#sorry this took a while to get around to my brain has never been emptier as of late

[westwing19]

For your Metadad au, does Meta Knight have moments where he’s proud of Kirby and how far his kid had come?

Oh absolutely. He's probably the type to act reserved and dignified when he doles out praise in front of Kirby, but behind his back he starts gushing to anyone who will listen.

Kirby's a very talented kid, so MK has a lot to gush about, much to his friends' chagrin ^^

[whyynotwrite]

Craving you

Summary: It seems like the universe doesn't want you to forget him

Warnings: none! :)

Words: 1.1k

a/n: This is my first post here and I hope you enjoy!! Also please note that english is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes. 

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“You still wear my hoodie?”

First I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but as soon as the scent of male cologne filled my nose making me dizzy, I knew it wasn’t.

“Oh, I didn’t notice it was yours”

Continuing to look straight ahead to the products in front of me, I tried to play it off. The aisle was quite empty, well, it was the noodles session, so you couldn’t really expect much from it. However, it seemed even emptier in that moment, when I noticed he was right beside me, and wouldn’t get his eyes off of my face.

“Mark, do you need something?”

He seemed to get out of a transe, blinking a few times and shaking his head slightly, he adjusted his posture and cleaned his throat before speaking.

“Uhm, no, it’s just that uh-“, his hand immediately encountered the back of his head and a sheepish smile made its way into his lips, “It’s been so long”

Looking anywhere to avoid his gaze, I deeply sighed. Yes, it really has been a long time since we last saw each other. What could you expect from exes? Even though it still was an extremely vivid memory in my brain, the last time we spoke was more than a year ago, the night we broke up. It was a messy, sorrowful and teary image that didn’t bring anything but sadness to me, so I tried really hard to forget it. It seems that it doesn’t want to be forgotten, though. The man in front of me being real proof of it.

“Yeah, it’s been. What brings you here? I think I never saw you around”

That was a lie. Yes, I’ve seen him around, multiple times actually. Each one of them spent trying to hide or running off in the opposite direction as fast as possible.

“Oh, uhm, my noodle stock is empty, so I came to get some more”, a small laugh escaped through his lips, “You know Jisung eats all of it when I’m not there”

At that a chuckle could not be contained, the image of Jisung silently pointing at Mark’s food drawer with a finger above his lips popping up on my mind. The younger would never miss a chance to mess with his older, so every time Mark would go out or would be at practice he’d steal most of his noodles and eat it in one sitting.

“Yes, I remember that, Sungie is a really hungry teenager”, I smiled remembering the young boy, not that young anymore and a lot taller, through the videos I saw the same smiling face he always showed me, but it seemed like so much had changed, so much time has passed. I wonder if he’s still the same.

“You talk like you were so much older than him and did not have the same hunger”

I scoffed at his commentary and, for the first time in a year, looked in his eyes. It was the same dark brown as ever, almost black, making it a difficult task to difere it from his pupil. His face appeared to be glowing and his smile was shining so bright I was certain it could light up a whole room. Suddenly I felt all of the butterflies I tried so hard to supres come to life in my belly, making me some kind of nauseous and almost gasp for air. For a second, I let myself get lost in him, get lost in his eyes, his smile, his skin, even his hair, that I remember smelled like peaches, but it was just for a second, because it couldn’t be happening, I could not let it happen, not again.

“Excuse me I am older than him and my stomach is a lot smaller, don’t come at me now, Mark Lee”

He shook his head, chuckled lightly, an action I didn’t even know I missed that much, and looked at his feet. Averting his gaze from him, I looked at the noodles in front of me, trying oh so very hard to pay attention to anything but him, anything that would make the butterflies go away.

“You know, boring holes into the noodle won’t make it automatically go to your cart, you need to actually get it”

I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly, I forgot just how sarcastic Mark could be sometimes and how much I absolutely loved it.

“I’m aware of it dumbass, I just don’t know which flavor I want yet”, I answered while scanning through the shelves, looking at each flavor of noodle and frowning, there really was a huge amount of flavors, how am I supposed to choose just one?

“Why don’t you pick the vegetables one? It’s your favorite”

Startled, I paused on my way to pick the meat one and looked at him, “You still remember it?”

“And you still wear my hoodie?”

My mouth sealed shut. Right now there really wasn’t a single soul in that aisle, it was just me, Mark and all of my insecurities and doubts. Sighing, I went back to searching for a noodle and ended up getting the vegetable one, it really was my favorite.

“Thanks for the advice, if it weren’t for you I’d probably be searching for another 10 minutes”, I said looking down and scratching the back of my neck, “It was good talking to you Mark, see you around”

Gathering all of the courage and self-control I had left, I started to walk away from the aisle just when a hand grabbed my arm.

“(Y/N), wait, I-shit how do I do this”, Mark looked anywhere but my face, his eyes going absolutely haywire while he seemed to burn his brain trying to come up with the next sentence, “Uhm, I...I really miss you, (Y/N). Like, I miss you a lot.”

I sighed loudly and looked at him while slightly tilting my head, I already knew where this was going and I most definetly did not have the reasonable thinking it demanded, “Mark...”

“No, (Y/N), please, just, just come grab a coffee with me. We can chat a bit more and see how each other’s lives are now”, he was now holding my hand, squeezing it slightly, “C’mon, for old times sake”

He looked so enthusiastic about the idea, so joyful, and I don’t know if it was the puppy dog eyes or the absurd heartache I was starting to feel but I complied to him, making the most beautiful smile make its way into his face.

“You still like cappuccinos, right?”

I nodded while smiling and dozed off as he spoke about how there was a new coffee shop just down the street and that we absolutely needed to go there. I don’t know what it was about Mark that made me feel like home, it seemed like I could always come back to him, doesn’t matter how long it took, he would always be my safe spot. Walking side by side on the street while listening to him ramble about how his life was super crazy right now, I looked up at the stars and smiled, who would’ve guessed that my craving for noodles would end up being just another crave for him. 

[writerpeach]

Club Mimosa [Ch 3] - Sweet as a Strawberry

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It had been two days since you had last seen Momo.

Two long days. It was safe to say you had grown rather fond of the attractive Japanese hostess, and it had been over 48 hours since you had seen that gorgeous body, that incredibly attractive face, and heard that cute playful laugh. Not that you were counting.

There wasn’t anything stopping you from visiting Club Mimosa every night. Nothing other than you didn’t want to be the needy type, and a date was just a date, even if it ended rather...special. You knew how things went in this industry, and knew you most likely weren’t the only one that had a date with Momo, probably not even the only one that week. Your wallet could use a much needed rest as well.

But two days felt like an eternity.

It wasn’t that you needed to see Momo but well...you needed to see her. Club Mimosa opened its doors at 8 pm sharp, and you showed up the next night exactly one minute after that. With nothing but Hirai Momo on the brain you approached the club’s doors, excited thoughts turned foul as a sharp tug on the handle of the doors proved useless. They didn’t budge, locked tight. You tried again, not that anything would change. No luck.

You looked around confused as you snapped from your haze to see an absence of the usual. No hostesses scantily clad in outfits unsuitable for the cold weather doing their best to bring in new customers, no flashing lights and thumping music, and you soon realized that not even the bright gaudy Club Mimosa sign was lit up, something you weren’t sure how you missed.

You waited for half an hour, and then a little longer, maybe there was something inside that was causing the club not to open? Japanese culture generally wasn’t one to delay things without notice though. You looked around for signs of life, squinting as you tried to get a glimpse inside. Nothing but darkness.

You checked the time - already 8:45. You sighed deeply and felt defeated.

“Hey.”

An unfamiliar voice caused you to turn around. When you made your way around you were met by one of the club’s hostesses that you had seen before, one that was on the shorter side but still very attractive. Her short hairstyle looked perfect on her and matched the frame of her face well, as did the black dress that hugged her small body perfectly.

“Clubs closed.”

“I see that now,” you frowned.

“Pipe broke this morning, flooded the whole damn place. Be at least a few days before we’re up and running again.” You couldn’t tell if she was happy or upset for the club’s shutdown.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Shit happens,” she said, her tone a bit crude and bitter.

“Guess it does.”

The short-haired hostess had a layer of attitude, something that you found yourself uniquely attracted to. She had a sudden realization as to just who you were and why you had a familiar such face to her.

“Ah, You’re one of Momo’s clients right? Want me to get a hold of her?”

“No thanks, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to bother her if she isn’t working.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, nonchalantly.

“Thank you for the information, you’ve been very helpful.”

“No problem,” she said, and you turned to leave. “Since you made it all the way here, wanna get a drink?”

“Do I have to pay to drink with you?” you teased, and her blank expression turned into a hint of a grin.

“Funny. Nah, not this time.”

“Then sure.” You didn’t have anything else to do now, and drinking with somebody attractive was always a plus.

“Follow me then. I’m Chaeyoung.”

It didn’t take long until she led you towards her destination into a small Japanese styled Izakaya, opening the sliding door as you both stepped inside.

“Welcome!” Greeted a boisterous man behind the bar. The building was small but offered a sense of coziness and comfort. The place was packed, there was one open booth left, but Chaeyoung opted for a seat up front at the bar, and you occupied the last remaining spot and pulled up a chair beside her.

“What can I get you two?” The man behind the counter asked with a friendly look upon his face.

Chaeyoung looked at you. “You okay with beer?”

“I’m fine with whatever.”

“Two beers please,” she said to the bartender, flashing a pearly white smile. “I”m not a big beer drinker but its the easiest thing to get once this place gets busy.”

“Anything with alcohol sounds great right now. Been one of those weeks,” you said, as you sighed. The week wasn’t even over.

“Same here. Ever been to this type of place before?” Chaeyoung asked.

“Not really. My Japanese needs work and I freeze up at these types of places even if I’m with somebody.”

She chuckled. “That’s cute. I’ll order everything then. You hungry?”

“Very.”

Chaeyoung ordered several dishes, some foods you had heard and tried before and a couple you hadn’t. You had the sudden realization that she had subconsciously slipped into hostess mode, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?”

“Even when you’re not at work, you’re still at work.”

She pouted once she realized what you meant. “Guess I’m just so used to it.”

Two large frosty mugs of beer came out alongside several small plates of food. Chaeyoung took a huge gulp while you dove into the food first. The food was different from what was typical bar food, even though this wasn’t exactly a typical bar. It paired nicely with the cold beer, and the food felt like actual food and not just plates of grease.

“Everything is good here, Chaeyoung. You picked well.”

“Almost like I do this for a living,” she smirked.

You sipped your beer as you looked around the room, taking in the lively atmosphere. “Do you like being a hostess?” you asked, as she took another long gulp and put the almost empty beer on the bar’s counter, almost louder than she was expecting. The difference in fullness between your mugs was almost embarrassing, but you had to remind yourself this was no competition.

“I’ve never really thought about it, but yes. I love it,” she said. “It’s easy money. I don’t have to be stuck in an office for 12 hours a day and men buy me drinks all night. Plus I get to look pretty every night.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds appealing. Except maybe the non-stop drinking.”

Chaeyoung smiled. “You get used to it or you find other ways of dealing with it.”

“You do look pretty though.”

Chaeyoung gave out an unamused smile. “Your cheesy lines may work on Momo, but sorry to tell you they have no effect on me.”

“Damn. What works on you then?”

“You can start by buying me some dessert,” she said, as she pointed to a menu.

“Anything you want, Chaeyoung.”

“I like ice cream. Strawberry.”

You looked to the man behind the bar. “Give this lady the biggest bowl of strawberry ice cream you have.”

“Right away, sir!”

Chaeyoung’s smile might as well have been permanently glued when her delicious looking bowl of ice cream came, her eyes glowing as bright as the sun. Just one spoonful and she was in heaven, a half-lidded amusement of pleasure on her face with every bite. You had managed to finish down half of your beer as you watched the enjoyment in Chaeyoung as she ate.

“Got any plans tonight? Chaeyoung asked, as she came up for air from her ice cream.

“Not anymore. You?”

“Not for the new few days. Sure will be quiet lonely at my place.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time.”

Get the hint you idiot, Chaeyoung thought to herself as she looked down at an empty bowl and and an emptier mug, sporting a frown on her empty lips. Chaeyoung seemingly stared at you with a blank reaction, and you noticed those full cherry lips she sported. You could have kissed her right then and there if she let you.

“I lied.”

“You lied? About what?”

“About not having plans.”

“Oh. Well congratulations,” you said, continuing to be oblivious to the not subtle hints she was dropping.

“I plan on taking somebody attractive back to my place and make them moan my name.”

You caught eyes, and the abruptness of her words made you lose your breath. The realization sunk in and you finally realized she was coming onto you, but you wanted to pretend ignorance for just a while longer.

“That person sounds like they’re very lucky then,” you said, smirking. Chaeyoung huffed.

“Do I really have to spell it out to you?” she said, the frustration getting to her.  

“No you don’t, you’ve been less than subtle. Ice cream really did that much to get you going?” you teased.

Chaeyoung’s eyes rolled back. “It’s not just the ice cream, but it helped. I just want….to show Momo up at something.”

“Show her up? Am I just part of your competition?”

“No, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t want this. It’s just...Momo is so good at everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s just so perfect,” Chaeyoung sighed. “She’s the number 1 hostess, and I’m not even in the top ten. “

“Well then clearly your club is fucking up their rankings then. And no, that’s not a line,” you said. Chaeyoung let out a small relieved smile.

“T-thank you, that really means a lot. I...I just get discouraged. This job is nothing but competition. Momo has a better body than me, she’s taller than me, she has bigger tits than me.”

“I understand, but you’re still fucking hot, Chaeyoung. Small girls are just as good as tall girls. You have really nice legs and you have incredibly sexy lips.”

“Really?” She asked as her cheeks grew red.

“Really. Any man would be lucky to bang a hostess as hot as you.”

“Then how about you be that lucky man?” she said, not wasting any time getting to the point.

“I’d fucking love that.”

“Then let’s get out of here. I’d love nothing more than to one-up Momo for once by being able to fuck you before her. And I don’t have any of her dumbass rules. Plus I give better blowjobs.” she said convinced, her full lips forming a devilish grin.

“Let’s go then.” You paid for your drinks and food, thanked the bartender and you were off.

Chaeyoung’s apartment was fancy to say the least. Just the living room itself was twice the size as your entire place, even the bathroom was large and extravagant. She might not have been a top ten girl yet, but she sure did seem to rake in the money.

The bedroom was just as large and fanciful as the rest of the place. Front and center in the middle was a canopy bed, something you hadn’t really seen before but were more than happy to make use of. Clothes were casually thrown in a few places, sweaters on a wooden chair, pants hanging off a hamper, and a few sets of underwear and bras were sprinkled on the carpet. The room was messy, but not too messy, just enough to let you know Chaeyoung didn’t take things too seriously.

“Sorry about the mess, don’t get too many guests here.”

“I don’t mind. This is nice place,” you said, as you looked around and tried to gather a glimpse of her personality.

“Thanks,” she said with a nervous smile as she walked towards the bed with her back towards it. Her bare feet pushed into the carpet, and followed her as you met her gaze, able to fully take in her beauty.

"Take me,” Chaeyoung said, her words hungry and filled with desire as her hands wrapped around your neck. You leaned down to kiss her, feeling her lips soft as could be as you held on to her slender waist and pulled her in closer. Her lips tasted fruity, and Chaeyoung returned your advances and smacked her lips against your own. She let you take the lead, but soon after you felt her tongue entering your mouth and wandered around your mouth.

“You’re so sexy,” you told her, breaking the kiss and looking straight into her lust-glazed eyes.

“So are you. Take this off me.”

“Not yet. I wanna fuck you in it first.”

Chaeyoung smirked. “Have it your way then.”

"I will," you responded, and abruptly grabbed her ass and lifted her body into the air, causing a gasp to escape from her lips. You dove into her mouth once more before sitting both of you down on the edge of the bed with her tight body against yours.

“Aggressive. I like it.” Chaeyoung was quick and lifted your shirt over your head, kissing your chest before looking into your eyes with a deadly look.

"I want to suck your cock,” she said sternly. You loved how Chaeyoung didn’t hold anything back.

"Then suck my cock."

Chaeyoung pushed herself off of your body and dropped to her knees, running her hands up and down your thighs. Her hands went to the crotch of your pants, unbuttoning them in a flash and yanking them off hastily.

Her eyes stared at the obvious bulge poking through your boxers, giving your crotch a firm squeeze as her fingertips traced the outline of your shaft. She grabbed the waistband of your underwear and pulled them off you, her eyes went wide and grew excited as she saw your unleashed hard cock throbbing to meet her, feeling herself becoming wet already at the sight of your manhood.

She looked at your erect leaking cock with admiration as she wrapped her slim fingers around it and formed a tight grip, squeezing as she jerked you off slowly up and down with broad strokes.

"No wonder Momo likes you," Chaeyoung teased, as she licked her lips and planted them on your tip, giving a loud kiss and the hot breath of her mouth drove you crazy. Her mouth travelled south as she kissed every inch of your cock until her mouth met your base, using her tongue to move back up your shaft.

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me that you’ll put every inch of this nice big cock inside me.”

“I promise.”

With a satisfied smile Chaeyoung used her tongue and swirled it around your sensitive head, tasting the fluid leaking from it and giving one more peck.

“I’m going to make you feel really good. That’s my promise.” She smiled, looked into your eyes and wrapped her full soft lips around your cock as it entered the warmth of her mouth, the sharp pleasure caused you to moan loudly.

“Oh fuck, Chaeyoung,” you moaned, as you felt her lips pushing forward, taking more of you inside. She kept her attention on you as her mouth performed magic on your cock, her full soft lips felt heavenly as they slid with ease back and forth on your shaft, leaving a coating of saliva in their path.

“Do you like that? Does that feel good?”

“Fuck yes, you have no idea. It feels really good.”

Chaeyoung jerked off your cock furiously, spitting on it to make it wetter before returning it into her mouth, taking it deeper down her throat. Her lips gradually became wetter as her blowjob became sloppier and louder and everything she was doing to you felt fucking incredible.

She knew what she was doing as her head bobbed up and down in between your spread legs, the sensual slurping sounds of her warm mouth drove you absolutely wild and made you moan with every sensation she was giving you. She went went deeper and deeper until you felt the her throat tightening around your shaft and held you all the way into the back of throat for as long as she could, looking into your eyes to see the absolute satisfaction she was giving.

When she came up for air she gasped and smiled proudly as her hands worked your messy shaft, pumping you as fast as she could.

“Like I said, I give better blowjobs.”

She changed it up a bit, using her wet tongue to slather each of your balls in spit before taking them into her mouth one at a time and sucking on them, slowly at first and then gradually slurping on them while her hand worked your shaft slowly, your moans letting her know she was hitting all your spots as her lips maintained a firm pressure on your full sensitive balls.

“God, that feels amazing.”

“That’s what i like to hear. I love hearing you moan,” she smirked, and if that wasn’t enough she began to slip the straps off her dress down while still jerking off your cock, one at a time off each pale shoulder.

Chaeyoung slowly pulled the top of her dress down her body, and she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath which exposed her bare breasts to you. Her tits were small but cute and with one additional benefit - beautiful pierced nipples.

“Holy shit,” you said. Chaeyoung smiled wide at her newly exposed chest. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You pulled her to her feet and immediately dove into her breasts as you kissed them. You noticed the mole just above her left breast as your tongue worked around each of her sensitive nipples, feeling the coldness of the the metal barbs as you licked and sucked at her nubs, causing Chaeyoung to whine cutely.

As you released her slippery nipples from your lips, you noticed the ink on her arm and directed your attention to them. “Those are cute.”

“I know! I have to cover them up every time I work though. I hate it.”

“That’s silly.”

“Mmhmm.”

With a brief pause in your action you knew what you needed next. She had pleased you so perfectly, and you wanted to return the favor.

“I want to taste you Chaeyoung.”

“And I still want to suck your cock.”

“You still can.”

The two of you grinned together as you moved backwards on the bed. Chaeyoung hiked her dress up and slipped her panties down before joining you. She crawled on top of your naked body and It didn’t take long before she maneuvered around so her round ass was in plain view and the prettiest set of pink pussy lips was inches away from your face, wet and appetizing.

Before you could even give a taste you felt Chaeyoung’s mouth on your cock again, hungrily slurping away. Her full thighs had surrounded your face, with her feet just behind your head. You were eager to give her the same pleasure that you felt between your thighs, and using just your tongue you traced the outline of her pussy before diving in and licking between her folds to clean her wet tasty juices.

She moaned and you felt her mouth vibrating around your cock. While you couldn’t see you could certainly feel Chaeyoung’s wet warm mouth sucking you off even messier than before, sucking you off hungrily and taking most you of down her throat while she had a handful of your balls that were quickly becoming drenched from the drool that had escaped from her messy blowjob.

“That feels so fucking good, Chaeyoung,” you said. She didn’t answer, only intending on focusing on your pleasure as tight lips slid up and and down your shaft with ease, making sure to pleasure your balls at the same time. The room filled with sounds of your two bodies trading moans as you both pleasured each other, Chaeyoung’s soft lips and tongue surrounded your shaft, and your tongue was buried inside her wet pussy and her juices were coating your mouth and tongue, it was an absolute feeling of heaven.

The sensations of trying to pleasure Chae as she sucked your cock was like nothing else, her tight warm body pressed against yours heightened your pleasure and Chaeyoung tasted so damn good. You couldn’t get enough of her and grabbed on to her ass, kneading her soft cheeks as you pushed her pussy down on your face more, doing anything you could to taste more of her as you fucked her wet dripping hole with your tongue, driving both of you insane with the feeling.

She moaned loudly around your cock and in response took every inch of you inside her mouth. You wanted to up the ante as well and used the tip of your middle finger and teased the rim of her tight asshole, testing her reaction.

She gave no qualms for you to stop, and while you continued to eat her pussy you slipped a finger inside her asshole began fingering her to her delight, she moaned even more at the new sensation.

As your tongue brushed alongside her clit, Chaeyoung began to squirm and you felt her juices running out of her pussy and staining your lips. You kept a firm pressure on that pink hardened nub, and with the continued stimulation as you fingered her asshole, Chaeyoung came immediately without warning, drenching your face as she climaxed all over you.

You cleaned up Chaeyoung, licking her thighs and pussy clean as she trembled around your face, riding out her orgasm and your cock became slowly vacant from her mouth as she released it with a loud pop.

“Fuck, Momo is missing out for not fucking you yet. You eat pussy so fucking well.”

“What can I say, you’re delicious, Chaeyoung.”

Chaeyoung smiled cutely, but that cuteness only lasted for a moment. “Now, how about you put this inside me?” she said, as she gave your cock handful of fast strokes.

“I’d love to.”

She repositioned on her back and willingly spread her legs for you, splaying her slickened pussy lips for you invitingly with an eager smile. You took that moment to admire her small tight body, the only thing left on her mostly naked body were the remnants of the dress you insisted she stayed in. She was gorgeous from head to toe, but your eyes mostly fixated on the wet glistening lips in between her thighs.

“Come fill this pussy up,” Chaeyoung beckoned, quickly becoming impatient and with a hint of demand. You had no intention to make either of you wait much longer, and you positioned in between her legs, taking your cock into your own hand and rubbing it in between her drenched folds, heightening the desire in her eyes.

“God, just put it inside me already.” Chaeyoung’s lust turned into need, her body was pleading for you to enter her.

You felt the warmth of her entrance as you pushed against it, and with your eyes on her own you slowly pushed into her tight hole and entered Chaeyoung for the first time. She was drenched, and the first few inches of your shaft entered the warm walls of her pussy with ease, hugging your cock tightly.

“More. Put it all inside me.”

You obliged without any hesitation and pushed deeper into her pussy, feeling her warmth and wetness smothering your shaft, making sure you belonged inside her. Chaeyoung gasped loudly as every bit of your shaft entered her and rested there, waiting for further instructions.

“Oh fuck, that’s it. You’re so fucking big, god. Momo doesn’t deserve this dick.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is. Now fuck me, please. Fuck me as hard as you’d like.”

“Oh, I will.”

You were going to take her up on that as you withdrew your cock from Chaeyoung’s tight dripping pussy until only the tip of your cock was still inside her, watching the slick juices that had stained your shaft already with both of you ready for more.

Unable to wait even just a second, you popped your hips and slammed back inside Chaeyoung, feeling her warmth and tightness grabbing hold of your cock as you quickly settled into a rhythm and began to fuck the impossibly hot woman, earning a sinful groan from her deliciously pretty lips.

“Fuck me, fuck me senseless with that big fucking cock.”

You grabbed onto to her slender waist with both hands, holding tight as you drove yourself into Chaeyoung’s tight cunt, feeling the bed shaking already at the result of your vigorous thrusts. A flood of steady gasps and sensual moans escaped the lips of Chaeyoung as you kept the pace steady, watching the pleasure overtaking her pretty face.

