything: chaste kisses, abashed glances, sweet laughs, even the wholesome hand-holding that Saeran used to be so averse to. 

By some ridiculous miracle, the man had succeeded in photographing the two of you as Saeran kissed you so passionately just outside the party hall this morning, the fast-paced motion all around you only intensifying the intimacy of the moment when you two stood still to lose yourselves in each other. You couldn't help but wonder when V had found the time to develop a picture so last-minute, given that the moment had happened just hours ago, but found yourself shaking your head. The man, as proven by this album, seemed to work wonders.

There was even a picture with Saeyoung, a snapshot of the three of you laughing, and the dispersal of red hair throughout the image told as much a story as it did reveal the varying types of love in your relationship: brotherly, platonic, and—of course—romantic.

You felt a familiar heat rise to your cheeks as the unmistakable feeling bloomed in your chest. No doubt, every person in the room who was gazing upon those pictures was feeling it too.

Love.

And at the back of your mind, you remembered how V had quietly urged you and Saeran to stay—saying that he had a lovely surprise for you two at the end.

Why, this is the best surprise a person could receive.

You found yourself unable to take the smile off your face, the grin only emboldened by Saeyoung's voice joining on the current bidding war that was going on over this album.

"I want it!" He shouted, overly dramatic as usual. You had to force his hand down to get him to listen, but by then, Saeran was egging him on.

The glint of pride in both their eyes as they gazed upon your and Saeran's love immortalized almost prompted you to let the brothers do as they pleased, but you finally found your voice.

"No, guys." You forced them both to look you in the eye amidst all the chaotic bidding. "V called this album Where Futures Begin for a reason."

It was only then that they seemed to recall the album name, and it was then that they understood the meaning of your words.

Where futures begin. But not the future itself.

The album would go home to the house of a wealthy individual, likely one who didn't have the same love in their life as the three of you had in yours'. But that fact wouldn't matter to you. It shouldn't.

Because you had your whole lives ahead of you. Lives that were finally free of the past, no longer rooted in pain or misunderstandings or misery.

This album was V's gift to the three of you. It was a Congratulations! present in advance, commemorating the balance of love that the three of you would be sharing from that day and every day onward. Through thick and thin, that would become the new constant in your lives: the emotion that V had selected when he first saw the way you and Saeran gazed into each others' eyes. Love.

And while others would get to enjoy the sight of where your future together began, you all would have something so much better: the actual future.

At long last, you had finally reached a state where no one else would be able to steal that future away.

No, that future belonged to you, Saeran, and Saeyoung. No others.

A flame ignited in your heart at the thought, fanned by sudden thoughts of having to go through life without either of the boys that you'd grown so dependent on.

Though as you gazed upon their understanding faces and knowing smiles, you realized that there was no need to fear.

These two boys were your future.

Nothing would ever be able to take that away from you.

Fin.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.7k

Notes: Wow. It feels so bittersweet, that this (my first series ever) is coming to a close after a total of 29 chapters, but it fills me with happiness that i actually succeeded in getting this done. I'm thankful to you guys for reading this, because I never would have been able to complete this otherwise. Thank you for sticking with me, thank you for commenting, thank you for liking, thank you for reading. It's been such a ride (four whole months!) and while this journey is over, i hope that you'll join me in the next fic :) I hope you enjoyed this series, and I hope that you have an absolutely wonderful day. <3

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[twiistedgalaxies]

Genesis: Chapter 8: Holly Jolly Christmas

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

        Tomura woke to the excited chatter of his peers. He sat up in his bed with a groggy groan, squinting against the morning light. One of the meta-human kids he’d befriended, Emrik, was gesturing emphatically with his gleaming, metallic hands.

        “Buuh?” Tomura said intelligently, not awake enough to process what he was saying. A large hand ruffled his long hair.

        “It’s Christmas, goober,” he heard his brother say, smile in the teen’s voice.

        At this, Tomura felt a jolt of excitement rush through him. He bounded out of bed, only to regret it a few seconds later when his joints screamed in protest. Luckily, Hisashi reached out to steady him before he could fall backwards onto the unforgiving steel-framed bed.

        “We’re all out in the mess hall having breakfast!” Emrik chattered, “If you hurry up, you might be able to get some sausage rolls from the cook before they’re all gone.” The boy grabbed his arm and began dragging him out to eat, despite Tomura’s squawks of protest. Hisashi just looked on at the situation with amusement. Traitor. 

        The mess hall was crowded and loud as everyone gossiped about the gaudy Christmas tree that loomed over them at the end of the room. Tomura found himself cringing at the volume, feeling a headache building behind his eyes. His other friends, Jonah and Finn, waved them over after they got their food. Soon, he was wedged between Emrik and another clique on the bench across from the duo. The two were as thick as thieves, and often he and Emrik felt like they were just an accessory to their dynamic. 

        “So, what do you think you got for Christmas, ‘mura?” Finn asked, features brightening to a light green.

        Tomura shrugged, “I’m not sure, honestly I’ll be amazed if I get anything. It’s not like we have money to spend.” Really, he was shocked he could pull together enough for Hisashi’s present.

        Emrik bumped his shoulder into Tomura’s own, “Yeah, but with all the toy donations we got this year, at the very least you’ll have something, even if it’s dumb.”

        Jonah’s eyes took on a mischievous glint, “One year, Finn got a hot pink doll house.”

        Said preteen turned red and black with indignation, “I thought we agreed not to talk about that!”

        “I made no such promise,” Emrik chirped. Finn slumped in his chair with exasperation, turning a light blue.

        “There, there,” Jonah said while patting his back with a scaly hand. Finn let out a groan. Tomura smiled at his friends’ theatrics, at the very least it would be nice to have the day off of school and chores to hang out with them.

        “What about you guys?” Tomura asked, digging into his eggs and sausage rolls.

        “I’m hoping for some lotion,” Jonah replied, mouth full of food, “my scales are getting dry from the cold, it’s really itchy!”

        Finn cuffed Jonah on the back of the head, causing the reptilian to shoot him a puzzled look, “Joan pleeease don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross.”

        Jonah just smirked and chewed with his mouth open in an exaggerated manner. Finn leaned away from him, making disgusted noises. Meanwhile, Emrik and Tomura found themselves laughing at their antics. 

        “I want a muzzle to make Jonah chew with his mouth shut,” Emrik quipped, dodging a stray piece of scrambled egg launched at his head. 

        Suddenly, Tomura felt something cold and wet be poured over his head, drenching his clothes in something thin and sticky. Baffled by the sudden rush of freezing cold, he glanced around for the culprit, only to be met with the shark-like eyes of the orphanage bully, and contender for butthead of the year award, Bruce. He flushed bright red at the kids around him (minus his friends) bursting out into laughter at his expense. Tomura had never considered himself to be the type to actively hate other people, but man, if Bruce wasn’t the sole exception to that rule. The thirteen year old, held back a few years to be in their class, was a pudgy, mean-looking - ugh! Tomura had many, many, not nice words to describe him. It was Bruce and his cronies that were disrupting his now friends’ marble game a little over a week ago. In his left hand, Bruce held a now empty pitcher that seemed to have once held orange juice. 

        Tomura was about ready to deliver a scathing insult (or lunge himself at Bruce, whichever came first), when the matron’s familiar, shrill voice filled the air, “Settle down, settle down children.” Abra waited a moment for them to do so, fiddling with the megaphone in her hands, “As I am sure you are all aware, it is Christmas. You have the day off, yes, but any horseplay or mischief will not be tolerated,” she sent a pointed look towards a bunch of teenagers squeezed together at one of the tables, “Those of you who have chores are still obligated to do them today.” At this, a bunch of people groaned with protest. The matron looked displeased at their response, “That being said, for those of you who have finished eating, feel free to retrieve your presents from under the tree, and do so in an orderly fashion.”

        They did not get their presents in an orderly fashion. A tidal wave of children flooded to the end of the room, finally breaking apart into cliques once presents got distributed. Tomura was thankfully able to pick out Hisashi’s familiar mop of white hair from the crowd. 

        “Hisashi!” he called, and his brother walked towards him, several presents in hand.

        “Merry Christmas,” the teen said, and handed him two presents, one from donations and the other from Hisashi.

        “Thanks,” Tomura replied, eyes darting around as he looked for an exit, he didn’t want to have their gift exchange somewhere so crowded.

        “Why is your hair orange?” Hisashi raised an eyebrow, “And why are you soaking wet?”

        “Don’t worry about it,” Tomura said, shrugging the questions off, “Let’s just head back into the dorms, okay? I need to change out of this.”

        His brother nodded and gestured to him to lead the way. 

        It seemed that some other people had the same idea they did, because there were a few cliques clustered in the common room and the dorms. Once they got to his bed (where his stuff was), Tomura hastily changed out of his ruined clothes into something warm and dry. Finally, the pair ended up sitting on opposite sides of the stiff bed, presents between them.

        “Well?” Hisashi began, “What are you waiting for? Open your gift.”

        Tomura carefully ripped open the bright red wrapping paper, labelled as being from Hisashi. 

        “One of my friends owed me a favor, and he works at a comic book store, so we got you this,” His brother said, a fond look warming his face.

        The wrapping paper was torn to reveal a manga, on the cover the title read ‘Ultraman vs. the Demon King, Volume 1’ Tomura looked up, question unspoken.

        Hisashi shrugged, “It’s some sort of shonen, apparently it’s really popular in Japan right now, I thought you’d like it.”

        Tomura threw his arms around his older brother, touched by the gift. “Thank you,” he breathed.

        Hisashi chuckled, “Yeah it’s no problem, squirt, now open your other one. I want to see what the orphanage randomly gave you.”

        He released his brother from his death grip and tore open the other present. Tomura grimaced upon seeing what it was. His older brother doubled over laughing.

        “It’s not that funny,” Tomura grumbled, feeling his ears heat up.

        “You’re right,” Hisashi shot back, “It’s hysterical.”