As your thrusts became deeper and harsher, Chaeyoung’s moans become louder and drawn out. You couldn’t believe how tight she was, and the way her juices lubricated your shaft made it easy to thrust as deep inside her as you could. But you still needed more of her, you wanted to fuck her as deep as humanly possible, so you lifted her legs up until her ankles were on your shoulders and pistoned into her roughly.

“Oh! Oh my god, you’re deep! Fuck me deep!”

The wet sounds of her pussy were an absolute delight to hear as you pounded into her, feeling the entire bed moving at the same time. Her tight dripping hole was absolutely sensational, the the hotness of her pink flesh wrapped around your cock you never wanted anything more than to just live inside her forever.

“You’re so fucking hot Chaeyoung. You feel so good, god, I love your pussy.”

“And I love your dick. I love you stretching me so wide, fuck! I’m going to feel it tomorrow and I don’t even care.”

You hugged Chaeyoung’s toned legs as you drilled into her, fast and deep as you had the strength to, staring into her lust-filled eyes with every thrust deep into her tight body, feeling her lips gripping your cock every single time.

You fucked Chaeyoung in this position for what felt like hours, every thrust was deep as could be and the pace was merciless, both of you becoming speechless for several minutes as you both enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s bodies, listening to each other’s loud satisfied moans and groans.

You gradually slowed the tempo down until you were slowly moving inside Chaeyoung. You felt the sweat forming on your forehead, and felt the perspiration on her smooth warm skin as you kept your cock deep inside her for just a while longer.

You pulled out of Chaeyoung entirely and grabbed on to her hips, finally pulling her dress off completely and turned her over on her stomach. She got the hint and got into position onto her hands and knees, that delightful round plump ass raised into the air in front of you. Before you inserted yourself inside her again you gave each of her cheeks a squeeze and a hard slap, the jiggling flesh delighting you to no end.

“You have such a nice ass, Chaeyoung.”

“Glad you like it. I work hard on it.”

You didn’t keep your cock outside of Chaeyoung for long, shoving your cock back inside the comfort of her warm tight pussy and grabbing a handful of her ass with both of your hands as you fucked her from behind. She had gotten wetter as she beautifully arched her back and from this position that allowed for deeper penetration she felt that much more tighter, and you loved the view of her firm ass as you slipped deep in between those thighs and filled her pussy to the hilt.

“I fucking love your cock. God, you feel so fucking deep. I love being filled and I love you fucking me balls deep. Don’t you fucking stop”

Chaeyoung’s tight body was rocked with every harsh thrust, the warm flesh of her delicious ass felt heavenly to the touch and heightened your arousal as you pounded her pussy, her loud moans and sensual gasps let you know that you were doing everything right to pleasure her perfectly.

You felt a grin plastered on your face as you watched Chaeyoung’s hands grabbing full handfull of the sheets, and she buried her pretty face into the pillows in an attempt to dampen her moans. You weren’t having any of it though and grabbed onto her pretty smooth shoulders and pulled her back up, slamming hard into her pretty tight hole as the harsh loud sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

“I want you to be loud for me Chaeyoung, don’t hold back.”

“O-okay, I will, fuck!” she yelped, after a particularly hard thrust. You continued to feel the sweat building on Chaeyoung’s skin, only turning you on more as you fucked her and pulled her back until she was almost completely upright. You hooked both of your arms around the crook of her arms and brought her sweaty hot body to your chest, feeling the new intimate position bringing you closer together

Chaeyoung’s beautiful ass bounced hypnotically as you fucked her hard, your hips slamming against her body as she tilted her head back in deep pleasure, moaning louder than ever.

She felt overwhelmed in this position, without the ability to grab on to anything she felt absolutely crazy. You wrapped one arm around her chest and carefully played with her hard nipples, feeling the metal of her piercings as you pinched and pulled them. Her warm walls tightening more around your cock in response and her hips instinctively pushed backwards against your body, trying to force you deep inside her pussy.

“Fuck...oh my god, you feel so fucking good! Your hard thick cock is going to make me fucking cum again, fuck!”

“Then fucking cum, Chaeyoung.”

You maintained the current position and tempo as you slammed your cock incessantly into Chaeyoung’s tight hungry cunt, feeling her tightening even more and her body tensing up. You continued playing with her sensitive nipples, only driving her to climax that much faster.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

Chaeyoung screamed as she climaxed, her body shaking hard as her orgasm took total control of her body and you struggled to keep her upright through it, continuing to fuck her through each intense second of it. You felt the pulsating walls of her pussy squeezing your cock tightly, threatening to force you outside of her body and it took everything you had to keep yourself inside her.

As her orgasm mercifully subsided you let go of the hold you had of her upper body and she crashed to the bed, spent and heavily panting. You didn’t let her relax for a second though as you continued pumping inside her, the pressure from her orgasm being too much and you felt your own orgasm was not far off.

You grabbed onto her hips tightly as you thrusted harshly inside her, pulling her slim body back towards your own as you absolutely drilled your cock into her, savoring those last few moments before your own impending climax. The wet squelch of her pussy and tired moans of Chaeyoung absolutely music to your ears, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Chaeyoung...I’m going to cum too.”

The room fell silent except for the sounds of the bed and the loud noises of pleasure from Chaeyoung’s body.

“Chaeyoung…”

“Inside. Cum inside me, please don’t pull out. I want to be filled. I want to feel your cum dripping inside me.”

It was everything you wanted to hear. You fucked Chaeyoung for as long as you could last, hearing her screams and moans as you used all your strength and energy to pump hard inside her.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you announced, and within seconds you filled her tight walls with your thick hot load, your body jerking uncontrollably as you filled her pussy to the very brim with your hot seed. Chaeyoung moaned together with you as you finished emptying your balls inside her, filling her cunt with thick spurt after thick spurt as you gave her everything you had left, trapping your cum deep inside her body.

You felt weak and powerless for a moment as your shaft remained buried inside Chaeyoung, her tight body milking you for each and every drop.

As you recovered your senses you gently withdrew your spent cock an inch at a time, squeezing her ass and spreading her pussy open wide and with completely and utter exhaustion you watched the thick dripping creampie slowly escaping from her pink splayed lips and leaking out of her body.

You watched intently the mess you left inside Chaeyoung’s now creamy pussy, she brought a hand in between her folds and collected a bit of your load on her fingertip, bringing it to her lips and tasting it with absolute satisfaction.

“Mmm. Momo did say you tasted good.”

You couldn’t help smile while you crashed against the pillows at the head of the bed, Chaeyoung followed and plopped against your body, draping an arm around your chest. Both of you shared gasps and pants and tired smiles.

“Stay the night,” Chaeyoung demanded, looking up at you her hair now completely out of place and disheveled, sweat on her forehead and eyes glazed over.

You didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on how pretty she looked in the afterglow of sex.

“I can’t. I have work in the morning and my place is on the other side of the city.”

“Then call in sick,” she said, smiling and tracing circles into your chest.

“Trust me, I would love nothing better, but people depend on me for whatever reason. I basically keep that place running.”

Chaeyoung pouted, and then hesitated before speaking again. “It’s not...it’s not because you’re attached to Momo is it?”

The question caught you by surprise. “Momo? No, it’s nothing like that. She’s very attractive, but...no. I’m just a client. I really do have to be at work in the morning.”

Chaeyoung sighed loudly. “Damn you for being responsible.”

“I don’t like it anymore than you do.”

“At least take a shower with me. You owe me that after the pounding you gave me.”

“That I can do. I’d love to shower with you, Chaeyoung.”

“You better. I’ll go start the water.”

Chaeyoung rose out of the bed and you watched her exit, unable to take your eyes off her backside as she disappeared into the bathroom. You knew you were going to regret not waking up to that beautiful face first thing in the morning. Work was important, but not that important.

You couldn’t quite figure out the reason you weren’t staying. Maybe you were attached to Momo, but maybe you weren’t. Chaeyoung certainly was one of the hottest women you had the pleasure of sharing a bed with, but something was holding you back. You didn’t have enough time to process it as you heard Chaeyoung calling to you.

“Come on!”

You would figure it out in the morning. For now you had a hot shower to share with a beautiful woman, and that’s all that mattered in that very moment.

[ncityislove]

His Worst Nightmare

➳ Pairing: Demon!Jisung x Reader

➳ Genre: Angst, Demon AU

➳ Word Count: 9.2k

➳ Warnings: mention of murder and blood but no actual death

Requested? Nah.

You wake up in a pitch-black room, the smell of something burning, stinging your nose. You let out a choked cough, attempting to sit up, only to realize you can't. Your chest is tied down to a table, along with your arms and legs with buckled straps. Fear runs through your veins as you call out for help.

You don't know where you are but the room must be humongous for the way your voice echoes, your screech bouncing around the room for what must've been over a minute until it comes back to you. That's when a singular lightbulb hanging over your head comes on and a boy standing to your left comes into view. You scream again and he hushes you with a finger to his lips.

The light is dim so you can only see his silhouette. How long he had been standing there, you didn't know, but all you could feel was the shrill voice in the back of your brain telling you to run away from him. You're breathing loudly now, the cold metal of the table contrasting with the warmth of your skin. The smell is stronger. You finally recognize the scent as burning flesh.

You stir on the table, screaming and calling for someone—anyone—but the boy puts a hot hand on your shoulder, silencing you. You don't know how he did it, but your voice is gone, your limbs frozen. He leans into the light and you can finally see his face.

He's handsome, his jaw chiseled with small eyes that would've been charming if it wasn't for the alarming blood-red pupils that stare down at you. His lips curve into a wicked smile, his pointed teeth white and pearly as his tongue slid over them quickly.

"Wake up," he whispers.

You shoot up in your bed with a gasp. Your heart thuds in your chest as you try to stop the stream of tears pouring out of your tear ducts. You had to remind yourself that he wasn't real, your breaths coming out uneven.

You've had the same nightmare every night for the past month, leaving you on edge and restless. The bags under your eyes have bags. You put a clammy hand to your forehead, the skin hot to the touch, only reminding you of the burning temperature of the room in your dream.

You don't know why you were having nightmares and why of all things it was always the same boy every night. It never went any further than that bone-chilling smile except once, two or three weeks ago, when his jaws opened the size to fit 3 large watermelons, blood dribbling down his chin. You woke up screaming that time, causing your parents to rush in to check on you.

You get up to make a cup of coffee, deciding against going back to sleep. Caffeine has been your kindest friend for the past few weeks. Unfortunately, you couldn't stay awake forever and eventually, you'd drift off, finding yourself strapped to that table again.

You groggily padded across the kitchen floor, grabbing your favorite mug from the drying rack and pouring yourself the largest cup of coffee possible.

-

The computer cafe you were currently sitting in was emptier than usual, which slightly lifted your spirits. The icing of your half-eaten cupcake was starting to become too sweet so you get up to dispose it in the garbage at the ordering counter.

Your legs feel weak as you walk, your entire body suffering from the lack of proper rest. You feel the world sink in when you blink occasionally, dozing off over and over. This won't do. You get into line to grab another coffee.

You're sitting back at your computer, nose hidden in your oversized coffee mug, when a tall figure shadows over you, their presence strikingly familiar to you—so familiar that when they touched your shoulder, you didn't even flinch.

"Excuse me?," said the young boy.

You turn around, your blood suddenly running cold. The face you've dreamed of every night for the past month—the face that was so terrifyingly beautiful that his image was permanently ingrained into your mind. The slope of his nose those his slanted eyes—it was him! There was no mistaking it.

His lips curl into an awkward frown, his eyebrows lifting slightly at the way your eyes pop out at him.

"A-are you okay?"

You shake your head side to side as you abruptly stand up, gathering your things with trembling hands. You had to go home. You were hallucinating now. You had to be. But why did he seem so real? You were going insane.

"Hey!" he calls out, his hand reaching out to stop you, and you do flinch this time although he never actually makes physical contact with you.

"I just came over here to tell you that you missed the trash can," he points to the bin that you threw your cupcake away at—or at least you thought you did. You look at him, noticing the pastel pink uniform and his name tag.

"Oh," you manage to say. "I-I'm sorry, I'll pick it up. It's just—I thought you were someone...I mean you look so much like him."

He looks confused as he struggles to put together your words, as he simply got annoyed with you trashing his workplace with your unfinished food.

"Jisung," you read his name tag aloud. "Jisung, how long have you been working here?"

"About two weeks," he shrugs.

You nod. It still doesn't make sense that he had the exact same face as your torturer—the same voice too!  You struggle to maintain eye contact with him, expecting the red pupils to make an appearance any minute. But he seemed like a completely different person. He was kind of awkward, shy almost. He wore his hair differently, his eyebrows barely visible under the blonde locks that covered his forehead, unlike the perfect middle part you were used to. That way you could see his eyes clearly when he watched you writhe in fear, that ever so wicked smile would appear when you tried to scream.

You swallowed thickly as you apologize again, making your way to pick up your cupcake when his voice stops you.

"Who is it by the way? Who do I look like?"

You freeze, the tone of his voice alarming as if he knew something. Or maybe it was all in your head. You turn slightly to face him, his head cocked curiously at you, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Some guy I know. He's an awful person...if you can even call him that," you say and then you turn around not caring to see his reaction, quickly cleaning up your mess before squabbling out of there.

-

You don't visit the cafe again. It's been three days since then and you've still been getting the same nightmare except for the new addition of Jisung's cheap name tag. You weren't even sure if they were the same person but all of it seemed impossible either way. How could you dream of someone you haven't met? And if it truly was him that tortured you in your sleep, was he that evil creature in real life too?

You begin to cry. You just wanted it to stop. You hide your face in your bookbag as you wait in the cold.  The firm cemented steps offer your bottom no comfort as tears dampen the collar of your shirt. You had fainted in class from exhaustion and now the nurse was sending you home early.

As if you weren't already embarrassed enough a group of people walked passed you during your meltdown—no doubt ogling at your crumpled figure. One of them stops and heads back towards your direction. You cringe, waiting for them to walk past again except they don't. They stop right next to you. You really didn't want to be bothered right now—wasn't it obvious? You kept your head down, hoping if you didn't acknowledge the person they would go away. Maybe it was working. They're backing away now. Thank god—

"Uh, hey, are you alright?"

You squeeze your eyelids shut as a string of curses run through your mind. You give a curt nod of your head, your face still nuzzled into your bookbag.

"I remember you," the voice pauses. "You're not crying because you missed the trash can again are you?"

You slowly sit up to look at him, tears still streaming down your swollen cheeks. It was him. He found you again. This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Bad joke?" he awkwardly chuckled.

"You don't go here," you state.

He was caught off guard by your response. He gives you a once over before sliding off his plum purple puffer jacket and placing it over your shoulders. Your eyes widen at the warmth that envelopes you. The jacket was nearly scorching but barely just warm enough to where it wasn't uncomfortable.

"My cousin goes here. Me and my parents are picking him up for my aunt as a favor."

You nodded not really believing him. "So you're skipping school to come with your parents?"

Jisung took the question as an invitation to sit next to you. "No, of course not. I'm homeschooled."

You frowned. It angered you his words made sense when every cell in your body told you he was lying.

"You wanna talk about why you were crying?"

You shake your head, looking back at your book bag as a strong gust of wind blew your hair wildly in your face. You shiver, closing the jacket tighter around you.

"Aren't you cold?" you ask.

He just shrugs, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a tilt of his head. "That guy I remind you of, you must not like him very much, huh?"

"Hate his guts," you grumbled.

"Whatever he did to you must've been bad because you treat me like I'm gonna bite your head off any second."

You look back at him with the toughest expression you could muster. "Who's to say you won't? What if you are the same person?"

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

"What are you trying to say?"

Jisung stares at you for a beat and you swear you see a flicker in his eye. "I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

He gets up and walks away just as your mom arrives. You stare at his back as he walks through the glass double doors, not even taking a second glance back.

Later that afternoon, you're stuck on the couch with your mother hovering over you. She's currently on the phone with the doctor while you're swamped in blankets with a wet towel on your forehead that's slightly blocking off your vision. She's frantic, making up symptoms you don't have as she paces around the living room space.

You huff, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. You sit up, removing the cloth from your forehead only for your mother to force you back down with an icy glare.

"Yes, we'll be there at 10:30 sharp," she writes the time down on a notepad.

"Yes, thank you so much...okay...bye."

"Mom," you call out as soon as she hangs up. "I gotta return my friend's jacket."

"You're not going anywhere in this state," she puts her hands on her hips.

You flop back on the couch dramatically. "But I told him I'd give it to him today," you lie.

"I think he'll understand," she says walking into the kitchen.

There was no way you could stay here another moment without getting answers. What did he mean earlier? You knew he was trying to convince you of something, but what?

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

Did he know about your dreams? Your head was beginning to ache and you weren't sure if it was because you were going to faint again or if your brain was starting to hurt from overthinking.

"I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

You double-check to see if your mom is paying attention before grabbing the jacket and your shoes, tip-toeing out of the front door. You hop on your bike and pedal like there's no tomorrow down the street to the computer cafe.

The ride feels longer than usual, the streets cold and barren. The grey sky threatened rain but as if someone were looking out for you from above, the heavy puffy clouds held out a little longer. You nearly get hit by a red pick up truck in your haste, gaining you a middle finger as he zoomed by angrily.

Out of breath and slightly dizzy, you step into the cafe, your eyes peeled for a familiar head of blonde hair. You're red in the face, bent over your knees as tears sting your eyes. You don't see him. He's not here.

The door opens behind you and you're too emotional to move out of the way. Whoever it was would just have to squeeze by.

"Oh, thanks, my jacket," Jisung says, standing beside you now.

You stand up straight, almost smiling in relief. Jisung was still dressed in his casual clothes; his shift must not have started until now. Suddenly you feel foolish for being so melodramatic. Here you were, your eyes still glossy and your cheeks still glowing a faint red from the cold ride and the wind whipping your hair against your face when it all seemed so dumb. Why were you here? To confront a boy you hardly knew about your nightmares? To accuse him of the impossible? You had everything you wanted to say planned out perfectly, imagining the weight that would lift off your shoulders ever since he left you at school but now, finally face to face, all those words died at your tongue.

You look at Jisung and stick your arm out, the jacket dangling in your hand. Jisung smiles brightly at you before taking it, the corner of his lips turning downward as he examines your face. He looks somewhat hesitant to bring it up but he does anyway.

"Is whatever was bothering you earlier still upsetting you?"

You nod, biting your lip.

"I was hoping leaving you my jacket would cheer you up somehow," he chuckled, his eyes thoughtful. "It was stupid."

"It did cheer me up in a way," you start. "It reminded me of something...but I'm ready to tell you what's wrong now."

The whites of Jisung's eyes became more visible as he looked at you, his lips parted slightly. He leans in closer, ready to hear what you have to say.

"Can we step outside for a minute?"

"Uhh," he glances at his watch. "Yeah, sure."

You walk out first, hearing his soft footsteps follow behind you. The sky is even darker now, even though you were only inside for a moment, the smell of rain in the air. The wind was strong, blowing the trees wildly.

You kept your back to him. "I've seen you before."

Jisung is silent for a moment. "You mean the guy who looks like me?"

"No," you correct him. "I've seen you before. You are the guy who looks like you. Aren't you? Except you act different."

"Huh? I just met you...how would I..." he trails off.

You turn around, tears threatening to spill over. You weren't afraid of him now, only in your sleep you were but for some reason, as you spoke, your heart thudded in your chest. You didn't feel in danger when you were with this Jisung. The Jisung that kindly asks you to pick up your trash and gives you his jacket in the cold. But the jacket...it was more than a kind gesture...something wasn't right about it.

"Why was your jacket so hot?"

His eyes fell low before looking back at you. "You and I meeting was fate, you know that?"

You frown. "What?"

"If you've seen me before then we must've met in your dreams correct?"

You take a step back. "How did you—"

"How did I know? It would take me forever to explain. But you're special, __."

A white flash illuminates Jisung's face, a loud crack of thunder echoing around you causing you to jump.

Jisung starts to laugh madly. Terror runs through your body as you start to regret coming here at all.

"What are you?" you ask, your voice shaking in fear.

Jisung smirks at you. "You know what I am, baby."

There's another crash of thunder and you nearly hop an inch out of your shoes. Jisung starts to laugh at you again.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He puckers his lips at you with a tilt of his head. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Isn't that what you do," you tutt, your throat tight. "In my dreams, you were always about to kill me."

"That's...no, I'm not like that," he clenched his fists at the statement.

"But you think it's funny to torture me? I haven't slept in over a month because of you."

"A month? No, that's not right. What happened in those dreams?"

A drop of water hits the top of your head but you ignore it. "Like you wouldn't know!" you answer, your brows furious and angry as you look up at your torturer.

"I have no control over your dreams. Can you tell me about them, please?"

"Nightmares," you correct. "Call them what they are. Don't act coy with me. Don't lie. If you're going to kill me then just do it already."

"I don't kill anymore!" his eyes flash red.

You gasp, you're blood running cold at the terrifyingly familiar image. You run away. You make it to your bike but before you can hop on, a hot hand grabs your arm, yanking your body off onto the damp pavement.

"Don't you run away from me!!" Jisung looks angry and maybe a little hurt by your actions but you don't care. You just want to get out of here.

"Just leave me alone, okay!" you get up to run away again but he lifts you again with one strong arm, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Your eyes bulge out of your head when you realize you can't breathe.

"You're pissing me off now. I don't want to hurt you but it's the only way to make you listen."

You struggle against him, your fingers clawing at his hand while he seems entirely unaffected. His nostrils are flaring, the pointy teeth now visible as he glares at you with those blood-red eyes.

"I don't control your dreams. The only person who can control your dreams is you. I only met you a week ago so stop accusing me of something not even I can do." And with that, he drops you.

You fall on the sidewalk, gasping and coughing. Your butt hurts from landing on it so roughly and your left arm stings, probably a cut from the fall but you don't check. You can't bring yourself to look away from him.

"What do you want from me?"

"Well, I can't tell you now," he scoffs. "I don't trust you."

A fat tear escapes your eye, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to make sense of reality. "Who the hell would believe me even if I told anyone??"

"There are those who believe we exist. Mostly the looneys of the church but I can't have you going around exposing me. Then I'd have to kill them all and I don't want to do that again. I'm reformed now."

Again?

"You said you're not who I thought you were. If you're not him then who are you?"

A gentle ring of thunder fills the thick air as it starts to rain. It's cold and uncomfortable but neither of you makes an effort to go back inside.

"I'm not a killer. That is, only if you don't make me out to be."

How could he say that when you could see the fangs that could tear your body in half. How could he say that when he almost killed you just now?

"You've killed people before," your voice waivers even though you will it not to. "You're a murderer. That's what your kind does to humans. Kill."

"Say it. Say what I am." Jisung crouches to your level. "C'mon. Say it."

Your body's shaking from how close he's gotten. You say nothing as he waits for you to respond. You remain silent.

He leans into your ear and whispers, "Either you say it on your own or I'll make you say it."

You let out a weak noise, turning your head away as he tucks your thick wet hair behind your ear.

"Demon," you wail, as tears blur your vision.

Jisung smiles triumphantly, pressing his warm lips to your forehead. Your body shrivels away from him as you scream, a fist landing on his hard chest. He takes your hand in his, keeping it on his chest, sliding your hand to the left and you feel something. Something that doesn't make sense. It's a heartbeat. It was a little faster than a normal one but it was still a heartbeat.

You look at him in shock, your mouth rendered speechless.

"I'm late for my shift," he gets up. "I'll see you soon. But remember what I said. You control your own dreams."

Jisung wraps his jacket around you once more with the obvious intent on having you return it again tomorrow. His eyes fade back to brown as he sends you one last smile and the awkward and kind Jisung is back almost as if he never left. He walks back inside the cafe, leaving you alone in the rain, shivering, wet, and traumatized.

-

A slightly chubby waitress decked out in tattoos with blue hair brings out your steak, medium rare, with a side of lightly salted fries as per Jisung's request. His order was something French that you couldn't pronounce, nor identify, but smelled heavenly, your mouth watering for the order that was not your own.

Jisung checks his expensive watch. "They're late. As usual."

"Hmm?" you snap your eyes away from his meal. "Who is?"

"We're here!" A beautiful older couple makes their way to your table.

"Mom! Dad! It only took you fifteen years," Jisung remarks as he leans in to give them a hug.

"It was your father, love. He got hung up with the gentleman at the sports club."

"Ah! It was business! You know how that sort of thing goes."

They both sit in their seats across from you, picking up their menus. His mother's hair is combed back neatly, her youthful skin glowing as she smiles pleasantly at you. His father is dressed rather casually, wearing khaki shorts and a baby pink polo but the giant rock on his pinky finger told you of his financial status.

"Oh my," says his mother. "And you, my darling, how are you? I've heard so much about you."

His father hums. "Ah yes, you're a special one aren't you? Haven't had a human dine with us in decades."

"Special? How am I special?" you ask, taking a French fry.

"Jisung, haven't you told her?" his father takes a sip of his sparkling water.

"Tell me what?" you look to Jisung.

The temperature in the room starts to rise and you break out into a sweat, fanning yourself with a napkin.