        The randomly assigned present was a princess costume meant for toddlers. Tomura found himself looking up at the ceiling, silently railing against whatever deity was up there. “Maybe one of the younger kids will find it useful,” he sighed, placing the accursed gift to the side for now, “It’s your turn, ‘sashi, I worked really hard to get you your present.” He truly had, running errands for the matron to get spare cash wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.

        Tomura watched his older brother open his gift with a baited breath. Whether or not he’d like it was hit or miss, it came from an old antique shop, and Tomura had barely enough cash to buy it. Hisashi’s face lit up once he removed the wrapping paper and opened the velvet box within. It was a watch, already calibrated to the current time. “Wow, I..” his brother began, only to cut himself off with a frown, “Where did you get this?”

        “I did some tasks for the matron and she gave me some money, combined with some of my savings from before, I was able to go to an old antique shop. I thought you’d like it,” Tomura replied, feeling a familiar buzz of anxiety in his stomach. Had he made the wrong choice?

        As if sensing his thoughts, his brother placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “I do like it, thank you.”

        “Of course,” Tomura laughed awkwardly, “Though this is your birthday present too, I know it’s coming up soon and I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you anything.”

        Hisashi grabbed the other present, the one from the orphanage, “It’s fine, I didn’t even expect a Christmas gift this year to be honest, it’s not like such things come by easily these days.” He opened the gift, and Tomura watched his face fall into something between deadpan and profound irritation.

        “What is it?” Tomura asked, leaning over to get a glance. He immediately burst out into laughter, much like his brother had earlier. In Hisashi’s hands was a spiral notebook covered in glitter. On its front was a kitten dangling from a tree branch with a caption that read ‘Hang in there!’. 

        “As tempting as it is to set this on fire,” Hisashi placed the book next to his watch, “Maybe it’ll be useful later.” 

        Once Tomura recovered from his laughing fit, he said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Merry Christmas.”

        Hisashi smiled, something he seemed to be doing a lot of today, “Merry Christmas.”

                                                -@~*^*~@-

        The bus ride up to Beverly Hills was quiet, and given that it was the dead of night, Hisashi wasn’t surprised. The meta-humans were generous in the equipment they gave him. He was clad in black bloc, an earpiece was nestled snugly in his left ear. Inside of his hoodie was a handgun with a silencer attachment, and in his jeans was his ever faithful switchblade alongside a nice set of lockpicks. For once, he wore gloves. A dingy, failing Gamestop was one thing, a high profile target was another. He checked the watch on his wrist, 1pm, Markov and his family should be asleep by now. 

        The bus screeched to a halt before a dimly lit bus-stop. This would be as close as he could get to the Hills, the rest of the journey would need to be on foot. He disembarked and secured his face mask before making his way down the few blocks between himself and the target’s neighborhood. Christmas at the orphanage had been… interesting to say the least. He spent most of it playing a new board game Rafi had gotten for Christmas. Sorry! It was called, but Hisashi felt no remorse when his opponents faced crushing defeat. He hadn’t been in the hallway when Jose, rather stupidly, used the basketball he had gotten. While doing so, Jose had slammed it at top speed into one of the fluorescent lights, shattering it and nearly taking off the entire ceiling panel in the process. In all honesty, Hisashi was a little impressed, the thrashing Matron Abra gave him must have been legendary.

        The gate to the miles-long driveway towards Markov’s mansion was tacky to put it kindly. It was bleach tinted iron and gold-leafed, prominently featuring the pharmaceutical company’s symbol entwined in vines. Hisashi sneered at the sight before devising a way to break in. This would be easier than expected, as Markov had so kindly made the brick wall attached to the gate only shoulder height. Granted, Hisashi was significantly taller than most people, but regardless, all it would take was a few simple footholds to scale the thing. He walked a ways from the front gate (no need to alert any cameras after all) and climbed over it without much fuss. Finger on his earpiece to activate its microphone, he spoke, “I’m in the front yard.”

        “Cool,” he heard Amy reply, she sounded bored, “I disabled their security system. Do you need me to go over the floor plan again like a dumbass or are ya good?”

        Hisashi scowled, even though she couldn’t see it. Of course he didn’t need a refresher, he practically had the map burned into his eyelids with how much he’d stared at the thing. “I’m fine,” he said, short and to the point.

        Amy hummed, “The target and his wife are in the master room, out cold last I checked. Their little imps are also in their rooms. If you don’t make a ton of noise like a one-man circus you should be able to pull this off. If anything comes up on the security cameras I’ll let ya know.”

        “Alright,” Hisashi said, and removed his finger from the earpiece, shutting off the microphone. 

        He crept across their lawn (which was so long it was ridiculous) and paced around the mansion’s perimeter until he saw what must have been the cellar window. It was a small, narrow thing and he found himself mentally cursing both Michael for recommending this route and his past self for not planning for contingencies. He stood there for a moment, trying to think. Above the cellar was the kitchen, he could probably pop open a window and crawl through that way. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a set of sliding glass doors. He had forgotten about the sun room. That would be much better than reliving his many adventures with a narrow window dueling with his lanky stature. Mind made up, he headed towards the sliding door and realized that he lacked anything to pry it open with. Hisashi cursed under his breath, window it is. He nearly jumped out of his skin when vicious growling and barking filled the air.

        “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeated under his breath as he backpedaled from the door. Hisashi reached up to his earpiece, “You never said anything about a dog!”

        “Eh, I didn’t know they had a mutt,” the brat said, in a tone that made him very much think she had known, “Besides, it’s kenneled, just give it a minute to calm down and you should be able to get in from somewhere else without a problem.”

        Hisashi retreated to a group of hedges and waited in its shadows, both for the canine to calm down, and to see if it had woken up the mansion’s occupants. Once everything settled back into peaceful silence (apart from the ringing in his ears), Hisashi snuck towards the kitchen window. All it took was some fenangling with his pocket knife - really, you’d think they’d have better security than this that wasn’t reliant on the internet - and he was able to get it open with a satisfying pop. 

        He quietly climbed through the window and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. The kitchen was large, almost industrial grade, clearly meant to hold some sort of staff. If he remembered the floor plan correctly, there was a sitting room up ahead, and then a set of stairs leading to the second floor to the left. Despite there being three floors, Markov and his family had their rooms on the second. It was likely they didn’t want to bother themselves with climbing an extra set of stairs. Hisashi set out on the route, sneering at the extravagant decor in the sitting room. If nothing else, Markov deserved to be erased from this Earth for poor taste. No one in their right mind needs a giant taxidermied tiger. He winced as the stairs creaked underfoot and paused, heart in his throat. He didn’t need their hound having another fit. Nothing seemed to happen, so he continued forward.

        Finally, he reached the master bedroom, and opened the door slowly. Markov and his wife were sound asleep in their bed, cocooned in silk sheets and rose petals. Hisashi felt his nose scrunch up in disgust when he realized they were most likely nude. Briefly, he considered searching the room for anything Matt would find interesting, but decided against it. Surely the head of a prestigious pharmaceutical company wouldn’t be so foolish as to hide something incriminating somewhere easy to access. His gaze made its way to their night stand. The man’s smartphone, however, perhaps that could prove to be promising. Hisashi slinked towards the night stand and made sure the phone was off before pocketing it. There was no need for GPS to track him down after all. The handgun was cold and hard when he pulled it out. He flicked off the safety and pressed it to Markov’s temple. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to kill someone for a favor or for cash. But never had it been someone so… prominent. Hisashi would never admit it out loud, but he was nervous, butterflies raised hell in his stomach like they had the first time he’d done something like this. He pulled the trigger. It was now or never.

        “What are you waiting for?!” Amy hissed in his ear.

        He released the trigger, and the bed’s sheets were painted in crimson. A sigh of relief. Even the most untouchable in society bled and shat and died like mortal men. Just to be certain there were no witnesses, he turned the barrel of his gun on the wife and ensured her death was clean and quick. Or at least, as much as it could be. (His mother sitting upright in their bed, face frozen in a fearful expression, brain matter covering the headboard like a Rorschach painting-)

        Hisashi swallowed and spun on his heel to make his escape. There was no room for remorse, or pity, or reminiscence. All he had was the path forward, and the drive to keep his little brother safe, no matter the price.

A/N: Happy Imbolc/Candlemas to those who celebrate it! May your hearth be warm and blessings bountiful. This chapter ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated. Though, granted, I got distracted with another project and that slowed down my writing a lot. In other news, I'm going to be putting out a three part Witcher!Jaskier fanfiction at some point soon (within the week if all goes well), though it won't have a consistent update schedule like Genesis does. As always, feel free to leave a comment, feedback is my heroin.

AO3

Next Chapter

[iwritethat]

Nightwing: Alter Egos

A/N: I would like to apologise for my absence and lack of content, but new year so I’ll try harder. But there’s still CHRISTMAS and Halloween stories I want to post... Better late than never? If you want them that is.

(In this Nightwing and (Y/n) don’t know about one another’s vigilante life. Yet.)

>>>>—————————>

Usually, none of the team got a large amount of personal time with villains constantly threatening to end the world on a daily basis, but during rare periods of relaxation you spent the majority of your time with Dick Grayson - who happened to be one of your closest friends.

Obviously you couldn't tell him about being (s/h/n) because of the unspoken 'secret identity' rule despite how much you wanted to, however this arrangement did have it's advantages such as being able to keep your personal and hero lives separate.

"Hey (y/n)?" Rang through your mind and you noticed a hand waving in front of your face bringing you back to reality.

You were out shopping with Dick for your friends' Christmas presents, specifically for Wally who remained a mutual friend.

"You just completely zoned out on me." Dick laughed, seeing your confused expression.

"Did I? Sorry, I was thinking." You apologised, pushing his hand away with a smile.

"I guessed - are you gonna tell me what about, a big time crush maybe or some deep dark secret?" Grayson continued, tone filled with fake wonderment.