"Why would I tell her what she already knows?" Jisung answers, taking a spoonful of his soup.

You give him an odd look which he ignores and you decide to bite your tongue. A certain glimmer around Mrs. Park's neck catches your eye and you can't look away, like it was a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, willing you not to look away.

"Mrs. Park? That's a lovely necklace your wearing," you say marveling at the shiny red cut of the mysterious diamond. "May I ask what stone that is?"

Her lips curve a little, the pointed bones of her teeth peeking through. "That's a family secret. One that you'll know soon, my dear."

The waitress returns, notepad in hand, asking what the two would like to order.

Mrs. and Mr. Park smile sweetly at the young girl, giving her a long once over. "Yes, we'd like to have you for dinner."

She drops her pen from her notepad. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Park jumps up and snaps the poor girl's neck like a twig, catching her limp body as it falls forward. You scream in horror.

"Christ," Jisung rolls his eyes.

Mrs. Park rips her head off, dropping it carelessly to the ground with a thud. The restaurant is unbearably hot, and you're sweating through your lengthy dress. Your mouth is gaping as you helplessly watch them tear the woman to shreds picking off the meat on her bones and tear the flesh with their teeth. You look around to see everyone carrying on normally as if someone didn't just get ruthlessly murdered.

You can't pry your eyes away as they continue to feast on her carcass, blood dripping down their chins, red splatters tarnishing their clothes. Mrs. Park looks at you, that same smile from earlier still there but now it holds something dark behind it. Her eyes were that crimson red that you'd seen so many times. She crawls onto the table making her way towards you, and you scoot back falling out of your chair.

"I'm not who you think I am," she whispers.

"Wha-what?" you stumble backward.

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not..." she turns over on her back, her arm laying on your food, giggling wildly.

"You control your dreams, __" Jisung says standing up.

You look at him, bewildered.

"This is your dream. Control it."

A whack of thunder shakes the ground, yanking you out of your dream. Your heartbeat is irregular as you stumble out of your bed. Startled, you jump out of bed, pulling on your shoes and jacket, grabbing Jisung's coat along the way.

You left the house in haste, going to the only place you could think of. You needed to talk to him. Whether he'd show up or not was a chance you were willing to take.

You pedaled your bike down the cold, empty streets with the thought of Jisung on your mind. You were confused but you felt like you knew everything at the same time. It was so strange but you couldn't remember the last time anything felt normal.

The cafe was closed. The door was locked, obviously, so you let out a gust of air as you sat down against it. It was nearly 3 am and you left the house alone, loitering around some dumb computer cafe. What had your life come to? You don't even hang out with your friends anymore. You barely even speak to your family these days.

"Jisung!" you yell.

It was only a guess that he would show up. Maybe he'd hear you from wherever he was or maybe you could summon him? It sounded dumb but it made sense at the time.

You yelled his name once more, the desperation in your voice evident but still, nothing.

"Jisung, please," you whisper, your head falling into your lap.

Just as you're about to give up and go home, a blast of heat blows against your back in the strikingly cold morning. You gasp at the sound of the door unlocking behind you, jumping up to meet the boy you came to see.

Your eyes drank in his familiar face and dark clothes. "You came."

"Didn't you ask me to?" he tilts his head, giving you a sideways smirk that you never saw before. "Oh, Jisung! Oh, Jisung, please!" he mocks you and you frown.

"You need to loosen up a bit," Jisung clicks his tongue. "I don't think I've ever even seen you smile."

"I don't do that much these days."

"I see. Come in," he opens the door wider and you follow him into the warm cafe.

It's dimmer than usual, only half of the lights had been turned on and the absence of music almost made you uncomfortable. Jisung sat down at a random table and you cautiously sit across him. It feels as if he's examining every inch of your skin, his eyes slowly dragging over your face to the bottom of your torso where the table blocks his vision. It makes you antsy. You try to ignore the feeling.

"You heard me calling. How'd you do that?"

Jisung drums his fingers on the table in thought, "I don't really know. I've never been summoned before. I just heard you so I came."

"But how'd you get here so fast? Where'd you come from? Your home? Where do you live?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Now, why would I tell you all that? I don't trust you."

You sigh, chewing your bottom lip—a motion you caught his eyes following.

"Well...what can you tell me? I deserve some answers, don't you think?"

He laughs at that. "You don't deserve anything, human. I owe you nothing."

You press your lips together in annoyance. If he didn't want to tell you anything then why'd he show up? He seemed to have some interest in you by the way he keeps toying with you. You can't figure him out. He's hot then he's cold. One minute he's shy and sweet then the next he's rude and angry. But sometimes he was a mix of both, like right now. A happy medium of kind and a touch of asshole. But at least he wasn't going to kill you. You were sure of that. You couldn't explain why but ever since you had that nightmare this morning you had this feeling that he didn't want to hurt you—which was illogical of course—because he did, in fact, hurt you. You had the bruises to prove it. Your neck was covered in black and blue bruises with a distinct outline of five large fingers.

"I had another dream," you start and Jisung raises a brow at you. "I trust you. I don't know why but I have this feeling that I can't get rid of that you won't hurt me."

He frowns for a bit before he begins to chuckle. "My suspicions were true."

"What do you mean?"

"You want to know why you've been having those dreams?"

You nod frantically, bracing yourself for what he was about to tell you, but nothing could prepare you for the words that were about to leave his lips.

"You're destined to become my slave."

-

You come to on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. It was a living room. A large one at that. You sit up, your head feeling heavy and full of fluff. Your shoes are sat neatly to the side of the couch along with your jacket. Standing up on sore legs, you stretch before looking around in what you could only assume was Jisung's house.

It's very...empty. Like it had been barely lived in. Almost as if no one lived here at all. The kitchen's beautiful, large and spacious with fancy looking cupboards. You walked down a long dark hall passing an extravagant dining room with a table that looked like it was a mile long and a chandelier that was so humongous it must've weighed more than your immediate family all together.

You hear the sound of water as you approach a room on your right, pushing open the door left slightly ajar. Jisung is staring right at you as if he knew you were coming. The bathwater is running and he's sitting on the toilet seat with a tub of bath salts in his hands.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiles cheekily at you.

You step into the steamy room, eying him with a groggy pout. "What the hell happened?"

He scoffs. "Of course you don't remember. I told you that you're my slave and you didn't handle it well."

You almost lose your balance, grabbing the counter just in time. "Pardon??"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "I made you a bath. You look like hell so I'll leave you to it," he gets up patting his jeans.

You didn't notice his change of clothes until now. Just how long had you been there?

"Hold on, I have a question. Several actually—"

"I'll be back in a bit," he stalks off closing the door behind him.

You open the door to call after him but he's nowhere to be found. It was like he disappeared into thin air. It wouldn't surprise you if he actually did. You return to the bathroom and disrobe, deciding you might as well. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath. Must've been years. You pause at the mirror and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw how awful you looked. Jisung did not lie when he said you looked like hell. There were dark circles around your eyes and you looked pale, on top of that your hair was a frizzy mess. You finger-combed your hair to the best of your ability before giving up and sinking into the warm bath Jisung had drawn for you.

You let your mind reel as you sat in the tub, your knees tucked into your chest. Nothing made sense anymore. Oh, how you longed to go back to the life you had where the only thing you had to worry about was struggling with your math homework. If Jisung was telling the truth, then your life would never be the same. There had to be a way out of this, right? Maybe this is your punishment for something horrible you did but what? The worst thing you'd ever done was steal a couple of lipglosses from Target and that was two years ago. Or maybe it's because you lied to your mom about passing your Spanish test last month? You regretted it but it still seemed too small of a thing to be punished so greatly for. No matter how hard you picked your brain you couldn't come to a conclusion in any reality where you deserved this. You just wished you could get some answers soon. What would you tell your parents? Your friends? Would you have to leave them all behind? Did you have to do evil things now?

No, he said he changed. He wasn't like that. At least you hoped he wasn't. The scary thing is that you couldn't find it in yourself to care if he did make you do evil things. Just yesterday you would rather kill yourself than to do Jisung's evil bidding. You didn't like that you didn't mind it. You didn't like that nothing added up. You couldn't understand why in the world all of this had to happen to you. You didn't know where you were, how long you've been gone or what was going to happen to you. It all felt like a never-ending bad dream.

After you washed up and dried yourself, you sat idly on the toilet as the water drained from the bathtub. You felt a little better now that you were clean but you could feel the foreshadowing of an oncoming headache from the stress.

There was a gentle knock on the door, shaking you out of your pity party and you get up to open it. Jisung is in different clothing once again, wearing a hoodie and baggy dark jeans.

You stay there for three long days. You don't speak much in that time, but you feel like you know him a bit better. He wasn't as scary as you thought. After spending seventy-two hours together, you feel more at ease in his presence. He refused to discuss your circumstances and you never ask to go home. The thought never crosses your mind after the first day and you almost forget about your life at home completely. Instead, you spend all your time observing Jisung. You watch him cook and clean, sew and paint. He's perfected almost a million hobbies.   He doesn't acknowledge your existence as you watch, only bothering to speak to ask what you wanted to eat or if you were tired and wanted a bath. Contrary to your earlier thoughts, he never ordered you around. He left you to wander around on your own, doing as you pleased. Whether that be to read a book from his collection, watch a movie or watch him.    On the third morning, you're up early, sitting cross-legged in the bed of Jisung's guest bedroom. After taking a shower, you were stuffing your face with a bowl of oatmeal Jisung had so expertly prepared.

"You ready to go home? School should be starting soon."

Home. Your mother. Oh, shit.

"What time is it?" you tuck your damp hair behind your ears.

"Five thirty-seven."

Your eyebrows knit together as he tosses your uniform at you and you catch it.

"Hurry up," and with that, the door is shut in your face.

It only took you about a minute to change and then you were scampering down the hall to the living room where Jisung was waiting patiently, sitting as still as stone.

"Good then. Let's go."

"Wait," you grab his sleeve and Jisung stares down at your hand as if it were alien.

"Can you please tell me what's going on now? I'm going insane here."

He sighs before motioning for you to sit down. You quickly oblige, plopping down on the couch and he sits opposite of you.

"Sometimes, there are certain circumstances where a demon who does their job very well would be rewarded by Satan by being gifted their very own human slave.

"It's very rare actually, and Satan stopped doing it centuries ago bc it led to us being discovered. Then he had to "handle" it so I'm not sure why he gifted you to me. Does that answer all your questions?"

You give him a pointed look. He sighs.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what's going on either; I don't even work anymore."

"What do you mean you don't work?"

"I'm retired. I don't like causing harm to humans and Satan let me settle down up here."

"Satan sounds awfully nice..." you frown a bit.

Jisung rolls his eyes slightly. "Oh, believe me. He isn't. Satan lives up to his name just fine. He let me go under special circumstances."

"So you're special?"

"Yep."

You folded your arms over your chest. "How so?"

"My parents and I were really good at doing what we do. The best actually. For centuries we were the apple of Lucifer's eyes. I mean, we got the best treatment, luxury lifestyle, the other demons didn't dare mess with us. It was almost like...heaven."

You purse your lips, feeling uncomfortable with the comparison to heaven.

"One day, I met a human I was assigned to and she was different than any human I'd ever seen. I was supposed to influence her to sin but I just couldn't no matter how hard I tried. This human was the purest of any kind I'd met and she was so young. The young ones are supposed to be the most malleable but she always resisted. She was good.

I realized something then. I thought, maybe not all humans don't deserve to go to hell. Some do. Some don't. And without the influence of us, a lot of them would go to heaven. After doing it for so long, I started to feel guilty. I've never been human. I was born like this. I never experienced a human life but I wanted to. So I asked to retire."

You were sure your eyes were bulging out of your head but you were too shocked to try to change your expression. "And he just let you go? Just like that?"

"Yeah. Satan wasn't happy. He thought it was stupid, which, it might be a little. A demon can't live like a human. He claimed after a few decades I'd see humans for what they really were and then I'd be back."

"So, then Satan made me your slave to try to convince you to come back?"

"I'm not sure," he flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes. "But Lucifer doesn't do anything without a purpose. I'm sure we'll find out soon."

"Will you go back?"

"I don't want to but if I have to then I will. It's what I was created for."

"Oh," you were lost on what to say next.

"Are you ready to go back home?" He stands up, holding a hand out to you.

You're about to take it when the doorbell rings. Jisung looks frigid. Was that fear in his eyes?

"My parents are here."

"Huh? Why?" The scenes of your dream flash in your mind. The headless waitress and blood gushing everywhere. If they were anything like the dream version of them then you were dead meat.

"I don't know. They're not nice people, __," he warns.

"Should I run? Or hide?"

"There's no point; they'd find you. Just sit still and don't say a word."

Jisung walks to the door, opening it to reveal two faces you've seen before. His mother didn't look pleased to see her son but his father pulled him in for a quick hug, patting him on the back.

"Well, are you going to invite us in? We knocked this time. Just like you asked," his mom says with a hint of annoyance.

Jisung steps back to let them inside and it's like an alarm goes off in their heads because as soon as they step one foot inside, their heads snap to find you sitting on the couch.

"Oh...you have company," his father says in confusion.

"Jisung, what is this?" His mom looks at you in disgust.

"Mom, Dad, this is __. We were just on our way out, actually. So, this is a bad time."

His mom shoots him daggers with her eyes. "You aren't going anywhere we just got here. Jisung, where are your manners?"

Jisung stands there, looking defeated as he mumbles an apology.

"Hello, there! I'm Mrs. Park," she extends a hand out to you. You look at Jisung before getting up to shake it.

"Mr. Park," his dad shakes your hand next. Their hands are just as hot as Jisung's. You shuffle back to your spot on the couch.

"Is this your friend, Jisung?" Mrs. Park asks, looking you up and down.

"She's my slave, mother."

His parents look at each other in shock, smiles of joy creeping across their faces.

"Lucifer gifted you a slave?" Mrs. Park practically jitters with excitement.

"Yes, mother."

"Son, that's amazing! You have to come back now!"

Jisung clenches his fists at his sides. "I'm not coming back. Not now. Not ever."

"Don't be silly, Jisung. It would be extremely disrespectful not to after receiving such a gift. He stopped gifting slaves centuries ago," Mrs. Park snaps.

"Mom, I made my decision."

"You foolish boy. You're an embarrassment to us all. We've been forced into hiding ever since you left. We're the laughing stock of the underworld because you decided to go soft and ruin the reputation we worked so hard to build. Two centuries of hard work down the drain."

"Mother—"

"Don't you understand? This isn't a gift it's a warning. You've been gone too long, Jisung. He wants you back. You've had your fun living your little fantasy; now it's time to come back to reality."

"Son, please," Mr. Park sits down next to you. "Listen to your mom."

"I...no. No, I'm staying here," says Jisung.

"You're so selfish! He won't just punish you he'll punish us all! Me and your father will be extinguished right along with you. My dearest son, please use the common sense I gave you and come back to us. I've missed you. We were a great team."

Jisung looks torn as he looks at you then back to his parents. "I have to get going."

"Jisung," Mr. park barks.

"Please leave," Jisung opens the door for them.

"You're going to get us all killed," Mrs. Park snarls as she nudges her husband to get up. "Close the damn door, Jisung. We're leaving."

Jisung closes it, his back falling against the wall.

"We're not done talking about this," his mother declares before looking at you one last time, the corner of her lips turned downwards. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you as the couple dissipate right in front of you, fading into a silhouette and then finally nothing. They're gone.

Jisung opens the door again. "Come on."

   The ride to your house is silent and too quick if you were being honest. Jisung lives fairly close to your house although in a much better neighborhood for someone who's living off of minimum wage.

   You're still a bit shaken up but much calmer than before. Once you enter the house, you find the lights off. Your mom was still asleep. You thank god as you creep to your room as quietly as possible. When you open the door, however, your mom is sitting on your bed holding a book in her hands. Was that your diary?

"Y/n, just where have you been all night?"

You deflect her question. "Why do you have my diary?"

"This is my house and my rules. I am your mother for Christ's sake; I have the right to know what's going on in my daughter's life and if you won't let me in, damn it, I'll find out my own way."

"That's a complete invasion of my privacy!"

She looks taken aback at your brazen comment. "Raise your voice at me one more time—I dare you! You were out with that boy from the computer cafe, weren't you?"

"What? No! My friend, Deana broke up with her boyfriend and it was an emergency. I had to go talk to her."

She narrows her eyes. "Don't you lie to me."

"I swear it! It's true," your bottom lip trembled as you held back tears.

You wanted to tell the truth but you couldn't. Jisung wouldn't like that very much and quite frankly, you were simply terrified of what his parents might do to you more than your angry mother. Would she believe you anyway? You didn't have any proof. She'd probably lock you up in some psych ward hundreds of miles away from here at the first mention of demons. Or maybe she'd just think you were lying. Her face was red with fury but you can tell by the slight quiver in her voice she was more worried about your safety than anything.

"I know somethings going on," she rests her hands on her knees. "You've been having sleepless nights and you don't go out as much anymore. And now there's some boy who comes out of nowhere and you're running out to meet him when you've got a fever. You scared me half to death and I just let it slide but now you're sneaking out and coming back three days later at six in the morning?

"No ma'am. This is not how I run my household. You know that. I mean is it me? Did I do something to make you wanna push me away?"

Your throat aches as you choke back tears. "No, mom, it's not that at all. I just have to solve this on my own."

She looks heartbroken but nods nimbly. "But you'll come to me if you can't figure it out on your own?"

"I promise."

"Good," she stands up. "We're leaving in ten minutes so hurry up and get dressed. Oh yeah, and you're grounded."

You couldn't say you didn't see that coming.

-

When you get home from school, your mother's in the living room. She usually doesn't get off of work for another two hours but it wasn't that hard to think of the reason why she was home so early. She asks about school and you say whatever it takes to end the conversation as soon as possible so you can go to your room. You lock the door behind you when you're finally alone, changing into more comfortable clothes. You make sure your mom's still downstairs before you whisper Jisung's name and a warmth envelops your body from the tip of your tongue down to your toes. He appears before you in seconds, wearing his work uniform. He doesn't look at you at first, inspecting the interior of your room before making himself comfortable on your bed.

"Your mom didn't seem too happy about this morning," he sighs.

"How did you know that?" you ask and for some reason, you think, you might be better off not knowing.

"You and I are connected now. I can see you whenever I want. I can...feel you."

You gulp. You didn't like the thought of him checking up on you whenever he wanted. And what's worse is that if you ever tried to run, he could find you.

"Right...well I have a question."

"Oh, you're just full of those, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes. "If you go back to working for Satan...would he allow you to let me go?"

Jisung's face hardens. You could feel the warmth in the room grow.

"Why would you ask me that? Do you know what you'd be asking me to do?"

"I'm sorry," the words leave your mouth at lightning speed. It's odd. You didn't want to say them but you did.

"Am I really so awful you'd rather send me away to do the devils bidding than to be stuck with me?"

"No, not at all," you say this on your own this time. It should worry you how true it was. You truly didn't mind his company. It took some time to separate the man from your dreams to the one in reality but once you did, you saw the good in him—once you overlooked all the sarcasm, of course.

"Don't get offended, please. That's not what I'm trying to do here," you approach him. "I just want my life back."

There's a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He sighs. "I suppose, you're right. It's selfish of me to impose on your life when you didn't ask for any of this. I'll take my problems elsewhere and leave you be."

You're surprised at how quickly he gave you what you wanted. You expected to have to squeal your way out of it. It was so easy you almost felt bad for asking.

"There won't be any consequences? He won't get mad if you leave me alone?"

"I'm not sure what he'll do. Just as I can see you, he can see me," he pauses. "Whatever the outcome, I'll handle it."

He stands up and you stand up with him.

"Is it weird that I'm going to miss you?"

His eyebrows fly up and he almost looks embarrassed. "Uh, I'm sure that's just a side effect of being my slave."

"I see," you look down feeling awkward. "Can I get a hug?"

You can tell he's uncomfortable with the request but he opens his arms for you anyway. You hate how attached you've become in the last twelve hours. You hardly knew the man and after meeting his parents you shouldn't be standing anywhere near him. But you still felt a pull towards him and you weren't so sure if it was a side effect. Maybe you were crazy—actually, scratch that, you were definitely crazy—but you actually kind of liked Jisung. He protected you from his parents and was willing to take whatever the devil was going to throw at him. So you lay your head on his chest and the heat is already scorching your skin. The fast rhythm of his heartbeat almost rocks you as his hands wrap around your shoulders and you stand there for a moment. He was a little stiff but you could tell he was trying his best. When you let go, his face is different. He's smiling at you and there's this gleam in his eyes that you'd never seen before. Then there's something pulling you towards him, an unexplainable compulsion to kiss him. He doesn't move as you lean in to peck your lips on his warm ones. It's like his limbs are frozen and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to do. He's never encountered someone like you before. Someone so beautiful and smart. You were the only person that could ever make him feel anything other than complete misery and he was so sad to let you go. He didn't want to let you go and he didn't have to. You were his slave, after all. But you had asked him to and he couldn't find it in him to deny you. Finally, his instincts kick in and his eyes close as he kisses you back. It's the most intimate kiss you've ever had and you find your hands pulling his shirt to pull him closer to you, wanting more but suddenly he's gone. You look around your room to find it empty. He left. He left you. Just like you asked.

"Jisung?" your voice breaks as you call out. "Jisung??"

Your door bursts open causing you to flinch.

"Hey, what do you feel like for dinner?" your mom walks in. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

   You try to stop the tears from falling but you fail as you burst into sobs. Your mom runs over and hugs you, begging for you to tell her what's going on but you can't. You can't tell anyone. No one could ever know.

-

   You think about Jisung every day for the next two years. How could you not? His face was branded into your mind, his voice a never-fading memory. You like to think he was okay. That whatever battles he had to face with his creator went successfully. You hoped he was free and happy. You imagine he watches over you from time to time, just to see how you've grown and what you were up to.    For some time, he's everywhere you look. You'd see a flash of blonde and go running to catch him, no matter where you were. In the end, you never caught him. It was always your mind playing tricks on you. Your friends and family grew concerned but those concerns faded away as the spottings did. Every hot summer day reminded you of him. Even the heaters in the winter made you think of him. He was always in the back of your brain.    After a while, it felt like it was all one big fever dream. The only reminder that it was real was the poorly written entries of your old diary. That, and one other thing.    One day, you come home to find a necklace on your bed, the glowing red stone flaring up the memory of the matching one his mother wore. He was alive. He hadn't forgotten about you. The smile that adorned your lips was big enough to give one the impression it was a gift from your lover. You vowed to wear it every day, thanking Jisung aloud, and you swear you feel his presence in the room for a moment, a rush of heat flowing into your bedroom and then it's gone.

[rq-s]

Title: Falling Down 

Pairing: Xu Minghao / NB!Reader

Genre: Light Angst & Platonic OR Romantic

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: None. However, I do interpret the timeline and meaning of his lyrics loosely. I can’t and don’t claim that it’s the “correct” way to do so; he wrote it to be ambiguous for a wide audience to enjoy. Please watch the Falling Down Making Film for clarity.

Credits: ENG Translation of Falling Down 

Summary: You and Minghao have been consistent penpals since 2004, sharing each other’s cultures, languages, passions, and lives as you both grew up. 2014 came around and letter from him only came in 4 times, and only 1 in 2015. The last this you ever heard from him read he was a bird in a cage.

Notes: Italic = letter  ... = omitted letter content 

My Masterlist

Spring 2004

“How about this one, honey?” Mom handed me a postcard from a spot on the rack that I couldn’t reach. The large font caught my attention and told me it was a landscape picture of the closest national park. Though nothing in the picture was recognizable, it reminded me of camping, which made me smile despite having never been before.

“Sure.” Was all I said, and I followed her as she pushed our full shopping cart to the register and began chatting with the cashier.

Like usual, I quickly put the postcard on the conveyor belt along with the groceries. As soon as it was empty, I went to the bagging station and put the scanned and bagged items back into the cart. Making sure to the boxes and cartons together neatly like Tetris, careful not to squish the bread.

“What a diligent little kid you have!” The cashier spoke, her voice worn with age, but with a sense of joy that reminded me of a stereotypical grandmother.

“She always says I do it wrong.” Mom joked, smirking at me. She never did let go of my “If you want it done right, do it yourself.” attitude I had even as a kid.

 Mom finished paying, and we went put into the chilly morning air of the parking lot that was made even colder by the shadow of the supermarket. I once again moved the bags from the cart to the trunk and brought the cart to the nearest drop off spot while Mom started the car.

The ride home was mostly silent, save for the sound of the road beneath the wheels and the hum of the heater.

“Thanks for letting me do the penpal thing, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, but remember the deal; you get more chores to do. You’re 7 years old now, you can handle doing the dishes by yourself, right?” The tone of her voice was completely serious, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ve been helping with the dishes for years, and I’ve learned from the best. I’ve got this!”

 When we got home, I scoured the bags for that postcard, and luckily it was only bent on one corner. I wrote down bit of info about that park - whatever Google told me, and set it aside. I grabbed the template application from my school binder and filled in the blanks. 