"Maybe, you tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." Was your upbeat response, implying that you were playing around.

"Deal - I'm Nightwing." Dick happily grinned, though his careless nature lead you to doubt him.

"Oh really?"

"No of course not (y/n), there's no way I'd have the time and I like my beauty sleep." Your friend assured you, maybe part of you was hoping he wasn't joking.

"That's a shame." You responded, tone still carrying some happiness as you continued looking through the stores' merchandise.

"How so?" Curiousity had got the better of Dick and he wanted to know what you had to say about him - uh Nightwing.

"Okay, well Nightwing is pretty cool, he has that cocky attitude that's quite attractive sometimes, being a vigilante is always a bonus and he must be good looking - from what I can tell. And his body! It's so amazing, he is just - umm I think I'm going too far?" You dragged yourself out of your lecture on Nightwing's alluring attributes once glancing over to Dick who seemed bemused with a raised brow.

"Oh no, please continue." Dick commented, undeniably enthralled and flattered but he couldn't understand the sinking feeling in stomach, you were saying these things about him yet to you, Nightwing was a completely different person.

"He's my favourite hero - that's all, possibly a tiny crush but it's unrealistic and I haven't even met the guy so I'm not going to fall head over heels in love with him. So don't look at me like that." You justified, true you weren't in love with the hero and you assumed your need to prove that to Dick Grayson was probably because you secretly liked him. Ah so many secrets.

"I get it (y/n), I personally think (s/h/n) is quite hot and a beautiful fighter." Dick responded wistfully, you couldn't help but blush even it was your alter ego he was talking about. It was times such as these you wished to tell him.

"Like you say, I haven't met her so she could be crazy for all I know. How about this for Wally?"  Dick questioned, holding up a Flash Sweatshirt.

"No, he already has one." You reminisced, though you didn't forget his previous comment whilst he gazed at you skeptically leading you to defend your answer.

"Trust me he does, I bet we can find something else - if not you can just buy him food. And you're right, Nightwing could be a fuckboy." You stated nonchalantly, Dick however had to do a double take before following you out of the store desperately reminding you of your previous compliments of the hero much to your amusement.

~Time Skip~

The small Christmas gathering held at the Cave was quite exciting, though it was last minute so most were still dressed in their uniforms. Wally and Artemis even made an appearance which was unexpected but you were thankful, it had been a while since they'd left the team and admittedly it was quiet without them - even with the new recruits.

Wally knew about both yours and Nightwing's secret identities - being friends with both of you outside of heroing, but only found out who you were by accident. Honestly, he couldn't understand why Dick and yourself hadn't told each other but he'd promised to keep your secrets anyway because it wasn't his place to reveal such things - there were alternate ways to do so.

"You can see why someone would call you a fuckboy though right? The charm, the flirting, dating quite a few girls..." You half heartedly continued, responding to Nightwing's rambling of how his 'friend' outright insulted him.

"Yeah but (s/h/n) I really like this one. A lot, to the point where I don't even understand it. They're just everything I could ever want, I love everything that they do. I don't particularly want them to see me like that." Realisation hit the young hero, you on the other hand were watching on in disbelief but also with a look of sympathy.

You and Nightwing were close, so you got to know him well and you'd often talk to each other but this was new. Nightwing seemed lost in this person unlike any others you'd seen him with, even more so than with Zatana.

You smirked, ignoring the sudden breeze beside you and enlightened Nightwing with your wonderful advice.

"Wow aren't you love struck? It's horrible, I never thought I'd see the day, you should tell 'em what you just told me -"

"Sorry to interrupt guys but..." Wally intervened, pointing upwards towards the mistletoe dangling above your heads. Darn it.

"No no no. See, I've been avoiding that all evening, there wasn't any there earlier so how -" You argued before your eyes fell onto a smug Wally, too bad Kid Flash didn't forget how to use his super speed.

"One kiss?" Ex-boy wonder urged, since he knew neither of you would escape Wally's 'plan'.

Evidently, it was going to happen and kissing your superhero crush was a dream come true you supposed, so you went along with it. You placed one hand on his cheek/jaw and guided him to your lips and his held your waist loosely. Neither of you increased the intimacy, it only lasted 3 seconds maximum once you pulled away.

Wally held an expression of disappointment as that was not his desired outcome, the kiss you had just shared with his best friend was supposed to mean something. It was meant to be intimate and loving, you were supposed to tell/realise your feelings for each other - but nooo you're both just continuing your conversation like it never happened once you'd removed yourselves from the mistletoe. Wally threw his head back and sighed in frustration, he returned to Artemis who smirked at her boyfriend's antics.

"Nice try babe."

.

"Why did you pull away so fast?" Nightwing asked once you'd escaped the evil foliage.

"Same reason as you - I like someone else." You answered honestly, if Nightwing is willing to come to you with his relationship problems then you can get advice from him.

"Elaborate."

"I made the stupid - and clićhe - mistake of falling in love with my best friend." You proclaimed simply, rolling your eyes at your own idiocy.

"Hm, lucky guy." Nightwing's voice rang with cheerfulness once again.

"You would think, but I'm pretty sure my alter ego is friend zoned." Your tone upbeat and sarcastic causing you both to laugh.

~Time Skip~

You knocked on the door to the Manor, Bruce was invited to a gala for the New Year's celebration but the others decided to stay at the Manor which is where you were heading after Dick had asked if you were free.

It was late and New Years was approaching, wonderful at least at a party you may have the opportunity to kiss someone for good luck but you didn't mind missing out for your friends. Luck be damned.

"Miss (Y/n) I believe you left your scarf here from your previous visit, it is in Master Dick's room if you wish to collect it." Alfred greeted as you walked into the warmth the Manor provided.

"Sure, thanks Alfred." You nodded, going through to find Dick to ask for permission to enter his bedroom.

"Hey, can I grab my scarf from your room?" You called, politeness evident though you had given up your search since the Manor was huge.

"Sure (y/n)!" Dick responded from wherever he was, he understood and wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t ask but still.

Upon hearing his approval you made your way up the stairs and followed the route you knew by heart, calmly you opened his door and went to find your scarf. That's when you saw it, a Nightwing uniform strew across the bedroom floor, a string of curse words left your mouth after you got over your initial shock. Either Dick was Nightwing or an avid cosplayer, and if it was the latter why hadn’t he invited you?!

Cautiously, you began to piece together various situations in your head - as far as you knew no one else had insulted Nightwing via calling him a 'fuckboy' and did you really tell your best friend that you thought he had an amazing body that one time? Yes. Yes you did.

Taking a deep breath, you raced down stairs of the Manor focused on finding your friend despite the recent discoveries that were nagging at the back of your mind. Now most things made sense, if Dick was Nightwing then you were hoping that the 'friend' he was talking about was you - since you were the one who dared rip into his alter ego, though only in a friendly way.

Still you continued your search and luckily ran into him - literally. Arms were around your waist in an instant whilst you were mentally cursing yourself, you'd hoped it'd be smoother than this but you were willing to work with what you had considering the mini countdown ticking down to zero in your head - it was midnight!

"(Y/n) what are y-"

Instantaneously, you cut 'Nightwing' - Dick Grayson off by crashing your lips into his, unlike last time Dick was much more willing to reciprocate for you. Being lip locked with you meant so much to him and personally he wanted to make it last even if it was just for his own pleasure but was determined to make sure it was for yours as well.

Dick had eliminated all distance between you, his body was pressed against yours with his hands roaming your body and his lips moving against yours causing you to release a bearly audible moan. Though Dick heard it, of course he did, that's what he has been trying to earn from you the entire time - it meant he was making you feel good which was all he really wanted.

So when you felt him smile into the kiss after your small lapse of control you weren't surprised, painfully slowly you pulled away to leave a slight space between your lips'.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Dick inquired, his tone almost a soft whisper but carried a hint of disappointment that he'd tried to disguise.

"No, it’s amazing. You're amazing." You assured before he closed the gap again being more slow and gentle this time, deriving further pleasure for the both of you.

"That was nice... And Happy New Year fuckboy."

"Mmm, (y/n) - say what?!" Dick started, almost dreamily until your words had registered.

"I found this little thing - a uniform to be precise - on your floor." You replied, smirking slightly.

"(Y/n) I can explain just- just come with me." Dick pleaded, frustrated with himself for not putting it away in his rush to get ready. Quickly he guided you to the lounge, silently asking you to take a seat before he paced for a short time seemingly distressed. You faced your best friend expectantly, he had an explanation but where to start was a mystery.

"I wanted to tell you - I would have but with  Batman and the team and I couldn't. It kept you safer too, (y/n) please I know you must be angry -" Dick began, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly.

"No I'm not angry, I completely understand." You cheerfully replied, your expression showing contentment.

"I'm so sorry (y/n) - what?" Dick looked at you completely puzzled, speechless, dumbfounded - he wasn't expecting this at all.

"That... was uh... easier than I thought?" The male concluded, still spectacle of your behaviour so much so he began to question reality.

"Yup, but just so we're even... Promise you won't freak out?" You requested politely, hoping he would react the way you did.

"I think I can do that." He nodded.

"I'm (s/h/n)." You blurted out, but you didn't get the desired response, instead you received a questioning look that implied he did not believe you.

"Trust me, you kissed me under the mistletoe at Mount Justice, the mission with the Ice villains, oh - when Bart crashed into our timeline. I also remember you talking about how love struck you were because of your friend." The final aspect of your explanation elicited a response from the one opposite you, he was blushing.

"You remembered that." Dick asked though it was more of a statement.

"I did."

"Well uh that friend - it was you (y/n), I don't understand or really know how to explain my feelings. You are everything I could ever want and I love everything you do. Shit (y/n) - I just really want to be good enough for you." Dick repeated the words he'd said to (s/h/n), or you as he'd just recently discovered, with sincerity.

"That's a relief because you're that best friend I told you about - I fell for you too." You replied sheepishly, getting to your feet.