Hello! My name is _____________, I’m __ years old, and I am from ________! I am learning Mandarin, but I’m still a beginner. I hope to learn more about your culture and language as we exchange letters!

For now, I will tell you a bit about myself. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Along with this letter is a postcard and other information about where I am from!

I hope to hear from you soon!

Signed,

_____________

It was a pretty basic template that we had to copy from, and in retrospect, it was cringy as all heck, but it had to be formatted juuust right and follow the guidelines exactly, or the penpal program admin’s wouldn’t accept it.

From what I was told, someone from China who’d also applied and been approved would be paired with me, based on age and interests. Only this first letter was prewritten. Once we were paired up, the letters themselves and the mailing of them was up to me and my family. 

I was lucky I got a match at all, most of the kids in my class didn’t. I learned pretty quickly why: I was the only one who put “dancing” as an interest.  

Summer 2007

...

This was a frog I found at the lake! Mom got mad that I touched it, and when it jumped out of my hands and back into the water, it got mud all over us!! 

Later we had a barbecue and some other campers came buy, but their kids were teenagers and didn’t wanna play with me, so here is a picture of me pouting in the tent instead of having fun. 

...

This is the last one, when we finally got home from the long car ride. we all were sunburned really bad, but it looks like you can see freckles on my face because of it! 

Whenever either of us would go on trips, even just to the water park or to a festival, we’d take Polaroid pictures to send. Most the earlier pictures Minghao sent were of him at tournaments, then they turned into selfies from after dance practice. It wasn’t until they were in their teens that he began to take more artsy pictures, with the occasional selfie thrown in. He’d always put at least one polaroid in each envelope, and photography quickly became one of the many things he excelled at. 

Winter 2010

…

And I still can’t believe you were on TV!! Twice!!! All these letters… I can use them as blackmail someday when you’re a superstar! Muahah!!

I’m not nearly as good as you still, but Miss Lilly says my footwork has gotten a lot better! I wish you could teach me, but words don’t have the same effect as seeing it. I doubt I’d get it even if you tried to explain… and don’t even think about trying to teach me any martial arts, my brain will melt!!

…

My letters were always a bit longer than Minghao’s, and were full of run on sentences and unorganized thoughts. He was always clear and concise, yet sensitive. He always gave strong and encouraging advice on my Mandarin, but my English tips barely seemed to help him. I always cared more about getting to know him and telling my own stories than about practicing. Though, I don’t know what stories I had worth telling as a 13 year old. We contrasted each other a lot, and Mom said it made us a better fit for each other.

It wasn’t a weekly thing, but we always wrote when we could and has a steady back and forth. Sometimes the envelopes were thick, with many pages, postcards, candies, cool leaves or rocks we’d found, songs we had been listening too; things we cared about and wanted to share. But sometimes they were thin, barely a page long, with hastily written characters and a sincere apology. Both made me smile the same just the same – both showed how much he cared.

 Spring 2012

Perhaps it was because we were the same age, and despite not meeting, had spent so much time together. He somehow always understood me, and never made jokes when I was opening up about the less fun sides of life. He went at his own pace, and it took quite some time, but he eventually felt comfortable doing the same.

…

I’ve worked so hard for this, I know I’m capable, but I’m genuinely terrified. But I’m excited, too. I feel so overwhelmed and I don’t feel like I can tell anyone, they’ll worry, or they’ll tell me I shouldn’t do it.

I want to try. I want to be on that stage and in that tournament and I want to come out having earned something.

…

 Fall 2012

 Congratulations!! Now I can brag that I know THE Xu Minghao who won 8th at a WORLD DANCE COMPETITION!!!! I knew you’d do great. Yeah, you were nervous, but your hard work showed through!

As soon as I read the news online, I was so happy. Eight is a good number, right? I think It suits you. Even when you're laying down, you have infinite potential! That’s you, Xu Minghao, Number 8, my best friend.

Come to think of it, it's been about 8 years since we met, hasn’t it? it must be some sort of prophecy!!! Haha I’m kidding, but seriously… That’s more than half our lives. We’ve spent knowing each other half of the time we’ve even been on this Earth!

I’m really glad I know you, Minghao. I’d be lonely without your letters, I think. I hope I make your days brighter, like you make mine. I hope we never forget about each other.

 It was rare for me to get so sentimental, but he needed someone to be his fan, and I wanted to be the best fan of Xu Minghao I could be. Not to say I was the first, like I would joke about doing, but because he deserves it. I knew it from the way he talked about training, that he’d make himself a star someday, no matter what.

Because of this, though, it was this letter and onward that we stopped doing the copies and corrections. I noticed myself missing his teasing marks on my papers, or the cheeky smiley faces he’d draw when I did well. We stopped sending trinkets and polaroids too, so each envelope felt a lot emptier.

 Spring 2013

I’m really going to Korea now… The flight is in a few days, I’ll send you another letter from the new address as soon as I get there, so please wait for it!

…

I had bad dreams back then, about how things would be different, slower and distant. His letters were a significant part of my life, and I was afraid to lose that. Yet I was surprised he was even allowed to keep sending me letters. Retrospectively thinking though, it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to write to his family.

Was I like family to him back then?

 Winter 2013

I’m sorry for not writing you back sooner. The company has been really busy with Seventeen TV starting. I’ve been practicing a lot, I barely have time to eat or sleep, let alone sit down and write. There’s barely anyone around who knows Mandarin, and I’m still just learning how to make sentences in Korean, and they call me Myungho… Those who I can talk to are all boys, but they’re my friends, and possible group members, so I shouldn’t mind.

I miss your handwriting. Sometimes I reread our old letters, and notice that we’ve changed so much. But I keep every memory, did you know that?

I always feel better quickly. When I think about being on a stage, having fans singing with us and cheering for me… It makes me so happy that I cry, sometimes. But then I can’t help but think, “Will it ever be me? Or will I just dream of being there, and someone else will get the chance?”

That’s usually when I find one of your letters. The one you sent on my birthday a couple months ago, that you sprayed with that citrus scent? It’s my favorite, I relax so much when I read it. It reminds me of home, somehow.

I’ll try to write more often, I’m sure you’ve been patiently waiting. Let’s exchange pictures again, it’s been a while, right? I just really miss you.

 Was he like family to me? No… I think, back then at least, it was something special for me.

Summer 2014

Hey! I haven't heard from you since April! I miss you a lot, but I know you must be really busy. I’ve been trying to watch the previous Seventeen TV episodes when I can, the other boys seem funny and nice. I hope they all take care of you, like you say Junhui has been.

I’m always wishing you sweet dreams, I worry about how you’ve been. I wish I’d have asked for your phone number or email or something before, but now that you’re so busy and under a big company… I just hope these letters and postcards reach you well.

…

Fall 2014

…

Also, they’ve been saying I’ll qualify to be on SeventeenTV soon. The others are hoping it’s a sign that we’ll get to debut soon. You’ll watch it, right?

Things are looking bright for me and my brothers here, but I can’t help but feel full of dread. I can’t pinpoint why. Junhui said it might be stage fright, but I don’t feel afraid.

I know they all support me, and I support them, but I feel like I might disappear, and not even you would remember me. I know its not true but it’s what I’m feeling.

…

Winter 2014

I SAW YOU!! I watched it as soon as it released, I didn’t understand what most of them were saying without English subtitles, but I could understand you, and I saw you! I’m so proud of you Minghao, you’re an official member of Seventeen!! You’ve been working so hard, I’m sure you’re exhausted. Please try and take time to rest and heal before debut, all of you need it!

…

Spring 2015

May 26th 2015. That is the day I debut. I know we haven't talked much, but I hope you’ll be there in spirit. Thinking about you cheering for me makes it easier to handle. I’ll fight for you, for me, for them, and for us. I’ll try, even though things feel like they’re ending.

I’m going to be busier than before. I’m not sure about the contract, but I’ll try to still get letters out. For now, have this. Thank you for everything.

A layer of grey I can't escape Walls built of fear are colored all over with red Who will listen to the sound from the bottom of my heart at the end of the world(/day) There's no one by my side Flee Flee

The world is collapsing, shattering, breaking I can't find love at all So why why why (Where will I ) fall, where Hidden by the dark clouds, helpless and pitiful Can't feel myself, light is lost Before the end of the world(/day), (I'm) yelling, sounds of pain But there's no one by my side Flee Flee

The world is collapsing, shattering, breaking After I disappear completely, (you) won't realize I once existed Why why why (Where will I ) fall, where Falling endlessly, falling in silence What did I ever do wrong

Missing someone you’ve never met is an entirely separate kind of heartbreak. I began to doubt every single thought and feeling I had, every single word I wrote, everything began to bleed between imagination, ideal, and reality. 

The Minghao I watched on the screen wasn’t the Minghao I knew, and I started to wonder if I ever truly knew him in the first place. I felt like a fool, and even then, I continued to be foolish. I wanted to believe I knew what he meant; that I understood him, but as the years went on, I got more and more lost.

They won awards, they went on variety shows, they released albums, they went on tours. They traveled, they worked, and they grew. I needed to believe I knew him, but Minghao and The8 are not the same. And as I grew to love The8, Minghao began to fade into the back of my mind. When I watched him try to express himself beyond his stage persona, each time I saw flashes of a beautiful bird locked in a rusted cage.

I always kept the letters.

They’re my private collection of memories between he and I. They were the only way I knew it was real. I could run my fingers over his handwriting, feel how he sometimes pressed too hard and left marks in the paper. I could see how the paper and ink warped when he accidentally got tears on it. I could look at his pictures from his childhood and know what he was thinking as he took it. 

I knew him.

Summer 2020

Hey, Minghao. It’s me, do you still remember my handwriting? Maybe it’s changed... No, I know it has, because I’ve changed as a person. It feels strange, I know what you’ve been up to, but you might’ve even forgotten my name. But I feel in my heart that you havn’t. Maybe thats wishful thinking.

Anyway, I’m so proud of you Minghao. You’re a superstar, just like you dream of being back when you first started dancing. You’ve become part of a family, and have so many fans cheering for you every single day. Congratulations!!

…

5 years. Does the smell of citrus still remind you of home? Of me? Maybe it just reminds you of the hard times you had back then. But I guess you’ve been reminiscing about that a lot lately?

I watched the video as soon as it came out, and I was shaking as soon as I heard your voice. That song isn’t a special piece of yourself that you shared with me anymore, but it’s part of your story for the whole world to see, and you told it so well.

...

I miss you.

It was finally time.

It was a fairly thick envelope, inside were many postcards of where I’ve been, quickly written notes as I reacted to songs and memorable moments, and full-length letters that never got sent.

It was so surreal to sit in front on him at this panel. He looks just like he did as a kid, but more refined, stronger inside and out. His aura intimidated me like I was seeing a skyscraper touch the clouds for the first time, and yet he maintained eye contact with me like I was a dandelion about to be blown away with the breeze.

“It’s me, Minghao.” The words barely drifted from my mouth, but they struck him like lightning as realization stealing his breath away. For a moment I saw his eyes twinkle, and the corners of this lips twitch.

A member of staff took the envelop away from him; he barely was able to read the label.

My time would be up soon.

His fingers intertwined with mine and he opens my photobook to his page with his free hand, looking down for only a moment to sign it.

The next Carat was nudging my shoulder already.

“Not yet.” I whispered both to them and to him with a squeeze of his hand. He did the same, like a beat of the heart, and then released. I watched his chest rise and fall with a deep breath as he gave the next fan the same focus and care he gave me. 

I forced a smile on my face as I scooted over.

Did he truly realize it was me? Why could I feel his heart beating faster from the tips of his fingers? Did he want to contact me all this time, or had he chosen to stop and was scared to tell me? Did he miss me too?  

My smile was only fake for a moment, though.

I was meeting his second family for the first time, after all, I needed to make a good impression. After years of keeping up with the group, it should have been easier to feel comfortable, and to be happy like the others.

Yet my hands continued to shake, their faces blurred and the sounds around me went quiet. My senses went in and out of focus like waves reaching and leaving the shore.

The warmth and the texture of his hand stained mine, and as i stared down at it after going back to my seat in the crowd, it felt alien. His hands are same hands that have been writing my name on every envelope for so many years...

I felt like I was falling.

[iwhumpyou]

Eyes

He woke up gasping.  Just a dream, he tried to reassure himself, just a dream.  It was difficult when he could see her body every time he closed his eyes.  Could see sand turning red, and a ruin of a face.

Just a dream.  Rani was fine.  She was alive.  The gun had backfired.  She was fine. 

He got ready in a daze, unable to shake the image, and was almost eager to get to work.  He’d see Rani and she’d be fine and he could stop seeing her dead body lying limp on the sand. Because the gun had backfired and she’d fallen but she’d lived.

She’d lived.

Hadn’t she?

The errant thought struck a deeper chord inside of him and Ryan buried it as quickly as he could, until he could pretend like it had never existed.

He got through security, his body almost vibrating with the urge to move faster.  It was nothing, he tried to tell himself, he just wanted to make sure he got the good coffee.  That was it.

The halls were emptier than usual, and the people that passed him seemed to stare at him, pausing or whispering to their colleagues.  Ryan walked faster.  He was almost at his office, almost there, he would turn the corner and walk through the door and then Rani would look up at him from her cubicle and smile and – 

There was someone new sitting at Rani’s desk.

Ryan stopped dead and stared. 

The person at the desk turned around and looked at him quizzically.  “Can I help you?” they asked.

“Where’s Rani?” Ryan managed to force out.  Maybe they were just waiting for her.  Maybe she let them sit at her desk while she went to talk to someone, or get a printout, or something.

(Maybe she was dead, lying in the sands far, far from home.)

“Who?” they asked, confused.

Ryan couldn’t breathe.

The office seemed to get smaller around him as he whirled, trying to find a familiar face.  There were only a few other people in, and he didn’t recognize any of them.  No Clara, or Akito, or Frank.  He saw looks of concern and confusion on faces he’d never seen before.

The room was suffocating him and all he could see was Rani’s body on the ground, red, red, red –

There was a hand on his shoulder and he turned, nearly crying when Agent Denito’s face swam into view.  “Ryan?” she asked, slowly and softly, “Are you alright?”

“Where’s Rani?” Ryan choked out.  He needed her to answer.  He needed her to confirm that the body was the nightmare.

“Rani?” Denito repeated.  Her face drew into a confused frown, and then smoothed out with understanding.  She was looking at him with – with pity.

Ryan went cold.

“No,” he breathed out, but the room was closing in on him and there was red everywhere and Rani’s limp body loomed large in his eyes.  “No!”

He fled.

~#~

Agent Denito found him later.  Ryan didn’t know how long it had been – he replayed the whole incident in his head, over and over and over.

The rebel, snarling at Rani.  Rani, on her knees, hands tied, but glaring at him.  Snarling back.  Goading him.  And the rebel, taking two steps forward to place his gun on her forehead, as if he was trying to bore through her skull.  And then squeezing the trigger.

And then red.  And screams.  And rapid bursts of gunfire.  And Rani, sprawled on the sand. 

He couldn’t see her face in his memories.

There was shouting outside and Denito’s voice, low and rough, but Ryan ignored it all.  He had managed to convince himself that Rani had lived.  Managed to convince himself so thoroughly that he thought the truth was just a nightmare.  They must’ve thought that he’d snapped.

Maybe he had. 

Footsteps neared him, and he heard Denito, her voice softer than he’d heard before.  “Ryan?” she asked, “Can you hear me?”

Ryan curled up further.

“Ryan,” Denito sighed.  He could hear her shuffling outside.  “Are you going to come out?”

“No,” Ryan said hoarsely.  There was a lump in his throat and it hurt to swallow.  It hurt to breathe.  It hurt to think.

Denito sighed again, and he could hear her taking a seat on the floor outside the desk.  He stayed where he was, curled in the hollow of the desk, and tried not to cry. 

“Ryan, what happened?” Denito asked and he shuddered.  He didn’t want to tell her.  He didn’t want to say it out loud.

“I just forgot,” he mumbled, hoping the answer would be enough.

“It’s okay,” Denito said quietly, “But why are you hiding under a desk?  Should I call the nurse?”

Ryan almost laughed at that.  He didn’t need a nurse.  He wasn’t the one who got injured.  (He wasn’t the one who got killed.)

“No,” he said when it became clear she was waiting for an answer.  “No, I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not fine,” Denito said firmly.

“I just – I needed a moment,” Ryan said, scrubbing a hand over his face and thinking about how best to get rid of her.  He sighed and realized something close to the truth would suffice.  “I – I forgot.  That Rani died.  And I just need some space.  Please,” he tacked on as an afterthought.

There.  Now maybe she’d go away and leave him to castigate in his misery in peace.

“You forgot Rani what?”  That didn’t sound like understanding.  That sounded like bewilderment.

Ryan huddled deeper in the corner and hoped she wouldn’t drag him out for a psych eval.

“You – where – what – how –” Denito spluttered incoherently.  He finally heard her take a deep breath to calm herself.

“Ryan,” she said, her voice level, and he prepared herself for her words, “Rani’s not dead.”

That…had not been what he’d prepared for.

“Ryan?” Denito said and he realized he was breathing too fast.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to stop.  “Ryan, Rani is alive and well.”

“You’re – you’re lying,” he accused, his heart beating too fast and the world washing out in gray.  There was something clenching in his chest, squeezing his lungs.

Rani, a gun in her face.  Her snarl.  The finger on the trigger, the bang.  Her body hitting the sand.  Red.

He couldn’t see her face.

“I assure you, I’m not,” Denito said calmly, “Why do you think she’s dead?”

“She – I saw the gun – my dreams –” Ryan was aware he sounded like a lunatic, and he seized upon the one thing she had to have seen, “She wasn’t at her desk!”

“Ryan, it’s Saturday,” Denito said.

It was?

“Also, I told you all to take at least a week off.  Do you remember that?”

Now that she mentioned it, Ryan did recall listening to Denito yesterday, but being too exhausted to actually hear the words.  He remembered Clara giving him a ride home and – and Rani waving off her offer, and telling them that James was driving her home.

He remembered the burns over Rani’s face, and remembered her breathing, rough and ragged, as they tried to cover her from the gunfire.  The gauze wrapped over half her face.  Remembered seeing her curled up in James’ arms on the flight home as the man glowered at anyone who gave them a second glance.

But what if all that was just a dream?

“Prove it,” he said shakily, trying not to feel hopeful.

Denito sighed.  “Ryan –” she started.

“Prove it.”

She sighed again and he heard her get up.  He tried not to feel too disappointed.  He failed.

~#~

She returned soon and Ryan felt treacherous hope rear its head again.  She was talking to someone, and when he didn’t hear a response, he assumed she was on the phone.

Was she calling the hospital?  Was she calling someone to take him away?

He pressed himself further into the corner and watched as shadows played across the light.

“Thank you,” he heard Denito say, and then she came closer, “Ryan, can you hear me?”

Ryan mumbled a yes.

“My phone’s on speaker,” she said, and he could hear the crackling of the line as she presumably pushed it closer to him.

“Ryan?” a tinny voice said, and Ryan’s heart clenched.

“Rani?” he whispered, frozen.

“Hi, Ryan!” Rani said brightly, “Agent Denito says that you went to work today.  Did you forget it was Saturday?”

She certainly sounded alive. 

“Yeah,” Ryan said hoarsely, “Yeah, I forgot.”

“Do you want to come hang out at my place?” Rani asked, “James brought some board games, it’ll be fun to –”

“Yes,” Ryan said, lurching forward, “Yes, that would be great, when can I…?”  He needed to see her with his own two eyes.  He needed to see her alive and bright and smiling, so he would forget the sight of blank eyes and a hole in her head.

“Come over anytime!” Rani chirped, and Ryan slowly eased out from under the desk.  Denito watched him emerge, and took the phone back.

“I’ll get someone to drop you off at her place,” she said, not unkindly.  Ryan couldn’t meet her gaze.  He didn’t want to see whatever expression was on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said faintly, scrubbing at his face.  He was losing his mind.

(But he could see it so vividly in his head, the blood, the screaming, the lack of a pulse underneath his fingers –)

“It’s okay,” Denito sighed, “But Ryan?  I don’t want you in here for a week.  And I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ryan managed.

~#~

Ryan couldn’t sit still, the entire ride over.  He barely paid a second glance to the driver, and murmured an absent thanks as he stumbled out of the car.  He rang the doorbell and waited, heart in his throat – what if it was all a dream, what if no one answered, what if he saw her face, her brains blown out and blood leaking everywhere and –

“Ryan!” Rani smiled, opening the door.  Ryan stared at her, frozen.  “Come inside, everyone else is here – Ryan?”

“Yes?” he managed to say, blinking.  Rani was looking at him in concern, her bandage crinkling as she frowned.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, “If you’re tired, I have a futon –”

“It’s okay,” Ryan said, stepping inside, “I’m fine.”  He had a feeling his wan, lifeless smile didn’t convince her, but she let it drop.

“If you’re sure,” Rani said finally, before gesturing towards the inside of the apartment, “We’ve got some pizza and Clara and Akito and Frank came over too, and James has some board games we can play!”  Ryan slipped off his shoes and his coat and followed her inside.

They were indeed all there.  James was perched awkwardly on the armchair – the reason for which became obvious when Rani retook her seat – staring at everybody with a dark glower.  Of course, a dark glower was practically James’ default expression, so Ryan ignored it when it swung his way.

Clara smiled brightly at Ryan – a smile a shade too wide to be sincere – and Frank patted him on the back when he sat down, squeezing his shoulder as if to reassure himself that Ryan was actually here.  Akito smiled at Ryan, and he could see the dark bags under the other man’s eyes.

“Alright – shall we play Monopoly?” Rani asked, raising the first game.

“We just got out of a warzone, no thanks,” Frank said, to a round of uncomfortable chuckles.

“Okay…how about Clue?” Rani asked.

“Sounds good to me,” Clara replied, watching Rani.  In fact, they were all watching Rani – carefully, closely.  As if they were worried that they would look away and back again to a ghost.  Or a corpse.

Even James was cutting down on his glowering time to stare at Rani with an unreadable expression. The woman herself merely beamed at them before setting up the game.

“You’re going to see all my cards if you stay there,” she said to James over her shoulder, and his expression twisted into aggravation before he tumbled gracefully off the armchair.

Ryan never thought he’d see the day when he could classify one of James’ expressions as a pout.

The soldier swiped the cards from Rani’s hand and began setting it up himself as he took a seat between Clara and Akito.  Rani let him, and Ryan watched the imperceptible wince that crossed her face – the gun had backfired, true.  But it had still caused injuries.

Ryan knew from personal experience that burn injuries seethed and itched, and walking around with no depth perception must’ve been causing a hell of a headache.  He could see his deduction ripple across the faces of everyone else – they watched her when she wasn’t looking, turning back to their cards if she looked up.

Ryan had a half-formed thought to take it easy, to let her win the first game – he wasn’t here to win at board games, he was here because every time he saw Rani alive, the image of her dead body faded a little, because every time he heard her laugh, the hole in his heart healed a bit and he felt a little freer.

And then he stared at his cards and his notes in consternation as Rani snickered and showed them the target cards.

“What?” he managed. He had eliminated only seven options. Clara was staring at her cards in similar betrayal.  Akito smiled – he didn’t look awake enough to be playing properly.  Frank groaned and tossed his cards back on the table and even James looked mildly perplexed.

“You guys suck as detectives,” Rani informed them, still laughing.

Ryan scowled at her, but there was no heat behind it.

She was here.  She was alive.  (The gun had backfired.  It had.)

They played another round, they talked, they joked – for hours and hours, until Akito almost nodded off in the middle of a sentence.

“Tired?” Rani asked, and Akito blearily straightened up and nodded, “I have a futon, if you want to crash here.”

“That would be great,” he murmured, and Ryan stared at him with the faintest stirrings of resentment.

“We should probably wrap up this party,” Clara said, though she made no move to get up, “Do you want me to give you a ride, James?”

“I’m not leaving,” he said brusquely, and Ryan raised an eyebrow despite himself.  He flushed slightly under their stares, still glaring. “It’s a bit difficult to drive around or judge distances when you can only see out of one eye.  I’m helping Rani.”

“And thank you for that,” Rani smiled, returning with the bedding.  There were lines of exhaustion on her face, and she squinted at times and stumbled into furniture.  Ryan understood what James meant.  “But you won’t let me cook, and you can’t cook, so you’re really going to have to relax those restrictions because I’m not eating takeout for the next week.”

James scowled again at this, but quickly bounded forward to snatch the bedding out of Rani’s hands and begin preparing the futon.  Akito watching them with half-open eyes, almost swaying where he sat.

“I can cook,” Frank said suddenly.

“What?” Rani asked, and Clara frowned.  Ryan turned to stare at Frank.

“I can cook,” Frank said, more confidently, flashing a slightly desperate smile at Rani, “I can make you guys breakfast tomorrow!”

“Oh, um…that would be wonderful,” Rani said, looking taken aback.