You had no idea how happy that made him, he was in front of you in an instant placing yet another kiss on your lips.

"You give good advice (s/h/n) - and I recall you saying something about Nightwing having an amazing body." Grayson was smirking, cockiness practically radiating off of him knowing he had you cornered.

"You remembered that."

"I did." Grayson sang rather smugly, this beginning a new year with a new adventure.

...

"Oh I need to get my scarf, do you want to come with me?" You suggested, successfully changing the subject.

"Where is it (y/n)?" Dick inquired, more than willing to help you find it despite losing his moment.

"In your bedroom..."

[bytheangell]

Matching More Than Jackets

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: Seelie Drinking Games for @shadowhunterbingo Pairing: Jeliorn (Jace/Meliorn) Rating: Teen and Up  – Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: feels, banter, alcohol, happy ending <3  Summary:   Jace and Meliorn start working together more and more often... and when Jace has something on his mind, perhaps a few bottles of wine will give him the courage to ask, and get him an honest answer in return.  -------------

Ever since the Downworld Councils took off in the Shadow World, the amount of overlap in Shadowhunter and Downworlder aid in things they used to keep separated - things like tracking demonic activity and taking down nests - increases dramatically. Jace and Meliorn in particular seem to be paired up more and more often since their shared bond over the Alliance Rune left the two of them more in sync with one another than they would be with anyone else. Even if that isn’t the case, it really isn’t any surprise Alec keeps teaming them up given the results they get every time they go on a mission together. Plus, not many of the other Downworlders seem to be able to put up with Jace. Their loss.

This past week in particular was a challenge, involving an attempted stake-out in a forest that seemed to be laden with booby-traps all involving vines which would move to snake around ankles if you stood still too long, or animals with poisonous venom particularly inclined to attack without being provoked. It didn’t take long after Jace went out alone the first time for him to turn back around and request a Seelie to accompany him instead, someone who could just as easily manipulate the nature around him to not attempt to kill him every two seconds.

He doesn’t specify which Seelie. He’s hoping for Meliorn, but understands if the Seelie doesn’t want anything to do with Jace or his missions at this point… not after after the last one they went on, which included a fuck-up so spectacular Jace doesn’t even want to think about it.

Except Meliorn is exactly who shows up, and Jace is equal parts surprised and immensely relieved.

“At this point you might as well get me a matching leather jacket, Herondale,” Meliorn teases, but Jace only rolls his eyes.

“Maybe if you get me to the middle of this forest I’ll have one custom made for you,” Jace counters.

There’s a group of warlocks planning to try and summon a Greater Demon. Try being the key word here, because Jace doesn’t plan on allowing them to succeed. Just like Jace hoped, Meliorn’s connection to nature overpowers the spells put in place by the warlocks every single time. Jace wants to help but all of the ways he has to ‘help’ the situation harm the plants or animals - he could cut aside his share of vines, or catch a few of the snakes that lunge at them with teeth bared, but Meliorn insists they do this in a way that leaves as much of the nature unharmed as possible. Jace always thought that was just some power play the Seelie Queen liked to be obnoxious about just to annoy them, but as it turns out, it’s a pretty serious thing for all of them. So Jace stands back for the first time in his entire Shadowhunting career and allows Meliorn to do almost all of the work until they reach the first of the warlocks.

From there on it’s all Jace, with his weapons and runes and magic-dampening handcuffs to catch what end up being three young warlocks entirely off-guard, taking them back to the Institute to hold overnight for processing. While Jace finishes up the paperwork to tie everything up with a neat little bow, Meliorn leaves and comes back with a bottle in hand.

“How is the… how did you put it? Bureaucratic bullshit?... coming along?”

“Just finished,” Jace announces, closing the folder in front of him. He knows what Meliorn is about to offer because this has become an unspoken thing for them, for Meliorn to show up with drinks after a mission and end up having to drag Jace down the hallways to his bed at the Institute before he passes out in a hallway, but not before incriminating himself at least half a dozen times in the process. Business as usual.

“Just in time for a celebratory drink, then. After that outing I believe we both earned one,” Meliorn says, holding up the bottle of Seelie wine in his hand.

Everyone in the Shadow World knows not to trust Seelie drinks. That caution goes double for alcohol, and triple for the wine. It affects everyone differently, and to varying strengths, though it almost always has the underlying effect of mild truth serum.

What everyone doesn’t know, and what Jace stumbled upon entirely on accident one night after mixing up two bottles at a party, is that Seelies are particularly susceptible to mundane wines. It’s a curious little piece of information he doesn’t immediately share or exploit, saving it for the perfect time.

And the perfect time, it seems, is now. For all the banter the two of them share, Meliorn is always so infuriatingly on guard and in control. Jace wants to see him unwind - really unwind - just once.

“Sure,” Jace agrees easily, with a slow smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “But I was thinking this time we even the playing field.”

Jace goes to the corner of the office and pulls out a bottle of deep red wine, watching the briefest flicker of surprise cross Meliorn’s face at the gesture.

“What?” Jace asks, eyebrow raised. “You think it’s fun to keep getting me drunk after our missions so I tell you all my secrets, but I can’t do the same?”

“If you think a little mundane wine is going to get me to spill my secrets to you, Jace Herondale, you’re not giving me enough credit,” Meliorn says, but Jace can tell by the way he’s carefully eyeing the bottle in Jace’s hand that he’s bluffing.

“Then prove it.”

Jace pours a glass and hands it to Meliorn, who sighs lightly before taking a sip.

“Oh,” Meliorn says, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s not half bad.”

“I sprung for the good stuff,” Jace says, not bothering to clarify that only means he grabbed the oldest one there. All of the alcohol in here is leftover from Alec’s old stash, and Alec mostly had it for guests and Magnus, so of course it was the good stuff. He pours himself a glass of the Seelie wine, and they both sit down to enjoy.

They fall into their usual routine then, except that after a few glasses Meliorn is much more talkative than usual. He’s also laughing more, and once or twice when their feet meet under the table or their hands brush, Meliorn allows the touch to linger. Jace tries not to read too much into it, then tries even harder not to think about how much he doesn’t mind.

Finally, Jace works up the courage to ask the question that’s been on the back of his mind since their last mission.

“Why did you save me?” Jace blurts out, the words only slightly slurred.

“Why wouldn’t I save you?” Meliorn counters.

“No,” Jace insists. “Don’t do that thing where you turn everything back into a question to mess with my head. The last time you got stuck with me, with that ravener demon - I was a fucking asshole and I didn’t listen to you and you should’ve just let it get me.”

“Jace-”

“You shouldn’t have gotten yourself hurt just to save me when it was my fault we were in that mess to begin with,” Jace rushes on. “You’re like, the king of self-preservation and rational decisions. So why did you jump in front of it like that to save me?”

Meliorn frowns. “Do you really think so little of yourself,” he asks, but it’s different from the evasion before. Softer. “That you don’t think you’re worth saving?”

“I don’t want to die if that’s what you’re asking,” Jace says.

“You could fool me sometimes,” Meliorn mutters, the words slow and slurred, but not as bad as they should be for the amount of wine he drank. He clears his throat. “What I mean to say is, that’s good. Because I don’t want you to die.”

Jace isn’t expecting that answer.

“Why?” Jace asks again.

“ ‘Why?’ ‘Why?’ - you’re worse than a mundane child, honestly,” Meliorn sighs. “Because I like you, against all of my better judgment. That’s why.”

Meliorn doesn’t seem at all embarrassed by the admission, but it makes Jace flush in his cheeks up to his ears, a redness he hopes he can play off from the alcohol.

“...why?!” Jace manages, only realizing what he said after he said it and clasping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I wasn’t saying it to be an asshole, I swear.”

Meliorn laughs. “For someone who seems pretty used to being the center of attention, I’m surprised you don’t simply expect everyone to like you.”

“Well, sure, people like me at parties and stuff. But they don’t like me enough to nearly die for me,” Jace clarifies.

“Now you’re just being dramatic, I didn’t nearly die. That was you, remember?” Meliorn hides his teasing smirk behind his glass as he drains it of the last of his wine, which also happens to be the last of his bottle.

They sit in silence after that, Jace busying himself with the last of his own bottle to buy himself time to think.

“For what it’s worth, I’d nearly die for you, too,” Jace finally admits.

“You really can’t bring yourself to say you like me, can you? And to think, we could’ve had matching jackets.”

Jace rolls his eyes, and for the first time in a long while feels like maybe he has something worth being a little vulnerable for.

“I like you, too,” he says, and goes to stand up - or at least, that’s the plan, if the wine didn’t hit him all at once and send him swaying to the side and back down into the table to catch himself. Meliorn is up and by his side in an instant, slinging Jace’s arm over his shoulder.

“Alright, time to get you to bed,” Meliorn says, and Jace’s brows furrow.

“How am I still the drunk one,” Jace whines.

“Because I switched the bottles halfway through while you weren’t paying attention,” Meliorn admits.

Jace wants to be mad, but he can’t quite bring himself to do more than half-heartedly glare at Meliorn, especially as the knowledge registers that Meliorn’s confession, and the touches, and how much he laughed and genuinely seemed to enjoy himself tonight, wasn’t just because of the alcohol.

“You know, it is late. You could stay the night, if you wanted,” Jace offers when they get back to his room.

Meliorn shakes his head. “Unfortunately I’m expected back at the Court-” Jace’s heart sinks until Meliorn continues, “-but next time I’ll plan for it.”

Jace grins like a wine-tipsy idiot from his bed. “Next time,” Jace agrees.

He likes the sound of that.

(The next time Meliorn shows up to the Institute it isn’t because there’s a mission: it’s because Jace has a matching leather jacket for him, custom-embroidered with the leaf and vine patterns that travel the length of Meliorn’s face and neck. And later that night when Meliorn does stay over, true to his word, Jace discovers that isn’t the only place the tattoos are.)