“You need someone to water your plants, too,” Clara said, beaming at her.  Rani blinked.  “I mean, if James is making sure you don’t hurt yourself, and Frank is cooking, who’s going to watch the poor plants?”

“Clara, it’s a cactus,” Rani said, bewildered.

“And you need someone to help clean up the place,” Ryan interjected.

“Excuse me?” Rani looked slightly offended, and James turned to affix them all with a dark scowl.

“Not that your place isn’t clean!” Ryan backpedaled quickly, “Just that – if Frank’s going to be cooking, and we’re all staying over, there’ll be more stuff to clean and it isn’t fair to make you do all of it.”

“It isn’t fair,” Rani repeated, blank-faced.

“It’s a great idea!” Clara beamed, “We can all have a slumber party!”  Akito mumbled agreement from where he’d faceplanted into a pillow. James didn’t look pleased as he stalked off, deeper into the apartment, but he returned with a sleeping bag and several more piles of bedding.

Rani was still looking between them all in bewilderment, but a helpless smile was twitching against her lips.  “Alright,” she said, bemused, “I guess we’re having a sleepover?”

“Great!” Clara jumped up and hugged Rani, “We can share the bed and the boys can sleep out here.”

James’ scowl intensified into murderous territory.

Ryan quickly ducked behind the armchair, but Clara ignored his searing glare easily as she looped her arm through Rani’s and dragged her off to the bedroom.

Ryan warily poked his head above the armchair and got hit in the face with a pillow and blanket.  “I’m taking the other futon,” James informed them curtly, dumping the sleeping bag and the other bedding on the floor.  “The armchair reclines.”

Ryan and Frank shot each other a quick exchange of looks that went more or less like – ‘what crawled up his ass’ – ‘you know full well’ – ‘he’s in a snotty mood despite, you know’ – ‘do you want to test him right now’ – ‘…no’ – ‘then shut up and go to bed’.

The armchair did, in fact, recline and Ryan left the sleeping bag to Frank as he attempted to get comfortable.

He was exhausted, with his restless sleep the night before and the panic of that morning, and the sound of other people breathing was soothing to someone that had come home to an achingly empty apartment.

Sleep came easily.  It did not stay.

~#~

“Beg,” the man said, “Beg and I may yet let you live.”  There were snakes hissing everywhere, coiling around them, climbing up Rani and anchoring her in place.

“You are a coward,” she said, and the snakes writhed in a frenzy.

“And you…” the man said, spreading his arms, “Are dead.”

The snakes attacked. When they slithered away, Rani was on the ground, her face waxen pale, one eye staring blankly into nothingness. Half her face was gone.  The sand was red.

He hadn’t even heard the gunshot.

Ryan gasped awake and clutched desperately in the darkness to the sensation of falling.  Several harsh, heaving breaths later, he recognized the neon clock on the microwave.  1:13, it blinked at him.

He was on…an armchair. He was at Rani’s house.  He turned the other direction, and counted three lumps in the dim moonlight, and the sound of slow, deep breathing.

Rani wasn’t dead.  The gun had backfired.  Ryan had no idea where the snakes had come from.  Rani wasn’t dead.

He had slipped out of the armchair before he realized what he was doing.  Rani wasn’t dead, but – but it was better to check.  To make sure.  No, he knew she wasn’t dead, he was just…he was just making sure nothing had happened to her.  That the girls were sleeping well.

He kept his footsteps quiet, and slowly eased open the bedroom door.  A shaft of moonlight fell across Clara’s hair and illuminated the curve of her ear, falling short of the second lump in the bed.  But he could hear Rani’s breathing, turned harsh by the bandages covering half her face.

She was alive.  Of course she was alive.  (The gun had backfired and he hadn’t watched her die.)

Ryan turned to leave and nearly crashed straight into Frank.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, just barely remembering to keep his voice low as he rubbed his nose.

“Nothing,” Frank snapped back, “Just…uh…going to get some water?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Ryan grumbled, refraining from pointing out that the kitchen was in the other direction.

He wasn’t the only one who’d watched Rani fall.  Wasn’t the only one who’d been at her bedside.  Wasn’t the only one who still had bad dreams.

Ryan crept back to his armchair bed and tried to go back to sleep.

The good news was that he managed it.  The bad news was that he managed it.

~#~

“You insolent bitch.”

Red.  Red everywhere.

One eye staring at him in a mass of white and red and bubbling worms.

“Coward.”  The word snapped with disgust and revulsion.

“Take that back!”

The shrill whine of helicopter blades.  The rat-tat-tat of machine gunfire.  Red sand.

“Kill me yourself, coward. If you dare.”

The sun, gleaming off of metal and into his eyes.

“You can’t do it.”  A laugh, high and harsh.  “You don’t have the guts.”

The sound of a gun backfiring.

The sound of a gunshot.

Was there ever a difference?

A corpse crumbling and bursting into fire.

Red, red, dead.

~#~

He wrenched himself free of the stifling blanket and bolted upright, chest heaving, the image of blood seared into his eyelids.

He heard movement and he looked up – the kitchen light was on, silhouetting a figure, and Rani looked at him in concern, her mouth moving –

He couldn’t hear.  He could only feel the jitters under his skin, the sense of wrongness, the afterimage of a crushed skull every time he looked at her bandages –

He staggered out of the armchair on instinct – Rani was in front of him, she was alive, but what if this was the dream? – and reached a desperate hand out.

He needed this to be real. He was losing his mind and he needed this to be real.

Rani met his grasp, her face crinkled into worry, and he enveloped her in a stifling hug.

She was warm.  (He wasn’t holding a cold, decaying corpse.) He could hear her heart beat, feel it on his skin.  (It wasn’t the tune of blood gushing out or guns firing.)  He could feel her arms around him, her voice in his ears, the rough texture of the bandage against his face.

(She was alive, she was alive, she was alive.)

“I’m sorry,” Ryan said hoarsely, still gripping her frantically, “I’m sorry.”  He could see James out of the corner of his eye, a glare boring into his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Rani said softly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He couldn’t make his hands let go. “I needed – I needed to make sure you were alive.”

He could hear Rani swallow. “Ryan, I’m right here,” she said, “Right here.  Alive and well.  I promise. I’m right here.”

“I know,” he said, and it was a lie.  (He needed to be sure.)

“It’s okay,” she said, making no move to step back.  They stayed there as Ryan buried his head in her shoulder and let her shirt soak up his tears.  She was alive.

He had to remind himself of that, every time he woke up.  But she was alive, and he could remind himself over and over until he remembered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Masterlist.

[brandtmax]

☏ for park.

june 2020 / san sebastián, spain

what’s the record for the longest someone’s gone without speaking to their entire family ?

she might be a contender for the title. she went from summer to summer with zero contact, and if she weren't feeling guilty, she’d be impressed with herself. it helped that the adjustment period of training to be a spy ate up all her time, and she would genuinely forget to respond at times — but during the lonelier evenings are when she found it took a little self-restraint not to call home. why she thought she couldn’t do that, she’ll never know.

but now that she’s got no excuse: voicemails are still a thing, right ? either way, she isn’t about to make an actual phone call, and an email’s far too serious for what she wants to say. it’ll be nice for her to really speak, anyway, go on a stream of consciousness kind of thing. she also figures parker might miss hearing her voice ( as much as she misses talking to him ) and it’s the closest she’ll get to being — close.

“ hey, parker. ” she taps, taps, and taps the back of her phone with her forefinger while she struggles to ease into her medley of thoughts. she’s not a pacer, but suddenly she’s roaming around the room as quietly as she can, waiting for the words to come. she should’ve gone to bed two hours ago. it’s hard to think clearly when all you’ve drunk that day are palomas, even when you buffer each new glass with water.

“ i’m sorry i didn’t come home for the holidays, or this summer. i got a little caught up with school — you understand. but i am sorry for dropping off the radar, still. ” and ignoring your texts. calls. emails. ignoring you. “ it’s been quite the semester. i feel like what i needed the most was to go somewhere quiet and recharge. ” that’s why she’s holed up in their san sebastián villa. the scenery’s nice, she has good company ( sound asleep, and even then, adores her completely ), and it’s serene, the way she likes it — but it’s still so lonely. should she tell him that ? she chose this, didn’t she ? she shouldn’t.

“ but i’ve been well, on the whole. gallagher’s not so different from yale, funnily enough, ” she manages to smile when she says that. it’s a bit of a joke, obviously, and she hopes that parker can feel her smile through whatever fuzzy lines connect her voice to his phone. “ i’ve been learning a lot of hand-to-hand combat, which is supposed to be useful. it’s fun for me, oddly enough. but you already knew i liked kicking ass in controlled environments. ”

what else can she say ? she isn’t about to go into an oration about her school year. not this late at night. why’s she calling at this hour, anyway ? why’s she doing this in the first place ?

“ i’m in san sebastián now, but i’ll be in bali next week with luc. then after that, berlin for an internship. i might visit oma and opa while i’m there, too. i haven’t seen them in a while. ”

“ — i haven’t told you about luc. i know i should. maybe not now, not in length, but… he’s kind of my best friend ? i haven’t had one of those since, well, you. but you’d like him, though. we’re a lot alike. ” she pauses, licking her lips. “ he takes care of me. i thought you might want to know that. he takes care of me. ”

not enough, that insidious part of her brain says. i’ve been drinking a lot. i’ve been drinking every day. i’ve been getting good at hiding it. parker, i think i have —

BUZZ ! — ASHER WEST SENT YOU A PHOTO

she looks down at her phone and swipes the notification away, but it does remind her that maybe things aren’t so bad where she is, after all. “ i’ve met a lot of great people here, actually, ” she starts again, phone pressed against her ear, “ jerome, carmen, jo, lohri, and this guy, asher — ”

BUZZ ! — ALEXMUELLER SENT YOU A TEXT

things aren’t bad for her, where she is right now. but she does tend to make it worse for herself, apropos of nothing. but she’s got it under control, doesn’t she ? she always does. and even if she doesn’t, it’s summertime, and she’s earned the right to be… like this. she thinks.

she’s scratching the back of her neck, nervously licking her lips when she goes, “ i just realized, it’s late. it’s midnight here. say hi to gigi for me. she’s probably elated that i didn’t come home, but i still feel the need to check up on the brat, you know ? she’ll probably say something passive-aggressive when she finds out i called you, and not the both of you. ”

“ anyway. i promise i’ll give you a proper call before the summer ends. i probably should’ve done this in the morning, but — vacation brain, i suppose. ” don’t just end it like that, maxine. “ i really need to sleep now, though. i miss you. the both of you. and i love you. ”

that went well.

setting her phone on her nightstand, she curls up beside lucas, and he instinctively wraps his arms around her, half-asleep and mumbling what’s wrong, to which she half-responds with nothing. she’s feeling lighter now — or is it emptier ? when she closes her eyes, she thinks about home and how it feels, convincing herself she hasn’t forgotten.

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

Lost Cat (Plz Help)

Thanks to @lamp-calm-sanders for pointing out that my formatting was wack. I typed on mobile but edited and posted on my laptop because mobile formatting sucks ass.

Moxiety Strangers Texting

The sky was fittingly overcast as Virgil trudged down the sidewalk; the stack of “MISSING” posters under his left arm shifted uncomfortably and he sighed, adjusting for the fifth time to make sure the sheets didn’t spill out onto the concrete. He approached a wooden telephone pole and pulled out a poster, sticking it to the post with a thumbtack and another sigh.

MISSING

Oogie Boogie (called Oobie)

Runaway idiot; return ASAP

Is not an outdoor cat and has claws

$725 reward

Please contact 555-8473

He stared longingly at the photo of his cat, his already big eyes wide as he sat upright (for once) and staring at the phone camera. It’d been three days since Oobie (short for Oogie Boogie) vanished, and Virgil was starting to worry. Well, more than normal. The chubby, beige feline was 99% an indoor cat, and usually he just popped outside to investigate the backyard before sauntering back through the sliding glass door like he was too good for the world outside his walls and all the creatures therein (or really there-out.)

Last Sunday, though, Virgil had left the back door open for Oobie because he was in a rush to get to his study session with Logan Patterson, another astronomy fan in his intro. course whose company he found quite companionable. In his haste, he’d left it open all afternoon and into the evening and returned to find Oobie had not.

The absence of a pet is always a difficult experience, but for Virgil missing Oobie was downright painful. Oobie was Virgil’s emotional support animal; the sassy cat could sense and respond to Virgil’s shifts in mood easier than he could chase down the occasional cat nip gifts Virgil brought home. Without Oobie, Virgil could survive, but life was emptier and that much more difficult to deal with.

Virgil jumped and nearly dropped the precariously placed posters when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He reached around, praying it was a call from Oobie’s rescuer.

[+1 555-6666]

I saw you cat. I hope it didn’t suffer. Too much.

“What the HELL?!” Virgil gasped audibly and blocked the number, taking deep breaths. People sucked sometimes.

His phone buzzed again.

[+1 555-3345]

I’m looking for my cat, too. Please let me know if you get any leads on a calico.

Virgil bit his lips but exhaled slowly.

[+1 555-8473]

Sure.

[+1 555-3345]

Thanks.

Useless. Virgil debated flicking his phone to silent mode but decided against it for the greater good. He scowled when the phone buzzed incessantly as he went to put it back in his pocket; he set down the posters and took out the phone, brows raising at the volume and content of messages from the number.

[+1 555-7188]

Are you still looking for your cat?!

[+1 555-7188]

I’m so sorry he’s missing.

[+1 555-7188]

Unless you found him, which if you did, congrats!

[+1 555-7188]

But if not I hope you find him soon!

[+1 555-7188]

And I can help you look if you still are!

[+1 555-7188]

My name is Patton, by the way. I’m a vet student, not a creeper; I promise! 😊

Virgil laughed roughly, bewildered at the stream of messages, before replying.

[+1 555-8473]

Hi Patton; I’m Virgil (though you probably already know that from the missing posters.) Psych student. Yeah, I’m still looking for Oobie. I don’t need help, really. Just keep an eye and ear out? Maybe spread the word? Thanks so much for the offer and interest.

Patton replied instantly.

[+1 555-7188]

Can do! Good luck! 💙

Virgil chuckled; Patton had to be the bubbliest person he’d come into contact with, in person and otherwise. He finally pocketed his phone and continued around the combined commercial and residential area, silently praying someone would call about Oobie soon.

-

Virgil stumbled through his door around 6pm, emotionally wrecked and exhausted from his day. The calico owner had texted him hourly, finally stopping after they announced it’d been found. Virgil hadn’t replied.

He set his empty box of thumbtacks on the coffee table and collapsed onto his couch, reclining so that he was almost laying down, and he stared sadly at the ceiling. Normally, Oobie would jump on his chest and stare him down until he fed him dinner or gave him a treat. He never thought he’d miss that.

His eyes filled, and he swiped a sleeve over his face, grimacing when his phone buzzed. One more false lead or asshole, and he was calling the cops.

[+1 555-7188]

Hey, it’s Patton! Any luck today?

[+1 555-8473]

No. Still trying. Lots of assholes, false leads, and other desperate pet owners.

[+1 555-7188]

I’m so sorry, Virgil. I can check with the local shelters and animals control centers. I volunteer at the local shelter to get experience for my program, so I’ll help you out there!

[+1 555-8473]

Wow, thanks so much, Patton.

[+1 555-7188]

Of course.

A few minutes of silence passed, and his phone buzzed just as he flicked on his TV and laptop.

[+1 555-7188]

So you’re a psych student?

Virgil sighed.

[+1 555-8473]

Yeah. I’m a senior, so Oobie is pretty important to me right now.

[+1 555-7188]

Me, too! Probably not at the same school, though. I was at the local Tech. School before I transferred for this vet program.

[+1 555-8473]

Why is Oobie so important right now? Because being your best friend, of course!

[+1 555-8473]

Nice.

...

I have an anxiety disorder, and Oobie is my emotional support animal.

[+1 555-7188]

Oh, wow! I’ve heard of that, but I haven’t met anyone who actually has one. That is a real bummer; I really hope he comes home soon!

[+1 555-8473]

Me, too.

[+1 555-7188]

So what’s your favorite part of psych? I took an intro. class as a gen. Ed. Requirement, but I liked it a lot!

[+1 555-8473]

Either abnormal or behavioral. The human brain is just wild. Neuropsych is cool, too.

[+1 555-7188]

Why those?

[+1 555-8473]

They helped me understand myself. Once we hit the surface, I went deep and saw everything I related to. It was interesting and has helped me grow a lot.

[+1 555-7188]

That’s awesome! I’m so glad it’s been a useful experience for you.

[+1 555-8473]

Yeah. What about you? Why vet school?

[+1 555-7188]

I’ll admit. The science part of it was and is really hard, but I love the animals so much! It’s worth it! I love knowing that I help animals AND their humans!

[+1 555-8473]

That’s really nice of you

[+1 555-7188]

😊

Virgil and Patton went back and forth for a while longer, discussing future plans and majors until Patton needed to pay attention in class. Virgil finally set down his phone and scrolled through Hulu, trying to find another distraction to fill the loneliness.

-

A full week went by with no word on Oobie. Virgil was starting to loose hope, and he began to accept that he might have to find a new companion.

Sunday afternoon found him slumped in Starbucks, scrolling through his phone and looking at shelters in the area when a message popped up at the top of the screen. He hit it.

[+1 555-7188]

Hi, Virgil! It’s Patton! Seeing as it’s been a week since Oobie took a vacation, I just wanted to check in and see if there’s been any progress.

Virgil sighed. He was glad, in a way, for Patton’s concern, but he was also annoyed with the reminder and admittance of Oobie’s absence.

[+1 555-8473]

Nope, no dice. He’s still chillin in paradise somewhere.

[+1-555-7188]

Oh, no!! I’m so sorry to hear that. I can keep checking in with the local shelters and animals control centers between classes and shifts.

[+1-555-8473]

Thank you.

Virgil pinched his brow and took a breath. Oobie needed to get his little asshole self home soon.

-

Buzz buzz buzz buzz

Virgil groaned and rolled over, picking up his phone and blinking blankly at his screen until he recognized the number.

“Hello?”

“Virgil!” A tone that was far too chipper for 5am made him bite back a groan. “It’s Patton! I think my classmate found Oobie!”

Virgil’s heart pounded and he sat up slowly.

“Where?”

“She volunteers at the Akron Street Animal Shelter. She just texted me and said an older woman and her caretaker brought in a cat that matches Oobie’s description.”

“Akron is a couple minutes from here.” Virgil pushed himself out of bed and pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie. “That could be him. Thank you so much, Patton.”

“Absolutely! I gotta go; good luck!” Beep beep beep

Virgil grabber Oobie’s carrying case and his keys and set off for the shelter, arriving in just minutes.

“Hey.” He panted as he approached the desk. “I....Patton just called me about a cat.”

“Patton?” The desk clerk looked him over quizzically, and then he remembered.

“He volunteers somewhere else. I-whatever. I heard you just got a white cat from an old lady.”

“Oh, yes. He’s likely still being examined for injury or illness, so please take a seat. I’ll go see if they’re at a point where you can see him. If he’s yours, I’ll have a few discharge forms for you.”

“Thanks.” Virgil sank into the closest chair and breathed, trying to calm his racing pulse.

“Sir?” A vet. tech. with bright pink scrubs and a dark ponytail smiled at him. “You can come see him. Did Patton send you?”

“Yeah.” Virgil rose and offered a weary smile. “Thank you so much for calling him. I’m Virgil, by the way.”

“Valerie.” She gestured down the hall and walked with him. “Second door to the left here-“ She opened the door, freeing the once muffled meows into the hallway, and Virgil absorbed the mass of white fur and big blue eyes in front of him. Virgil’s eyes instantly filled with tears, and he laughed wetly.

“Yup, that’s Oobie.” He set down the cat carrier and went to the table, reaching out a rusted hand for Oobie to inspect. The cat sniffed briefly before bumping his head against his knuckles and purring loudly. “Hey, buddy. Is he okay?”

“Nothing we could find. Seems like he just wandered off. The woman said she found him harassing the birds in her bird bath.”

“Sounds right.” Virgil scooped Oobie off of the table and into his embrace, and the normally stubborn creature melted into his arms, settling easily over his forearms and purring loudly. “Thank you so much.”

“Absolutely!” Valerie beamed. “I’m so glad we could help! Patton will be thrilled.” She laughed. “You can stay here and visit with Oobie; I’ll get the discharge paper work and make sure we don’t need to do anything else.”

“Thanks.” Virgil settled Oobie back on the table; the cat mewed in protest, but Virgil rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. Taking Oobie back in one hand, Virgil snapped a quick selfie.

[+1 555-8473]

Success.

[+1 555-7188]

OMG YAY!!!!!! IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU BOTH!!!!! IM LITERALLY CRYING!!!!

Big, framed brown eyes and chestnut brown hair filled Virgil’s screen, and his heart skipped a bit. He hadn’t expected Patton to be so....

[+1 555-8473]

Only tears of happiness, I hope

[+1 555-7188]

Of course!

Virgil smiled.

[+1 555-8473]

Thank you so so much for helping me get my little buddy back.

Virgil bit his lip.

[+1 555-8473]

I’d love to pay you back. Coffee? On me?

[Patton🐶]

I’d love to.

[Virgil💜]

Awesome.

Hope you liked it! Mobile version looks a lot better.

[artificialqueens]

Twist Of Fate - Ch04 - (Trixya) - katyahzamo

A/N: Trixie and Katya are finally reunited. All future chapters will take place in the present, unless indicated otherwise. What’s going to happen next?

A reminder: Trixie is a hairdresser and Katya is a struggling photographer slash yoga instructor. Lesbian AU. Read the chapters on AO3 and/or come hang out on my tumblr katyahzamo!

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Katya hears herself laugh, but her eyes look for tiny changes in Trixie’s appearance, and the longer she looks the more she sees. She’s as tall as ever, slightly towering over Katya, but the dress, taut and pink, hugs her body differently. Trixie’s lost a bit of weight, her waist much smaller than the last time Katya has seen her, but her curves are still there, hips wide and thighs strong enough to break Katya’s neck if they so wished, shaping her into a perfect hourglass figure. Barbie who?

July 2018

Trixie is right there, and Katya is already on her feet, realizing she looks like a dumbass with her wet hair, lipstick smudged but not as bad as her glasses, the towel previously around her shoulders discarded on the floor somewhere. She feels like the kid who got caught red-handed, though she is not sure what exactly she feels startled about.

The soft look on Trixie’s face makes it worse, and now Katya is sure that she has stepped into a time machine that took her back to 2016.

“You look terrible.”

Trixie is the one who speaks again, expert at re-routing Katya’s overworked brain, hauling her thoughts back into present, making her terribly self-conscious of how much of a mess she looks like.

“Thanks, it’s the new look I’m trying. Hobo chic.”

A pair of arms finds her bony shoulders and pulls her into a hug, and Katya can’t remember the last time she felt this stupefied. The closest thing was the night Sharon told her she’s moving out, and even then Katya’s limbs worked properly, pacing around their tiny apartment with an unlit cigarette in her hands, trying to fix the shitstorm their relationship has become at that point in time. It didn’t really help. Obviously.

Thankfully it seems that her body has a mind of its own and reacts instinctively, because she is hugging Trixie back, holding her tightly for two long moments.

“You’re wearing glasses.”

It’s a statement, not a question, which comes from Trixie once they pull back. Katya’s still holding onto Trixie’s hand that she squeezes before letting go.

“Old age finally caught up to me. I’m almost as blind as a bat now.”

“Fitting, because you definitely look like one.”

Katya hears herself laugh, but her eyes look for tiny changes in Trixie’s appearance, and the longer she looks the more she sees. She’s as tall as ever, slightly towering over Katya, but the dress, taut and pink, hugs her body differently. Trixie’s lost a bit of weight, her waist much smaller than the last time Katya has seen her, but her curves are still there, hips wide and thighs strong enough to break Katya’s neck if they so wished, shaping her into a perfect hourglass figure. Barbie who?

Katya’s staring, pale blue eyes flitting over from Trixie’s hips to her face, softer makeup and round cheeks that seemed to have lost some of their youthful chubbiness.

She’s as beautiful as ever.

“You look amazing.” Katya says, and Kim snorts from behind them, not even trying to pretend she wasn’t watching this exchange carefully. Trixie rolls her eyes at the sound, but the smile doesn’t disappear when she speaks again.

“Thanks. I give myself two weeks in Boston before I’m back to being the white American trash.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you never stopped being one.” Kim chirps and Trixie shoots her another look through her laughter before motioning to the chair where Katya was sitting.

Latrice is quick to suggest Trixie cuts Katya’s hair soon after, and it’s not long before Katya’s in front of the mirror again, eyes glued to Trixie. Luckily enough the other girls seem to have returned to their work, though the blonde one, Brianna, still throws curious glances their way, making Katya think she knows something that even Katya doesn’t. Either that, or Katya’s overthinking it again, which is a more likely scenario.

“When did you come back?” She’s happy that her voice is back to its usual, raspy self, feeling comfortable as soon as Trixie’s fingers start combing through her wet hair, studying it like a sculptor was to examine a piece she hasn’t worked on in a long time.

“Oh just last week. I barely had time to look for an apartment, and I feel like Kim’s about to throw me out from her couch if I don’t get moving soon.”

“Wait… so you’re staying? For good?”

Katya must have a hopeful look on her face because Trixie is grinning at her in the mirror, smoothing out blonde strands down Katya’s front after she’s taken off the glasses that rest in Katya’s fidgeting fingers.

“Oh yeah, I’ve had enough of Europe.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She says, shrugging, both hands stopping on Katya’s shoulders, feeling warm even through the cape and the towel, burning Katya’s skin, “It was either leaving Germany for another European country, or returning here. None of the cities I visited felt like home enough so I figured coming back would be best, you know?”

“Oh yeah, I get that.”

“And I learned some cool stuff over there, so bringing it here makes my work more unique. If I stayed there, I’ve been doing the same thing everyone else does. Here- not so much.”

“So you came back to be a fancy European hairdresser in the middle of Boston.”

“Basically, yes.”

They both laugh and Katya closes her eyes when Trixie’s fingers find her scalp, splitting her hair down the middle.

“You grew out your bangs.” Trixie says, and only then do her eyes open again.

“Yeah, they didn’t know how to cut them the way you did so this was easier.”

“I told you not to go to Tammie before I left, Katya.”

“I didn’t come here actually, I cut my hair closer to where I work.”

“So Kim wasn’t joking when she said you haven’t been here since I left?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Trixie digs through the drawer for a pair of scissors like Katya has seen her do a million times before, and smiles to herself.

“Do you want me to cut them again?”

“Yes, make me look like that Atomic Bland Charlize Theron fantasy.”

Trixie’s shrieking laughter is louder than Katya remembers it, and it makes her laugh just as much as it always did.

“Okay Katya, one Atomic Bland haircut coming right up.”

Katya stays around the salon even after her hair is done, since apparently Trixie isn’t back working at the Honey just yet, and officially starts Monday. It gives them time to go outside once the storm has passed, Katya smoking a cigarette and Trixie scrunching her nose at the smell.

“Anything new happening in Boston?”

A cloud of smoke puffs through Katya’s nostrils and she looks over at Trixie who’s leaned on the wall, watching her.

“No, not really. I don’t go out much, between yoga classes and working on my new portfolio, I barely have time for socializing.”

“Is Violet still around?”

“Oh yeah, she’s working at a modeling agency up north. She’s the one I bother when I need new portraits, and you know how much Violet loves having her photos taken.”

Trixie nods, and checks the phone that buzzes twice. Whatever it is on there, it makes her smile and suddenly Katya’s curious. It doesn’t last long because Trixie’s eyes are on her again, head tilted.

“So you’re finally chasing your photography dreams?”

“Yeah, figured now’s the good as time as any. I have a steady income from yoga and couple of photography gigs, so I started taking classes. I’m saving up for a new camera but I have to find a more affordable apartment now. Violet’s been offering we move in together, but I’ll see.”

The last sentence makes Trixie stand a bit straighter, and her teeth catch her bottom lip as if she’s deciding if it’s any of her business. Katya knows what the question is before Trixie can say it.

“What about Sharon?”

“Oh, that’s… we broke up. Six months ago.”

“Aw. I’m sorry, Katya.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s been a long time coming.”

Trixie still look sorry, and also looks like she’s about to reach out to touch Katya’s arm, but her phone buzzes and distracts her again. Katya says nothing but watches her instead, taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Anyway, there’s this club that my friend Craig works at, recently opened. Do you have any plans tonight? Maybe we can go, old times’ sake?”

Katya’s surprised how easily it comes out, even a little proud of herself. Her relationship with Sharon has destroyed her self-image, which she only became aware of months after break-up, and has to work on to this day. Ginger has suggested a therapist in those first couple of weeks, but Katya is yet to find a person she could open up to without feeling like crawling out of her skin.

“That sounds great Katya, but I can’t tonight.”

Oh.

“I already made plans with some of the people here, and Bob’s going to kill me if I don’t call him up while he’s here. Raincheck?”

There is no reason for disappointment that tugs at her insides, Katya thinks, so she’s nodding and stubbing out her cigarette, pushing her glasses up her nose and finally exhales, smiling.

“Raincheck.”

.

.

.

Her temporary apartment is maybe half the size of her and Sharon’s old one, but feels empty even with shelves full of books and boxes of old clothes Katya has no interest or time unpacking. It seems even emptier without Salem, the little cat they adopted from the shelter together. Sharon went to live with her parents and they both agreed the cat would have a more stable life living in one place with two other cats Sharon’s parents owned. It was definitely better than being left alone with Sharon traveling all the time and Katya too. Katya had every intention of traveling around the country and taking up photography jobs as soon as her class is done and she has saved up a little.

Traveling seems like a distant future now, when she hops into the shower, and wishes she at least had the cat to keep her company, instead of half-eaten Chinese on the coffee table in front of the TV and Netflix playing FRIENDS reruns for the umpteenth time.

It’s past nine pm when she’s done looking through and editing the latest photos she’s taken of Violet. She looks stunning and reminds her of Dita Von Teese just to the right extent, which was the ultimate goal during the photoshoot they had the week before. Katya plops down on the worn out couch and props her feet on the coffee table, flexing her sore thighs from the intense yoga workout that morning and sends her favorite shots to Violet for feedback.

She finds herself opening Tinder as she takes a sip of the flat coke left over from that morning, scrunching her nose at the aftertaste it leaves in her mouth, scrolling lazily through newest messages without opening any of them. Every girl that pops up on the app is swiped left, as Katya barely pays attention to how they look or what they’ve written. It seems as if she’s looking for something  - someone, and she pauses for a few seconds over every blonde with thick long hair and big tits.

Would Trixie even have Tinder? Katya thinks as big IT’S A MATCH! flashes across her screen and she does absolutely nothing about. Trixie never talked about her love life in the first place, never mentioning any exes or her dating life. Katya knows she’s gay, but that’s about it. If Trixie found anyone in Germany – she wouldn’t have come back, would she? She didn’t mention anyone while cutting Katya’s hair or while standing with Katya outside of the salon while she smoked.

Why does Katya care if Trixie is single, anyway? It’s a thought that crosses her mind, but she doesn’t need to dig too deep to get the answer. She’s aware now, two years later, that she’s always had a small crush on her gorgeous, blonde hairdresser with the best sense of humor in the world. When she was with Sharon it was something she never wanted to admit to herself, but now… Her stomach flips at the possibility since Trixie is back. It’s probably just wishful thinking and boredom speaking, anyway.

Another message arrives on Tinder and she closes the app with a huff, opening Instagram instead. She has followed Trixie for a while now there, but aside from several landscape or animal photos from two years ago, she wasn’t on there at all. Twenty-seven notifications catch her attention and she thinks it’s probably people liking her latest headshot of Violet, and some of them are.

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel liked your post

trixie.mattel, pin.up_dolls and 18 others started following you.

Katya blinks at the screen and notices that she is grinning, wondering how Trixie found her profile in the first place. She taps the username and finds that Trixie has a new profile, not the one that Katya was following, and this one is filled with photos from Trixie’s life in Europe. This Instagram is full of Berlin’s architecture, different foods, different faces of beautiful girls whose makeup and hair Trixie did, and only a handful of those with Trixie’s face. Katya finds out that Bob has visited Trixie in Berlin at least once, Tammie and Kim too, and suddenly wishes she could have done the same.

Her finger hovers over the Follow Back button only for a split second before she clicks it, then goes back to see that all the photos Trixie liked were not of Violet or any of the other models, but of Katya’s selfies, Salem and one of Katya by the pool, taken by Sharon over a year ago, standing in chakrasana pose.

Katya’s palms are sweaty when she closes instagram to breathe, then goes on Facebook to find three notifications:

Honey Salon tagged you in a post.

Violet Chachki, Ginger Minj and 75 other people reacted to a photo you are tagged in.

1 friend request: Trixie Mattel

The photo is of her new Atomic Bland haircut, taken by the new girl with blue-green hair (whose name Katya forgot) as soon as Trixie was done earlier today. It looks amazing. There are no comments under it, but that’s where Trixie must have found her. She accepts the friend request and scrolls through Trixie’s profile, the only post from the past two months a check in to Boston Logan Airport a week before. Her stomach makes several somersaults when she goes through Trixie’s profile photos, the latest one in front of the Berlin Wall taken in August 2017, and likes it before she can overthink.

Ding.

Katya feels butterflies explode in her stomach as she gets a Messenger notification and sees Trixie’s photo pop up. She immediately gets up, walks over to her small fridge, gets a new can of Coke, her spare pack of cigarettes, and sits next to the kitchen window so she can smoke. She is shit at texting, that much is sure. Would she and Trixie have things to talk about? Why is Trixie messaging her, didn’t she have plans tonight, why—

You and Trixie Mattel are now connected on Messenger. Wave to say hello!

Katya takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, then rubs her eyes and with a groan realizes she still has some eyeshadow and mascara residue from the day. She is definitely ready for bed, so she smokes quickly, Messenger still open when she stubs out the cigarette and closes the window so the AC can make the hot summer night a bit more bearable. Her finger slips while she brushes her teeth, and Katya stares at the little You waved at Trixie!, feeling like a teenage boy not knowing what to do about his first crush on the pretty girl from his class. Nothing happens even after she climbs gets into her queen sized bed, the only piece of furniture left from her and Sharon’s life. She tries to mentally will Trixie to do something, at least message her first but Trixie must be still out at this hour on a Saturday night.

Katya doesn’t know when she fell asleep, and the phone she held in her hand slipped and fell on the floor sometime during the night. She wakes up with a start some nine hours later, past 7:30am, woken up by the sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains. Her freshly cut short hair is sticking in all directions and clinging to her sweaty neck when she gets into the shower. It’s only halfway through her second cigarette and half a cup of coffee that she’s awake enough to remember what happened the night before. Fumbling through the discarded clothes on the floor, Katya pulls out her phone to find many instagram notifications and texts from Violet, before she opens Messenger with a little (1) next to Trixie’s photo.

You and Trixie waved at each other!

.

.

.

There are no notifications from Trixie for the rest of the Sunday, or the first half of the following week. Katya does nothing to message first, either, torn between being busy with photography classes, work, and worry that she’d make a complete ass of herself in front of Trixie. She has no idea how to flirt anymore, having been in a relationship for such a long time. All of her Tinder hookups did not involve a lot of talking, and Katya used it mostly to relieve the pent up frustration not even yoga or running could get out of her system. How young people get into relationships with only a set of emojis and snapchat exchanges these days, she has no idea. Even though she is only in her early 30s, Katya feels ancient.

It’s not like she doesn’t have the ability to flirt, either, since her and Trixie’s banter felt organic even when she was nervous around her, but Katya being Katya, is worried she’d get too overbearing too soon for Trixie. They are both different people than they were two years ago, so she has no idea if they would hit it off as well as they used to, when Katya was still taken and Trixie was leaving for another continent. Talk about bad timing.

The situation, though more simple now, is also complicated because what if Trixie turns her down and she is never able to step her foot into Honey again, after just getting her favorite hairdresser back? Or what if she doesn’t turn her down but then Katya is such a fuck up she disappoints Trixie, which would result in the same scenario of Katya having to find another place to cut her hair in again?

It’s a bit easier to focus on the present instead of ‘what ifs’ four days later while she’s sitting in a park several blocks away from her apartment on a warm Wednesday afternoon. She’s working on her photography Facebook and Instagram pages for homework, laptop balancing on her knees and Subway sandwich half-forgotten on the bench beside her. Her browser shows twenty-five tabs open and Katya can feel the sweat forming on her forehead despite the shade and the light breeze, wondering when the rainfall would start today and force her to go into one of the nearby cafés. It always got unbearably humid right before the storm, and every single day this week has been the same.

One of her tabs pings a facebook notification. Katya hopes it’s more people responding to her page invitation and she quickly pulls it up it to check. Instead of people liking her page, she’s gotten an invitation for an event happening in Boston that Friday. It’s from Trixie.

DJ PEARL LIAISON joins the lineup for the biggest LGBTQIA+ party in town! Bring your friends! All ticket proceedings will go to raising HIV awareness and fund housing of youth living with AIDS!

Trixie Mattel is going. Violet and 3 other friends are interested in this event.

Katya stares at her name and wonders whether this is a mass invitation Trixie has sent, or if it’s a personal thing, an attempt to connect with Katya without making it awkward? But Trixie isn’t awkward at all, Katya thinks, Trixie is always open and loud and says what she thinks. Katya’s not breathing as she opens the messenger app, deciding to do a second daring thing within seven days. Talk about living dangerously. She vehemently ignores the dumb ‘wave’ exchange and types before her overthinking mind can stop her.

Katya Zamolodchikova: Hey Tracy, ‘sup?

Katya Zamolodchikova: I saw the invitation you just sent

Katya Zamolodchikova: Are you going?

Okay, that wasn’t painful at all, Katya thinks as she hurriedly switches the tab and goes back to looking at designs she’d use for her business card. The messenger notification is instant, the little ding going off on her phone and browser at the same time.

Trixie Mattel: Katie! thought you’d never ask  ;)

Katya watches the dots hopping in the chat window, painfully aware that Trixie is calling her out on this radio silence ever since they connected on social media.

Trixie Mattel: Yeah, a bunch of people I know are going :D :D :D

Trixie Mattel: Do you want to come? :)

The excess use of emojis makes Katya laugh, but she replies immediately.

Katya Zamolodchikova: Sure!

Trixie Mattel: Great, I saw Violet’s interested too, bring her along :D

Katya sighs, staring at the message. If Trixie wants her to bring a friend, this can’t be a date. But, why is she thinking about dates? For all she knows, Trixie is just being nice and is excited to be in contact with her again. As a friend. Maybe it’s better that Katya brings Violet, after all, since Trixie mentioned a bunch of people and Katya is anything but comfortable being in a group where she only knows one person.

Katya Zamolodchikova: Violet probably knows this entire lineup, so I’m sure she’ll go. We’ll be there.

Katya Zamolodchikova: :D :) :D

Trixie Mattel: Great! see you Friday, Zamo :* :* :*

Katya Zamolodchikova: See ya!

Katya Zamolodchikova : :*

Katya is about to log out of Facebook immediately, deciding it would be best to leave the pages for tomorrow, knowing she will not be able to focus fully on task at hand now. She’ll be seeing Trixie, again, in a casual setting after almost two years. There will be dancing, and drinks, and Violet will probably be busy with pretty girls flocking to her, so anything could happen. She feels her excitement beat against her ribcage, and when another notification comes, she can feel it in the tips of her fingers too.

Trixie Mattel: Btw, give me your number so we can find each other easily on Friday?

Trixie Mattel: We’ll be there around 11:00pm

As Katya sends her phone number to Trixie and packs her laptop and sandwich, she looks towards the dark clouds that are gathering and smiles. Things might be looking up after all.

[almostviki]

pursed

mmmmmm hello ya’ll. shit’s been wild. um this is 1-2 days late for this exchange (let’s see if this goes up after midnight or not) so I’m incredibly sorry to @swlotakulady34 34 on tumblr for the delay! anyway this is a shortened version of the original concept because i could not get the ending to work out the way i wanted it to so i just cut out the whole thing lmao. the editing’s a bit jank and i swear i’ll fix it later and also probably addd a sequel bc this is mad unfinished and weirdly enough, i feel like this doesn’t even actually answer ur prompt that well because i’m so bad at writing fluff but anyway here’s ur hurt/comfort fic i hope you like it and that everyone else does too!

Title: pursed

Genre: Angst (I really tried to make it fluffy but it wasn’t working out)

Word count: 3,184

Summary: The situation is this: Logan and Patton have been dating for two years and three months when they meet Virgil and Roman. Six months later, Patton asks Logan permission to date them, and Logan reluctantly agrees. Two months after that, the nightmares start again.

Or: Logan is insecure and bad at communicating his needs. 

Ao3 Link!

   Patton shoved his wallet and phone in his back pocket and bustled around the kitchen, searching for his keys.

   "I don't know if I'm going to stay the night," he said. "I'll text you later if it looks like I'm staying."

   "Alright." Logan was stirring soup in a pot, eyes fixed determinedly on the individual bubbles rising and popping, the surface of the water rising and falling as steam expanded, and tried to suppress the feeling of his own hot gas rising in his chest. This wasn't Patton's first time visiting Roman and Virgil's apartment. He went there with enough frequency that he had a small stash of his own clothes at their place, a fact which unsettled Logan in a way he didn't want to analyze. 

   "If I stay, I'll be back tomorrow morning, so we can go to lunch before your calculus class because isn't your test tomorrow?"

   "Yes. It's at eleven."

   "I'll be back by ten, then." Patton stopped rushing around in time to shoot Logan a reassuring smile. "You'll do great though. I know you will."

   Logan knew, too. If there was one class he wasn't worried about failing, it was mathematics. He returned Patton's smile with one of his own and turned off the heat on the pot.  

   "Don't worry if you're late," he said, taking in deep breaths to disguise the unsureness of the words. "I'll understand if you'd spend the morning with them."

   "No, I'll be on time. You're still important to me, Logan. I said we're having lunch together and we are." Patton sighed, running his hands through his hair.  "I don't get the feeling that you're comfortable with this. Do you need me here tonight? Maybe I shouldn't go."

   Logan was either very good at controlling his facial features or he had grown too tired to emote regardless, because he didn't think any of the truth of Patton's words showed on his face.  

   "You didn't manipulate my actions, Patton. I want you to go on this date because it would make you happy. As your boyfriend, it's part of my job to support you."

   "But I don't want you to think I'm not putting you first. I'm going to call them and cancel."

   Logan grabbed Patton's wrist before he could reach behind him to get his phone. "No, you won't. I'm not an egocentric child. I can handle having my boyfriend go on dates and I can handle spending the night alone. Don't alter your plans because of me."

   "Logan, I just-" Patton stopped mid-sentence, searching Logan's eyes for answers. "Are you sure you're okay?"

   "We're okay," Logan said, and if Patton noticed he didn't answer the question he didn't get the opportunity to pry. Logan turned Patton by the shoulders and pushed him in the direction of the door. "Enjoy yourself. Tell Virgil I said hello."

   "What about Roman?"

   "I have nothing to say to him."

   Patton cracked a smile and kissed Logan gently on the cheek. "Be nice. I love you. See you in the morning." He picked up his backpack from the door and was gone.

   Logan waited fifteen minutes for Patton to forget something and burst back into the apartment before releasing the breath he'd been holding. He wanted so badly to throw his mixing spoon across the room, to dump out the pot on the stove onto the tiled kitchen floor and let the broth spread over the kitchen like a violently expanding oil slick, to turn the burner back on and place his hands directly on top and wait until his skin was charred and his hands and head were finally numb to pain.  Logan hadn't been lying; he wanted Patton to go on dates with other people. He wanted Patton to be happy. He just hadn't known making Patton happy would hurt so bad, feel so isolating. The apartment had never felt emptier. There were still bubbles popping on the surface of the broth, but it felt colder than it had just moments ago. If he tasted it, Logan was sure it would be bland.  

   Dimly, Logan wondered what Patton was eating for dinner. Probably something sweet with Virgil's fingerprints on it. It made Logan want to throw up.

Logan and Patton met in freshman year, when both of their respective roommates dropped out and they were forced to room together second semester. Logan's previous roommate tended to keep to himself, and they mostly only exchanged greetings when coming or going. Patton was decidedly the opposite of that. He was a dance major, and somehow his four-hour practices never depleted his boundless supply of energy. Logan sometimes thought Patton managed to put extra hours into his day, because he was in a borderline excessive amount of clubs and weekend expos but still managed to keep up with his schoolwork and find time to laze around the dorm doing nothing. He was also too nice. He would go out for food and bring Logan something as well and then not let Logan pay him back.  

   "I just noticed you haven't left the room except to go to class," he said, holding out the bag. "Gotta keep your energy up if you want all that studying to mean anything."

   Logan bit back a question about how he could possibly know that when Patton himself had hardly set foot in their dorm since sunrise, but he accepted the food graciously and ate it all, just to please him. He pretends he doesn't notice how their fingers brush in the handoff, or how bright Patton's eyes look when Logan takes anything he gives him.

   Three weeks before the end of term, after a dozen more food runs and late nights, Patton set down Logan's coffee with a smile and turned to head to practice.

   "Hey, Patton," Logan said, unable to contain it anymore.  

   "Yeah?" Patton said, stopping midstep.

   "You know you don't have to buy me coffee, right? The coffee shop is down the street, and we also have a coffeemaker in our dorm, so it's a waste of money."

   "Yes, but the coffeemaker doesn't make it the way you like it," Patton pointed out. "So I take the liberty of getting you something you want."

   "But I never asked you to do that."

   "I want to," Patton said, uncharacteristically tired. "Don't you get it Logan? I want to do things for you."

   Logan didn't know how to handle to excessive emotion in Patton's voice, so he just swallowed and nodded, and Patton breathed out heavily and went to practice.  

   Four days later, Logan set a banana smoothie hesitantly on Patton's desk when he returned from his morning calculus class.

   "If we are expressing affection through the exchange of food," Logan said, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. "Then I would like to, um, reciprocate."

   Patton blinked up at him, but then his smile stretched so wide Logan worried he'd be blinded.  

   "Thank you, Logan," Patton said. He picked up the smoothie and took a sip.  

   They were good for two years before it all came crashing down.  

   "We need to talk," Patton said one day as they were eating dinner on the couch. He'd made spaghetti, which he only does on days he wants to eat with chopsticks, despite Logan telling him numerous times that these are "not that kind of noodle". Logan froze, then set his pasta down and turned to Patton.

   "Is something bothering you?"

   The look on Patton's face was one of apprehension, and even though Logan has seen Patton nervous over the smallest of things, this fear sits deeper in Logan's gut because it's him Patton is scared of. Logan feels dirty and guilty in equal measure.  

   "I have a crush on Virgil and Roman," Patton finally said

   Logan looked at him for a minute, processing the words over and over and still not able to find the correct meaning.  

   "What?"

   "I have for a while now." Patton didn't look at him; his eyes flit across his food, the TV remote, the door, anywhere but Logan's face. "I thought it would go away but...it didn't." He must've caught Logan's rapidly closing expression in the corner of his eye because he was quick to reassure. "I didn't act on it. I wouldn't do that to you. But I can't hide it anymore so...I just wanted you to know."    

   Logan blinked, feeling as if the piece of his brain that's supposed to tell him how to react to this has atrophied in his skull. "Are you polyamorous?"

   Patton shifted uncomfortably. "Can't say I've put a lot of thought into it. I've only been panicking about this for a week or two."

   "What were...what do you want to do about it?"

   Patton's hands dug into his sweater. "I won't do anything about it if you don't want me to."

   What a cop-out.

   Logan had met Roman and Virgil. He didn't dislike them, but he also didn't know them that well. They were Patton's friends, not his. Now he wished he'd gone out more with them, that he'd accepted Patton's invitations to see movies and get pizza, because maybe then he wouldn't have such a twisted, dark-faced image of both of them. His entire being trembled with a foreign and ugly emotion. Patton, for his part, didn't react. He waited, still and silent, for Logan to push back down his frightening emotions and take a deep breath.

   "Thank you for your honesty," he said, "but I need time." His voice sounded painfully formal with how tight it was but if he let a single shred of feeling into his voice he would self-destruct.

   "Of course," Patton said, nodding quickly. "Whatever you need." And it occurred to Logan that Patton thought he'd be angry, thought they might break up over this, but the thought of breaking up with Patton, of living without him, is too bizarre to even consider.  

   "I'm not upset," he said softly. "But this is a lot to process."

   "I understand." Patton matched his volume and tone. He always was a good energy-matcher, great at reading moods and adjusting his own behavior to complement Logan's. Not that this skill comes into play often; Logan made it a habit to always remain as neutral as possible.

   "I love you," Logan tried, and the soft smile Patton gave him evaporates some weight from his chest.  

   "I love you, too."

   And just like that, the decision was already made.

   Roman was loud and brash and stuck too stubbornly to unfounded opinions.  In the beginning it grated on Logan's nerves like nothing else. Logan tried to at least be cordial, to not make this harder than it had to be, but he didn't exactly know what the protocol is for interacting with the people your boyfriend is dating. Roman is taller and louder than Logan and has more arrogance in his pinkie finger than Logan has encountered in the sum total of his life. Patton was enamored by him. Roman's boyfriend, however, was a polar opposite. He was slightly shorter and ganglier than Roman, sometimes looking as if he was swimming in his hoodies and sweaters. He trailed behind Roman quietly most times, but when he had something to say, all he has to do is touch Roman's arm and he'd fall silent, giving Virgil his full attention. Their dynamic is tight, solid like the floors under Logan's feet or the walls around him, and just watching them together, feeding off each other in a perfect loop, made Logan feel immensely off-balance.  

   Logan's phone dinged with a text message from Patton, telling Logan he made it to Virgil and Roman's apartment safely. All the energy in Logan's body went towards sending an affirmative response. He dished out the soup he made for dinner and sat on the couch, letting the hot bowl warm his numb hands. He didn't want to eat, or study, or do anything. Most distinctly, he wanted to not feel like he's being abandoned for no good reason at all.  

   It was only six-thirty but he put his bowl in the fridge and went to bed.

   At midnight, he woke up with a scream on the edge of his lips, sheets damp with sweat. He wasn't crying or shaking or digging his nails into his skin, so it could be worse, all things considered. He can still hear the taunts in the corner of his mind, see the disappointed frown burned into his retinas. Patton's voice echoed in his ears, a mockery of his true tone, yet the words are incisions in Logan's skin, whispers of clingy, indecisive, possessive. It might've been five minutes before he found the strength to get up. It might've been an hour. Logan's grasp on time tends to get a little shaky at times like this.

   As quietly as he can, he stripped from his sweat-soaked clothes and showered, trying not to scrape his skin raw with the stress of his fingernails. and even though the water is scalding he still has gooseflesh on his arms. He didn't cry though. Patton has some kind of sixth sense for when Logan is crying and Logan definitely doesn't want Patton to find him now, definitely doesn't want Patton to ask him what's wrong with those honest eyes of his that make Logan feel guilty for having secrets. So he doesn't cry. He doesn't go back to sleep either. Instead, he walked to their small bookcase and took everything off of it and reorganized it. Up until that point, it was organized by color, but seeing the blocks of red and purple made him sick to his stomach. In the morning Patton would see it, and he'd know that Logan didn't get any sleep, but at right then Logan's biggest concern was quelling the stress building in his chest. He put them in alphabetical order, the correct order, he convinced himself, but then doubted himself and sorted them by date of publication. By the time the sun has risen, his hands had stopped shaking and his heart wasn't beating out of his chest anymore, but he felt as if he'd been awake for much longer than one night.

   He's no stranger to nightmares. He used to get night terrors all the time as a kid. He'd wake up screaming and crying, with no air in his lungs and fire crawling up his skin. He hardly remembered the dreams then but he remembered the unadulterated panic that followed, and his mother would grab him in her arms and soothe him softly until he wasn't shaking and his heart wasn't beating out of his chest.

   Over time the night terrors lessened into ordinary nightmares, which meant he didn't wake up screaming like he was dying, but on the downside, he remembered these dreams. Formless, plotless, sometimes just swatches of color on a blank background mixing and crashing themselves into a crime scene. When he was nine he woke up and vomited on the floor of his bedroom, hair practically standing on end. That was when his mother's patience ran out.

   "Clean up your mess," she said without emotion. "You really should get a handle on this, Logan. Whatever is troubling you, fix it."

   So Logan cleaned up his own vomit and threw his clothes in the wash and sat on his bed, afraid of going to sleep for fear of waking up again worse than before. He dragged himself out of bed and padded to the living room, where his parents kept a giant bookshelf that was mostly decorative, but the books on it were definitely real. He picked out a random book on sociology and started reading, even though he didn't understand over half of the words in it. As long as he was avoiding sleep, he might as well do something useful with his time.

   Nothing helped. Not village remedies of teas and meditation, not medicines, not simply staying awake until he thought he was too tired to dream. His psychiatrist told him at age thirteen that he was internalizing too many of his feelings and they were now manifesting in a negative light. Logan didn't see how that could be possible. How could he be internalizing feelings when his mother always said he didn't have any?

   Now in his dreams, his mother's pursed lips were replaced by Patton's narrowed eyes, her silent judgment overshadowed by Roman's biting tone and Virgil standing with his hood up, face hidden to shadows. Instead of birthdays, he fears disappointing math tests and home-cooked meals with no one at the table with him. The only thing that stays constant is a door that slams over and over again, a thousand times in his lifetime, and absence of countless figures followed by Patton walking out the door, leaving him and his smoothies behind, telling Logan that he'd always liked the other two better anyway.  

   His fingers itch to call Patton. Logan throws the phone across the room. He's not going to call Patton because Patton is staying the night at Virgil and Roman's apartment and Logan doesn't want to ruin that, and anyway if he calls Patton he'll probably wake up the others and then they'll be asking after him, their fake worry indiscernible to the naked eye from their truthful concern. If he calls Patton he'll be admitting that he's weak, that he can't handle himself, that even though he's twenty years old he still has night terrors that leave him too scared to move or think and then Patton will leave him because he's been wasting his time.

   Even worse: Patton won't be mad. He'll come home and wrap Logan up like his mom used to do before things went bad. Logan will tell him what he's scared of and Patton will reassure him that he's making things up, that he doesn't love Logan any less now that he's also dating two other people, And then Logan will cry, not because he's relieved but because he's nervous and biding his time for the escape. Because it took two years for him to realize how fragile everything is around him.

   He won't call Patton because whether his boyfriend picks up the phone or not shouldn't wreck him the way it will either way.

   Patton makes it home by 9:30 and finds Logan on the couch.

   "You look tired," he said, immediately concerned. "Did you even sleep?"

   "I've been up a while revising," Logan says, and Patton's lips form a thin line. They look just like they do in Logan's dreams.

   "Okay," Patton says, unconvinced. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?

   "Of course," Logan says, and crossed out another equation on his notes. "But I assure you I"m in perfect condition. How were Roman and Virgil?"

   Patton's eyes light up as he begins to talk, and Logan thinks of boiling soup, closes his eyes, and holds his tongue between his teeth with all the control he can muster.

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper (Jimjeran Book 2)- Chapter 14 : Ache

Claire continues to work on the Field Ship and finds herself getting to know John better and missing Jamie...

Previously on Island Hopper

To the Table of Contents

At breakfast the next morning, I found myself at the same table as Dr. Saul.  We smiled at each other across the table as we attempted to fuel ourselves for the day with a breakfast of rice, fish, and breadfruit.  I found myself longing for a bowl of Jamie’s steel cut oatmeal—what he called ‘porridge’—chewy and satisfying especially when topped with brown sugar and powdered milk.  Thinking of him made me feel even emptier than I already did.

“It’s a shame that there’s not time for follow-ups,” the kindly doctor remarked, his brown eyes a contrast to his stark white hair.  “Some of the teeth I had to pull yesterday could actually have been saved if I had time to do a crown.  But with such a short time to visit, if a cavity goes deep enough and can’t be fixed with an amalgam filling the tooth has to go.”

“I feel the same way,” I replied, pushing the dry roasted breadfruit around my plate.  As much as I tried to tell myself it was just a starch like potatoes and that despite its name it wasn’t supposed to taste like either bread or fruit, I couldn’t bring myself to eat it if it wasn’t drenched in oil and salt.  “I guess Arno is lucky to have a nurse practitioner there, though we don’t have a dentist… speaking of which, Dr. Saul, do you think I might be able to observe an extraction?  A toothache is one of the things that makes people miserable, and I’d like to be able to at least help them if they’ve got a horribly abscessed tooth.  I don’t want to make it worse for them by cracking a tooth off in their jaws.”

Dr. Saul smiled.  “You’ve got to become a jack of all trades out on these islands, don’t you?”  He looked at me curiously.  “My wife was a nurse before we retired.  I’ve tended to come on these adventures without her, but I keep on wishing she would be willing, for a short time if not several months, to serve out on one of these islands.” He smiled.  “Then I’d finally have time to do dental work the way I’d like to, and she could be my assistant if she wasn’t otherwise occupied.”

All too soon it was time for us to take our dishes to the galley, call out “kommool tata” to the cook, and head to our respective stations.

We had docked on Jabor, the islet with the largest population on Jaluit.  I was surprised to see how westernized the little town was, like a miniature Majuro. Instead of palm trees radiating out from the dock, there were some paved roads and some coral gravel roads, houses, a couple of small stores, and a school.  It seemed like every spare inch of space was covered with either a building or road.

The ship still had a large delivery of boxes to offload and copra to pick up, but it was obvious that the residents had less need of the medical services we provided.  Dr. Saul, however was quite busy, so during my patient breaks he was able to coach me through several extractions.  He showed me how to grip the tooth and rock it back and forth in its socket to loosen the bone and detach the ligament before removing the tooth.   Preparation, he said, was extremely important and would prevent the tooth splintering on removal.

He also demonstrated what to do if a tooth cracked on its way out—how to flush the cavity and make sure to extract the other pieces, to close the opening with a few stitches, as well as giving the patient instructions to rinse their mouths with salt water until fully healed.  

John had a bit of a weak stomach, so he was quite grateful to relinquish the assistant spot to me, and instead manned the fort in the clinic to come get me if I had a patient and handed out toothbrushes and toothpaste to curious children peering into the dental operatory.

Because Jabor was so well-supplied and urbanized, the ship only spent half the day there.  At our lunch break, the boat left the dock and pressed north to another island in the atoll a 45-minute journey away.

After we’d filled our plates, John and I found a shady spot on the upper deck to eat, as far away as possible from the bags of copra piled high on the main deck so that the rancid odor no longer overpowered us.  It was getting worse as the trip progressed and the supply of smoked coconut increased, though if we ever got a breeze at night, it seemed to blow the smell away.  However, in the past few days the ocean had been remarkably still and currently the only disturbance on the water was the white “v” of our wake.

“Where are we going now?” I asked John.

“Imiej,” he replied.  “It was where the Japanese were based during World War II here.” John pointed ahead to the far end of the long green island parallel to our course.  “There are ruins of barracks and an old Shinto shrine there, as well as wrecks of boats and airplanes that divers come to see.”

“I knew that Guam was held by the Japanese during World War II,” I nodded. “I hadn’t realized that the Marshall Islands were, too.”

“It’s taken a while for us to travel toward independence,” John smiled. “In the 1880s during the imperialism rush, Germany claimed the Marshall Islands.  They put in a trading post here on Jaluit.  After World War I, Germany lost the territory and we were given to Japan.”

“As if your nation was something that could belong to anyone other than her people?”

John inspected his fish and selected the perfect bite to pair with his rice.  John was handsome, refined, and distinguished, and yet he looked just as at home eating coconut rice and barbecued fish with his fingers as if he was using utensils in a fine dining establishment.  

“Well, Claire,” he said, smiling patiently, “Though a small nation does not have much control of her destiny, what can be accomplished viewing history with bitterness?  Our histories make us who we are.  During that time, we gained Japanese immigrants, and although many were repatriated to Japan after the war, if they’d intermarried, they were allowed to stay here.”

“I was thinking Ogawa sounded very Asian,” I responded.  “Our general store out on Arno is owned by an Ogawa. And a few of Jamie’s students have a blend of Marshall and Japanese features.”

John nodded.  

“A lot of late World War II was fought in the Pacific, as I recall,” I said.  “The US liberated Guam from the Japanese before the war ended.”

“The Japanese base here on Jaluit was bombed during World War II. The US took the Marshalls in early 1944, and the war didn’t end until a year and a half later.  After the war we became part of the Trust Territories of the Pacific Islands.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” I said.  “But are the Marshall Islands still a territory of the US?  Guam is.”

“No, we gained our independence in 1986,” John said with a smile. “Thirty-two years ago.  We might still be considered a protectorate of the US—they provide defense for us, and the US postal system delivers mail here as if we were a territory or state.  Considering that we only have 55,000 people in the entire nation, we aren’t any sort of superpower.”

I set down my plate and leaned forward toward John. “I’m missing my husband,” I said.  “Tell me how you met.”

John’s face brightened.  “I think it was my first day of College Writing,” he said.  “I like to do well in school, so I was one of the few people sitting toward the front of the classroom.  The next thing I know a very large ri-palle with bright red hair sat down by me.  Sorry,” he said, “Ri-pālle means…”

“No need to translate,” I said.  “That’s Jamie’s name for me half the time.”

John looked amused. “He calls you Ri-pālle?”

“Aet,” I nodded.  “As in ‘itōk Ri-pālle.’”

He shook his head in amusement.  “That Jamie… always kakūtōtōik—teasing. Sometimes,” John said, “the teasing hides a deep hurt… He has mentioned his family, of course.”

I nodded.

“The loss of his father in particular,” said John. He started to ask me a question, then stopped himself. “Has he mentioned me?”

I shook my head slowly.  “But John,” I explained, “I have only known him a little over two months.”

John stared at the wake of the boat. “Jamie was just the opposite of everything I’d seen every day since I was a kid. Red hair instead of black; curly instead of straight.  Tall instead of short.  Big instead of petite. You can see I’m bigger than the average Marshallese because I’m half white.  And having never met my father, I was drawn to Jamie. It was like I was seeing the other half of myself, the other half of my identity.” He paused.  “And I was coming to grips with another part of my identity as well, deciding whether it was safe, whether I was ready to come out of the closet.”

“It’s a big decision,” I responded.  “My best friend Joe is gay.  Coming out to his mom was the hardest thing he’d ever done.  Of course, she gave him a big ol’ hug and said, ‘Honey, I’ve known forever.  I just wondered when you were going to figure it out.’” I remembered the glassy look of tears in Joe’s eyes when he’d told me that story, when he’d shared how freeing it was to be able to be real with his momma.

“Sometimes it’s hard to stay home and make that change,” I said. “Joe moved across the country for college, and he’s settled in Colorado.”

John looked straight at me. “At times I feel certain that moving away is what I need to do to really be able to be myself.  But I’m tied to this place.  I just haven’t been able to leave.”

  The peaceful camaraderie of our boat journey quickly came to an end when we docked at Imiej and soon the staff of all the offices were back to work. By the end of our second work day, I had reached a level of efficiency that reminded me of my days in the ER, funneling patients through as quickly as possible, assessing their needs and providing care in a prompt manner.  I missed the relaxed, communal nature of my practice on Arno but it was also stimulating to rush again.  There was a part of me that recognized that sensation of stress and responded by shutting down the social part of my brain and triggering the professional part.

But after dinner, when the field ship was heading across the still sea toward our next destination, the atoll of Ailinglaplap; the part of my heart that longed for connection couldn’t help but ache.  I crept up to the top deck again and sat by the railing, gazing out toward the east, opposite the final rays of the setting sun.  Somewhere over those black, still waters lay the island of Majuro.  And beyond that was Arno and Jamie.  I hugged my knees to my chest and closed my eyes.  

I’d been homesick at camp before.  I’d had that baby ache when I longed to be a mother.  And I’d missed Frank when I first came out to Arno.  But missing Jamie hurt all over.  I pictured him coming home to me, his face beaming at the sight of me, imagined him after a morning jog, entering our apartment with a smile on his face, sweaty and hungry for breakfast and me, and the look on his face as he determined which to have first.  I thought of him getting dressed in the morning standing by the closet in boxer briefs—how just the sight of him: damp curls around his ears and neck, the lines of his back and visible tone of his muscles could draw me to him as if nothing else existed, unsatisfied until I had seduced him, until I had tasted him fresh with the scent of soap, until I had made him moan and say my name, gasp and blink his eyes in awe and then chuckle, speechless on our bed.

I thought of being held—in that bed, on the couch, in the hammock, standing in the kitchen doing the dishes with him hugging me from behind, his breath in my hair, his body a solid wall of security behind me.  I thought of talking in our bed in the darkness of night, the pleasure of telling stories of our childhoods and discussing things that mattered to us.  There was continued joy in the discovery of who Jamie was, and with each new revelation of his thoughtful character, I thanked providence for bringing us together.

Someone cleared his throat behind me, and I startled at the sound, at first concerned but then grateful to realize it was Dougal MacKenzie and not one of the deck hands who I occasionally found leering at me.

“Well, young lady,” he said, coming over by me and sitting down on a box. “Here you are, outside at night alone again.”  He chuckled, so I began to think I wasn’t in trouble with him. “We havena had many opportunities to get acquainted, but I thought I might take a moment to check with you and see how you are doing.”

I was grateful I hadn’t succumbed to the impulse I was feeling right before he arrived which was to start crying.  It was probably good to be distracted.

“I’m definitely keeping busy, Mr. MacKenzie,” I said.  “I’ve seen so many skin ailments and infections galore and given out at least a third of the boil prevention kits I brought along with me.”

“Indeed?  That’s good….”  We sat in silence for a moment before he began again.  “So you and Jamie have been married a month now?” he asked.  

“Yes, sir,” I responded.  “It was our anniversary when you radioed us.”

I could barely see his face with the sunset fading behind him, but I had a sense that he was smiling.

“Miss Beauchamp,” he started.  “I mean, Mrs. Fraser.  There are moments when I regret not speaking out against your marriage.  It was a sudden decision, and I have wondered whether by not forbidding it, I allowed the two of you to move forward with a life choice that will prove painful to both of you. I hope it wasn’t a mistake.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a mistake, Mr. MacKenzie,” I insisted. “As much as it seemed sudden, Jamie and I had a connection from our first meeting.”

“Truly?” Mr. MacKenzie asked.  

“I love him, sir,” I said.  “I was just sitting here thinking of him.  It may have been being reprimanded for my behavior and realizing what it would mean to lose him that was the catalyst, but I believe that we would have ended up dating and marrying if life had continued as it was.  I was falling in love with him, and he said he wanted me from the beginning.”

“So I don’t need to second guess my decision to let you be married? I often consider my sister Ellen when I think of the lad.  When she died and then Brian left, I knew I needed to provide for him.  He needed a man, an example, to get him back on the right path.  And though I think I’ve been firm with him and demanded much, I hope it has not worked for ill in his life.”

“Jamie is a very hard worker, sir,” I said.  “And yet gentle and kind too.”

“Well, I canna take any credit for the gentle and kind part,” Dougal laughed.  “Nor do I think that it was all Ellen’s doing, as sweet as she could sometimes be. I think it was his father, Brian. Though I don’t know what sort of tenderhearted person would leave his son and daughter when they were still grieving their mother and brother.”  He faded into silence.

“Jamie was lucky to have you, sir,” I responded quietly.  “And I’m grateful to you, too.”

He pushed himself up from the box.  “I promised Jamie I would keep you safe.  So you’d better come down with me and get settled in your stateroom for the night.  And in the future, if you wish to have time alone after dark, perhaps you could knock on my door and mention it to me.  I can stand guard at the stairs.”

Before the man could move away, I hugged him.  “You’re family now, Mr. MacKenzie,” I explained.  “Thanks for trying to take care of me.”

He patted me awkwardly on the back, and I followed him downstairs, smiling as I entered my room.  The hug hadn’t been from Jamie, but it would do.

On to  Chapter 15: Hugs and Kisses The days drag on and on, but the ship is heading back toward Jamie…

[themostcleverandwittyname]

Posing: (Detroit Become Human Fanfic)(Connor X OC)

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9

Summary:

Claire finally has the funding that she needs to do some proper research on the possible causes of deviancy, and with Cyberlife breathing down her neck she is more inspired not to fail than ever before. To succeed, she must pose as an android for thirty days and record what it is like to be in such a position.

It just so happens that an android that is designed to notice any human behavior in a machine has made his way into the same police station that she chose for her research, which means that she cannot let a single mistake catch his eyes.

Chapter 5: Stolen Lunch

Chapter 5 on AO3

So far, it had been just a normal day. The most normal day so far and a day with the least issues yet. The day had moved quickly and flowed like water, the morning passed quickly. The day was gorgeous outside and the warmest it had been in several months, despite the threat of rain lingering in some distant clouds. The air still held a chill, but the warm sunlight had been enough to keep Claire warm as she picked up the scattered remains of a tipped over dumpster behind the police station. She wished she could stay outside today, in any other circumstance she could call in sick, but androids don’t get sick. Stepping into the shade, she could feel the real chill of the November air on her bare arms, reminding her of yet another thing that separated androids from humans. They would never feel cold or too hot, and at that, Claire felt a tad jealous.

She sighed and stepped back into the warmth of the building, the dumpster problem had been taken care of. She tried to mentally prepare herself for today, her soreness from the day before yesterday still remained in her back as a reminder of how quickly her experiment could go wrong. She thought she would be more nervous about today, the day that the Connor model would officially begin investigation from this particular precinct. However, today she felt the most robotic she had felt in months. She was dead tired from having to deal with staying later the night before, not returning home until around one in the morning. No human emotion would be able to seep out of her tired brain, she reasoned, so she wasn’t worried.

Or at least, she didn’t feel nervous at the prospect of the Connor showing up just yet.

The android poser made her way into the busy office space, more people had found that they wanted to stay in the office for lunch than leave for a fast food place. Claire assumed everyone was busier today and kept in mind to be quick on her toes. The buzz of officers chatting, dispatch beeping in, and phones ringing gave the space a more lively feel. Several officers were already planted at their work desks, eating their lunches and scanning the screens of the terminals. A curiosity prodded her mind, wondering what was happening in the city if any of the cases were interesting. She had heard that in the past few weeks, they had gotten more reports of deviants rising up than months before and she wondered what exactly it had to do with. She had her suspicions but she tried not to think about it and tried to spot something productive to do. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Hey, can you refill this water for me?” that was unusually polite. The voice who had asked was from a woman with dark hair sitting at his desk, her eyes not leaving her computer screen. She held the styrofoam cup out for her to take.

“Yes, of course. Right away.” She gave with a smile, pleasantly taken aback by the question, used to hearing harsh, biting demands. She took the cup and made her way in the breakroom, the scent of coffee enticing. She was so tired if only she could get her hands on more caffeine. It would be impossible to sneak a cup of coffee for herself during this busy lunch hour. Perhaps she could later when no one was looking. Stepping into the breakroom, she surveyed the area to note how dirty it had gotten. Crumbs were on the floor, condiments had been used carelessly and were dripped and smeared on the counter, the microwave was dirtied. She would have to sweep and mop in here again and wipe everything off. The business of this day had made things three times as dirty than the previous days. She inwardly frowned.

Among the people in the breakroom were a group sitting at the tables, watching the television and a man who Claire recognized as the detective from the previous days, Mr. Collins. He was muttering to himself, his voice nearly drowned out by the group at the table. This was no new sight, Claire realized. Without a word, she moved to fill the water cup, and counted down, knowing it would happen soon.

“Claire, have you seen where my lunch went today. It was pasta in a green tupperware container?” the man asked, having learned her name already with the number of times this has happened, having heard it from the captain. He was one of the few officers who knew her name, opting to refer to her as something more than just hey android . He wasn’t trying to be nice, he just wanted to have a better chance of figuring out who had been stealing his lunch.

“No, I’m sorry Mr. Collins. Did you try what I suggested yesterday?” She asked, pouring purified water from a filtering pitcher into the styrofoam cup. She heard the man shuffle, getting to his feet and closing the refrigerator door.

“No sticky note is going to stop a thief, if it were that simple I wouldn’t have this job. Do you have any other genius suggestions?” the man asked, sarcasm thick in his voice. She turned to look at the man, absent of any clothing that seemed professional. She had come across an understanding while carrying out her experiment here. Police officers wore uniforms. Detectives wore clothes that made them look homeless, lazy, or just downright depressed.

“As a matter of fact, I do. May I suggest buying a mini fridge, placing it at your desk, and putting a lock on it? That would deter thievery.” she offered, with a tone that could have easily been mistaken as snide if she wasn’t dressed as an android. She mentally punched herself, hoping her attitude hadn’t been too apparent in her voice. The grey-haired man looked as if he were about to argue, but thought about it.

“That's… not a horrible idea. I still don’t want to have to buy a mini fridge to keep some prick from stealing my stuff.” the man said, placing his hands at his hips and looking at the ground, his frustration pulled his eyebrows together. “Just let me know if you see anything, I mean it.” he finished, with a huff. Without much more than an angry mumble that she didn’t catch, he walked out of the breakroom. Claire glanced at the water cup in her hand, having forgotten what she had been doing momentarily.

Taking the water cup out into the office area, she noticed that it had gotten quieter, probably due to the fact that the preferred lunch hour was coming to a close. The office was emptier now, even though she had only been in the breakroom for maybe two minutes. She went to the desk where the woman had sat before, but this time the woman wasn’t there. Claire decided to just place the cup on the desk, careful not to set it close to anything that could get ruined like paper or electronics. She was about to go see what she could begin with on the breakroom current disaster state when something caught her eye.

Under the officer’s desk was a satchel with a poorly tucked away green tupperware container.

Bingo.

The woman turned away slowly, not wanting to cause any trouble by ratting out the lady officer, but she was still a suspected lunch thief. She made up her mind quickly, finding the detective on his way out the door, presumably to get a replacement lunch. She managed to catch up to him in quick strides, catching him before he got out the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Collins.” she started, the man didn’t seem to want to give her his attention, continuing out the door. “I think I found your lunch.” she stated, the man stopping in his tracks, casting her a mixed look. He looked hopeful but skeptical of her claim.

“Oh did you now? Why didn’t you bring it directly to me?” he asked, his eyebrows arching up. That was a dumb question. She can’t just take it ad risk causing trouble.

“Androids are not allowed to displace personal property unless specifically instructed to do so. I will show you where I think it is hidden if you like.” She feigned patience in her voice, keeping her tone level. The detective glanced back out the door and into the parking lot before obliging.

“Yeah, yeah. Show it to me.” he said, resigning to following her to the desk. She didn’t know why the people in this office had such a predisposition to ignore and discredit what an android had to say even after they order them to do something beforehand. She would write this down later and explain her theories about it when she got home this evening.

She stopped at the desk, glancing around to see if the lady officer was anywhere to be found, instead spotting a horrible and cringe-worthy figure stepping through the front entrance, the sliding doors allowing the android to step inside. Perhaps this was the worst time to try and be helpful? Claire tried not to look at the android, whose brown eyes looked around the office. She cleared her throat and brought her focus back to the detective, motioning to the satchel under the desk.

“Is that the green container you described earlier?” She questioned, watching as the detective spotted the object halfway sticking out from the bag. She stepped back to allow the man to bend down under the desk and take the tupperware from the bag, scrutinizing it to be certain. He pulled the corner of the lid up to peek at the contents, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“This is...So she’s the one who has been stealing my lunch.” the man muttered to himself, pulling himself up with the lip of the desk. Claire felt something linger behind her, turning to find that the lady cop had returned at the absolute worst timing possible. The woman’s eyes flicked down to where the detective held his stolen and recovered lunch in his hand, her face flushed of color at having been caught red-handed.

“What are you doing at my desk, Collins?” she asked harshly, attempting to flip her defense into an offense, hoping that her accusing tone would cover her own ass. She folded her arms over her chest, hiding her name badge on her uniform. Claire stepped back to allow things to take their course, hoping not to attract any unwanted attention from the surrounding people in the office, more importantly, the deviant hunter who had just walked in.

“Where are you going? Stay right there.” the woman demanded, any hint of her previous softness gone. Great, the one somewhat undemanding officer here and Claire had to go and make an enemy of her. The officer’s tone was beginning to turn heads and the android poser looked to the detective to diffuse the situation. Hopefully, after finding his lunch, he would be sympathetic towards her, right?

“This android found my lunch with your belongings. Care to explain?” he asked, holding the container up. This did not help her case at all, in fact, the detective just threw her under the bus. The officer glared at the android, her eyes narrowing. Great, this would all be blamed on her. Claire readied herself for harsh words, steeling her face as much as possible.

“So you thought you could play a hero, you little plastic bitch?” she began, taking a step towards the android poser. This statement had definitely attracted the wrong kind of attention. Claire knew thatif things took a turn for the worst, no one would bat an eye. Her only hope was that it didn’t compromise her research. If she bled, it was over.

“This is between you and me. It doesn’t have anything to do with what you have done.” The grey-haired man spoke up, the woman turned her glare towards him. It was in that moment that Claire took her eyes away from the woman to glance at the Connor model, who had been watching in curiosity this whole time, having gotten a bit closer. Great. Five days wasn’t enough to consider useful for her investigation, this was the worst situation for the android to watch. If Claire didn’t play her role completely right, then the Connor would definitely catch on, if he hadn’t already.

“Like hell it doesn’t.” The woman spat out, it was emphasized. Without a warning, the woman grabbed the collar of her uniform and yanked Claire closer to her, a string of threats readied themselves on her tongue. The android focused on keeping her face stoney, her breathing light, and her body rigid to avoid acting out of sorts. “It needs to do its job and not fucking snoop around my desk.” the woman pressed on, shaking Claire about. It wasn’t the worst she had been treated yet, but if this experiment didn’t mean so much to her, the aggressor wouldn’t be getting away with treating her this way.

“That’s enough! Officer Hopkins!” a voice growled, the officer’s attention snapped to the source of the voice and she loosened her grip on the android poser. Captain Fowler had peeked his head out of his office at the commotion, his dark eyebrows furrowed. “If you damage that thing, the repair fee will be coming out of your paycheck.” he threatened, the officer casting a decisive glance at the android in her grip. Deciding it wasn’t worth it, she released her, nearly sending Claire on her ass, underestimating the tension that the officer had pulled on her uniform. The director watched the officer in expectation, his arms folded firmly, propping his office door open with his shoulder.

The officer resigned her aggression, for now at least, stuck under the glare of her boss. She ducked her head and whispered quick words to the android in front of her.

“You haven’t gotten off this easily.” she threatened, before turning on her heel. At that, the interest of everyone in the office hoping to catch light of some developing drama or violence dissipated. The tension still hung in the air, Claire standing there dumbly attempting to ground herself after the display. She turned to the grey-haired detective, grateful for him trying to distract the blame to himself after essentially putting the mark on her head.

“She really is unbearable. Not even able to take the blame.” the detective shook his head, cradling his lunch in both hands in front of him. Claire looked over the man’s shoulder to spot the Connor model standing patiently and rather awkwardly outside of the captain’s office, watching her and the detective converse. His LED swirled yellow, no one else seemed to pay any attention to him. Of course, he was watching her.

“I guess all androids aren’t useless.” The detective’s words brought her attention back to him. “You’re the first one that’s made any impression around here. What model are you?” the detective asked, throwing her off guard. Model? She hadn’t been given a model number. Damn, why hadn’t she thought of that. Why would he need to know her model number? General curiosity? If he was planning on buying a model like her, he was out of luck. Cyberlife doesn’t sell Claire Ripleys.

Her mind wandered over a few possible model numbers she could use, even if they didn’t fit completely. Androids are made to change appearance to suit humans, right? So even if she didn’t look like a model, it was still possible that she could pass as that model...if someone didn’t do their research that is. She could pose as an AX400, AP400, AP700, or maybe a WG700.

“T-800. I’m designed for janitorial and domestic housekeeping purposes.” she blurted, realizing her mistake as soon and it left her mouth. T-800? Why had she said that? It was the worst number she could have told the man. She hoped the man wasn’t an eighties sci-fi thriller genre kinda guy. She cast a nervous glance at the Connor, who was still standing and watching. Maybe he didn’t hear that? Not a chance, the model’s face shown his confusion at her words, his eyebrows knitting together and he narrowed his eyes at her.

There wasn’t much of a chance for the Connor to step forward and call her out for her blunder, being gestured to join the captain in his office. She let herself relax for a moment, realizing that the detective had caught her looking behind his shoulder. He too looked behind him, seeing nothing special and deciding to ignore it.

“Well, we may need more T-800’s around here.” he said, giving her a congratulatory pat on the back, feeling more like a club hitting her. At that, the man left her to decide what needed to be down next. Reasoning that the breakroom would be easier to try and clean after the lunch hour, she went to the storage closet to grab supplies to clean the restroom.

All the while, trying to ignore the threat from the angry officer and the confused and suspicious look from the Connor model.

A few hours had passed since the unfortunate incident with the officer and Claire remained calm and collected, praying that she hadn’t done anything more to stir any suspicion from the Connor model, who she had the displeasure of seeing out of the corner of her eyes for the past three hours. He had been given a small rundown of what to expect from the office and how to behave, all of that first day introduction bullshit they do at every job ever. The captain said that he would look over the investigators in the precinct and pair the Connor with the person with the least cases on their head. Since he couldn’t do anything without a human to assist him, the android was left to wait for the director’s word

Until then, the Connor had done nothing but watch her.

She had managed to get the bathrooms cleaned and half of the breakroom wiped down and mopped before she began to notice the android’s speculative eyes on her. She tried not to make a single mistake, a single significant human movement or gesture. She ran to get a hard copy of something for an officer who rushed her more than necessary, conscious of the android watched her, almost convincing her that he felt genuinely curious and invested in what she was doing. He did this without a word, comment, or scrutinizing expression. Had he found her out already? The model number thing was sure to sell her out if the detective android had paid any attention to it. She dreaded getting anywhere close to him.

While he was carefully studying her, she did the same, wondering once again what set him apart from other androids. Claire would steal looks at him from where he sat in a chair, completely and unnaturally straight. She noticed that he was especially fidgety for an android, always adjusting his clothing, rolling his shoulders, and messing with his tie. If she didn’t know any better, she would assume he was uncomfortable. It was most likely a feature to make him more human-like. Why on earth would he need to be more human-like in that way? She supposed it might help under some circumstances that she couldn't place immediately, but he felt more quirky and awkward than the standard joe. He was definitely not like any other android she had seen.

The office had cleared out, not many workers were to found at their desks or wandering about. This was a bit better, not having to speak to anyone and focus on her work, which significantly helped her appear more android. She had done everything that she could possibly do except for paint the building, having nothing else to wipe at or do. This was the part she dreaded, hating mocking an android’s “standby” mode which consisted of just standing with no movement or expression.

It was incredibly difficult.

“Hey, get over here. I need you to do something for me.” a voice spoke up, Claire inwardly relieved that she wouldn’t have to stand around and was given a task. She recognized the two figures who had come up behind her. The person who had spoken was the man who called her the very unclever insult of bolt brain. She believed his name was Reed. He was followed by another person who she wasn’t excited to see, officer Hopkins, who had sworn to get her back earlier.

Reluctantly, she joined the two at the man’s desk, both seeming cozy with each other. They were friends, she could tell.

“What may I do for you?” she asked, giving her standard fake smile and bright eyes. The man smirked at her, giving his buddy a snarky grin. She felt her heart drop in dread. This wasn’t going to end well.

“The coffee in the breakroom is stale. Go make a fresh pot.” he demanded. The officer gave him a look, but he shrugged at her. Claire didn’t like this. She knew something was being planned and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

“Right away, Mr. Reed.” she responded, turning on her heel to head toward the breakroom. She glanced at the Connor from the corner of her eye to see him look between her and the pair of assholes at the desk. His LED was the standard blue light, showing his calm state. If he was going to have to wait, why did he have to wait here? It was such a nuisance.

The pot of coffee was made in no time, Claire tapping her fingers impatiently on the countertop, watching in vague interest to what was happening on the television. Some news of tension between America and Russia over the North Pole was told with concern from news anchors. She poured the coffee into a styrofoam cup, leaving it exempt of sugar and cream just as was standard unless someone asked for it. The steam swirled out of the cup, the scent was enticing. She was beyond tired, her brain feeling somewhat numb. She wished she get ahold of something that could wake her up a bit.

As soon as the coffee was finished, she wasted no time in bringing it back to the man with the five o'clock shadow and bad attitude. He watched as she made her way to his desk, the woman next to him snickered with him. Had they timed her? Filmed her? What kind of dumb trick was the two planning?

“Here is your fresh coffee. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything else.” she offered, gently placing the cup onto the desk. The man looked at the cup and gingerly took the hot liquid in his hand, raising it closer to his face to scrutinize it.

“Don’t hesitate to ask? Aren’t you efficient?” he asked in mock surprise. He then did the unthinkable. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the contents of the cup flying into the air. As a knee-jerk reaction, Claire took a step back, but only avoided the boiling coffee’s trajectory onto her torso. It had not, however, missed her bare left arm. The searing hot coffee burned deep onto the surface of her skin and the initial flare of pain was nothing compared to the stinging, lingering scald. She somehow managed not the yell out. She simply breathed out of her nose in a shaky exhale and clenched her fist and jaw, unable to do anything about the pain on her arm. She felt sick, disgusted at the person who smirked in front of her. The woman gapped in a pleasant surprise at what her scumbag friend had just done. Claire considered her burn and slowly pulled her arm behind her back to hide any red indication that she was human.

“I won’t hesitate to ask you to clean this shit up then, plastic bitch.” he said after looking fondly over his damage, his sick humor hinted at in his voice. He tossed the flimsy cup at her feet and stood, motioning for his friend to follow him. He roughly shoved her from his way, caused her to hold her breath at the painful contact of the man’s shoulder with her own.

“Look at it’s LED turn red. It’s so pathetic.” The officer spoke up, following the scumbag detective off towards the back of the office.

Claire bent down and picked the styrofoam cup up and sighed, trying to control her expression. Turning to go back to the breakroom to try to do something for her burn, she saw that the Connor had disappeared behind her back. Where had he gone? She didn’t have any time to scout out the android, her only concern was to try and sooth this burn that flared with each heartbeat. She was very lucky it had only been her arm.

She wouldn’t have been able to keep her cool if it had been her face or on her uniform, where the heat would have soaked in and stayed.

She glanced around the breakroom and saw no one and no indication that anyone was intending on coming into the breakroom. She calmly made her way to the sink and gave her arm a good look over, glad to see no blistered skin. Her arm was tinged red from where the coffee had made contact, a splatter-like pattern was evidence that it had indeed happened. She looked around again and was satisfied to find no one around.

Turning the sink to the coldest point that she could, she held her arm under the frigid water, the burn only slightly feeling better by the second. She knew that Holly would have a fit at seeing her hurt when she got home. She knew there was no chance she could hide the burn from her roommate either. This had definitely woken her up. She seethed at the scumbag who did this to her. Who would be that cruel? How even? Her fist clenched and her face twisted into a scowl at the thought. She was beyond livid right now.

She reluctantly turned the faucet off, afraid that she would be caught. At least her arm wasn’t as red as before. Before she had fully wiped the water from her arm, a voice spoke up from behind her. A voice she had only heard a few times and voice she hoped she wouldn’t have to hear again. A soft voice that did anything to calm her nerves.

“Miss Ripley, you are quite the actor. You may have gotten away with this if I hadn’t come here.” the voice spoke, not particularly hateful or scheming. Simple and honest.

She slowly met the brown eyes of the Connor model, whose eyebrows were raised in questioning.

Shit.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9

[sally-mun]

My shitty few days

Sorry just need to purge for a while.

So as I mentioned the other day, we had to put Autumn down. We’ve only had her for a couple years, and it was very, very sudden. I’m finding myself handling this loss really poorly compared to the other cats, I think because it’s so out of the blue rather than having been something we saw coming for a while.

Autumn was due for her normal annual appointment for shots and a physical, but over the last couple days we saw she’d been breathing a little heavily. I kept trying to listen to her breathing to get a sense of whether or not she was congested, but she was purring almost every time, so it was hard to hear anything at all. The one time she wasn’t, it sounded slightly stuffy, so we assumed she had a headcold, which Morrigan had dealt with before, and figured she’d need a round of antibiotics. We took her to the appointment on Saturday and explained the situation, and our vet tech took her in the back to weigh her. Everything was just... so normal.

Eventually the doctor came in with two x-rays, which was already a worrisome sign. She showed us one that she said was a normal x-ray from another cat, which already told me that something about Autumn’s was abnormal. She showed us how the lungs are supposed to be a dark spot in the front, and the heart is down here, and x-y-z, then switched over to Autumn’s chart. There was no dark spot for the lungs at all, and the trachea was pushed way up near her spine. She explained that Autumn had an enlarged heart that was pushing up on her lungs and that the cavity was full of fluid, and that she was in congestive heart failure and they had her on oxygen in the back room. From the sound of it, she probably would’ve only maybe gotten through the weekend at best had she stayed home, but the stress of riding in a car and then going to the doctor had accelerated her decline, and she really only had minutes left.

We were in utter and complete shock. I just... could not believe what I was hearing. I understood what I was being told, but part of me still just didn’t understand. I could not believe that she wasn’t coming home with us, that this would be the last time I’d ever see her. All of a sudden I could only think about how there was no ‘wind down’ period where we could make peace, and do our final iterations of our rituals, and take lots of pictures, and say our goodbyes. I realized that @fini-mun had no idea what was going on, and I called and said to get to the vet immediately because Autumn was about to die. More than anything I was haunted by a dream I’d had earlier in the week, in which Autumn was being put down and I remembered grabbing her off the table and shouting “What are you doing?! She’s so young!!” and just screaming and screaming as I felt her die in my arms.

When Deebs arrived they took her off the oxygen and brought her back to the exam room so we could see her for a few minutes, and it was clear that she was suffering and that even if we didn’t do it now it wouldn’t be long, but that the humane thing to do was to do it then. It was just all so rapid and there just wasn’t time to come to terms with it or get our proper goodbyes in. She just. disappeared. And as such I still haven’t felt yet like she died so much as I feel like she was taken away, and I’m having a lot of difficulty getting my psyche to even accept that it’s not that she’s missing, it’s that she’s gone.

Autumn’s death is almost exactly 2 months after Morrigan’s, and that is also messing with me, because I’ve never dealt with back-to-back passings like this and now Rory is the only cat. I’ve never had a single cat and the house feels so much emptier than I would’ve guessed. What’s worse is that Rory is a very social cat, and now he’s by himself. He’s had stress reactions each time one of the cats has passed (Morrigan in particular seemed to upset him), but he seems to be really urgently looking for Autumn. His entire social group is gone, and given that he’s only 5, they were all cats that were around more or less his whole life. He seems very disturbed to be the only cat and has been following us around and trying to get our attention and leading us to random places. Where’s Sally? Where’s Morrigan? Where’s Autumn? And I hate that I have no way of explaining any of this to him. All he knows is that they’re missing, and I can’t tell him where they went.

I had to work that day, too. Luckily my boss was really sympathetic to the situation and juggled the schedule around so that I’d only have to be there for 4 hours instead of a full shift, and she did that while on vacation, so that was really nice of her. Unfortunately this was a weekend where I had to work both days, so I couldn’t take Sunday to deal with it either -- but then it got even harder.

So on a Sunday, you both open and close because the mall hours are shortened, and you typically have one associate to work with, sometimes two if it’s a holiday weekend or something. This week, I only had one -- and he had texted me saying that he was feeling sick. He said he’d texted everyone on our team asking someone to take his shift and couldn’t get any takers, and he didn’t know what to do. This guy is generally honest and reliable, so I didn’t have any reason not to trust him. I told him if he could just make it in, I’d have him only do cashiering and I’d take care of the rest, but he said he hurt to even get out of bed, so I told him I’d figure it out. When I got to my store, the first thing I did was call some neighboring stores to see if they could send someone over. I was sure that out of 3 other stores, SOMEONE had to be able to help, but, no. No one could (or would) come help.

This was a huge, huge problem for several reasons. First and foremost, you’re not only not supposed to work alone on a Sunday, but you’re not allowed to close alone, period at the end. When we leave the store we do bag and pocket checks on each other, so if I’m not working with anyone, there’s no one to check me. It gets worse, though, because my boss is on vacation right now, so I’m responsible for doing the “Monday Madness” (aka a shiiiitton of administrative stuff), buuut I’m not able to work on Monday, so I had to do it Sunday. Furthermore, my company holds contests among the stores to see who can sell the most push items, and in my district we’re divided into teams of 5 to report on how much we’ve sold, aaand in this instance our store was a team leader, which means we have to call the other stores to check on them and record how they’re doing. On top of it all, this just happened to be a VERY busy Sunday; my store (or rather, I) did over $1,800 in sales, which is outrageously high for that day of the week.

It was just... such an enormous amount of work. Managing the store is a huge amount of work even on a normal day, but on this day I was both opening and closing, running the contest, performing Monday Madness duties, and still intermittently trying to get someone to come in and help me, all in the midst of an $1,800 sales day -- plus all the little responsibilities I have, such as trying to get add-ons for certain products (which I’m scored on) or trying to ensure that I sell contest items in at least sets of 2 (which I’m also scored on) and filling in the day planner (which typically takes the better part of an hour), plus just simply -cleaning- the store and getting jewelry out of the locked cases and greeting people that come in while I’m in the midst of a transaction and getting product down from high shelves on a ladder and trying to watch out for and deter shoplifters. It was just so, so, so much to handle on my own in 6 hours. By the end of the day I was so spent that I kept pausing because my brain couldn’t keep up with what I was supposed to say at check-out. Quite frankly I’m amazed that my drawer was only off 10 cents. Plus somewhere in there I was supposed to get a lunch and a 10 minute break, but obviously neither of those happened. The only thing I was able to consume over the course of the day was half a bottle of water.

Today I’m off, but it’s still no time for rest or relaxation. The only reason I’m off today is because my mother needed to have surgery done and I requested the day off because I needed to be able to drive her, get her medicine, and look after her once we got home. Had to be up at 6:00 this morning because we had to be to the hospital by 7:45, but we were aiming for 7:15 in case we ran into problems. For some reason I talked myself out of bringing a bottle of coffee to substitute for breakfast. What can I say, I don’t eat terribly well when I’m not in a great place emotionally. I finally had an opportunity to find something to eat around 11:00.

Anyway, I can at least say that the hospital staff was great and hanging out with my mom for a couple hours before they took her off to surgery was nice, but I was just so, so tired. And even though it was a relatively minor surgery (to fix her deviated septum so she could breathe and sleep better), there’s always that bit of stress with knowing that your family member is being put under and their well-being (or even their life) is in someone else’s hands and things do go wrong sometimes, and even following the successful surgery this is a procedure that needs particularly high guards against infection and I still need to be on my toes even though she’s home. My mom is doing okay but she’s still in some pain and there are a lot of things she can’t do for herself right now, so I’m having a hard time really letting myself settle down and relax because I don’t want her to fail to rouse me and try to do something herself instead and start bleeding or get an infection or otherwise get hurt because she’s woozy from the drugs.

I’m off tomorrow too so I can continue looking after my mom, so maybe in that time I’ll finally be able to take a deep breath, but who knows honestly. It’s just been. a lot over the last 3 days. I feel emotionally shot and even though I’m constantly tired I feel like I haven’t slept even when I have. After tomorrow I work 4 days in a row at my job, which isn’t necessarily bad but it’s always tougher when my boss is on vacation because invariably SOME shit goes down and I’m stuck mopping it up and trying to make it better before she gets back. Hopefully Sunday already fulfills that, but at this store, you never know.

So yeah, tldr: my life is a mess and I have no idea when I’ll be feeling better.

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Your Move

Written for the lovely @jojodacrow and part of a collection of art and fics created in her honor entitled (of course) BOOM: Penises. Check them all out! 

(ao3 2450 words)

Dean had never spent all that much time in the coffee shop across from his apartment building before now. It’s always been there, convenient and open late, but when he still lived with Lisa it was just a place he walked past on his way home or maybe stopped by for coffee and muffins on a lazy weekend morning.

It was there, handy when he needed it, but otherwise he didn’t give it a lot of thought. Maybe he took it for granted, to use the words Lisa had flung at him the day they’d finally called it quits.

Now that she’s moved out, Dean finds himself in the cozy coffee shop a lot. He likes to set up in the end seat of the little counter that overlooks the espresso maker. There’s an outlet right there to plug in his laptop and Charlie, the barista, seems to sense when he wants to chat and when he needs his coffee cup slid to him without a word.

God knows he could make coffee for a whole lot cheaper up in his apartment. Lisa had thoughtfully left their coffeemaker since Matt already had one, but even though he knows they are better off apart, better as friends than anything else, he still hates coming home to an empty apartment. Many days, the coffee shop serves as a buffer between his busy day at work and the loneliness at home. It's a respite, almost like a rest stop, where he can sit and gather himself and, if he's honest about it, kill a couple of those long hours before he can call it a night.

Maybe it will be easier when she retrieves the last of her belongings from the space they'd shared.

Dean had methodically collected her things from closets and shelves and drawers. He’d had to shut off a piece of his brain so he wouldn’t get wrapped up in remembering the beach town where she’d bought that sweater or how her old umbrella stuck and she always had to ask Dean to close it for her. He packed her things into boxes which he stacked in the second bedroom, putting them safely out of sight behind a closed door. She said she didn’t need their bedding, but he’d stripped it off anyhow and washed it before boxing it up as well. He’d gotten himself a plain set of sheets and a solid blue comforter and he has vague plans to rearrange the bedroom so it no longer looks like a sadder, emptier version of theirs, but so far he hasn’t mustered the energy to do that.

Sam offered to come help his brother, to keep him company as he sorted all of this out. He even offered to let Dean move in with him and his wife Eileen, a gesture that Dean appreciates but firmly refuses. Dean doesn’t need to make his old life disappear. He just needs some time to get used to the way things are now.

It stings that Lisa has found someone new, but he’s not heartbroken by it. He loves her enough to want what’s best for her and he knows that he was never going to be there for her in the way that she needed. But he’s not meant for living alone. He needs someone to cook for and someone to hold tightly during the long, cold winter nights. Knowing Dean well, Sam keeps encouraging him to move on. Hell, so does Lisa, for that matter. He wants to move on, but trying again with someone new feels like climbing a mountain. He thinks he could manage it, though, if he could just get his feet underneath him and take those first few steps. Right now he’s stuck in some sort of liminal space, still living with their belongings but without her.

It’ll be easier once she picks up the rest of her things.

In the meantime, the coffee shop helps. He can stop in there when he isn’t quite ready to face the apartment alone or he can come down in the evenings after he’s fed himself and washed his sad, single plate. Even if he doesn’t talk to anyone but Charlie, he can feel like he’s a part of something simply by not being closed up in his apartment.

Today, he needs every bit of familiarity and comfort the coffee shop holds for him. He needs the chime of the bell when he opens the door and the hissing sound of the espresso maker. He needs to settle in at the end of the counter with a hot cup of coffee and his laptop and let the hum of conversation surround him. But today when he comes in, there’s someone sitting in his seat.

*

Cas looks up when he hears a loud sigh. A man has entered the coffee shop and approached the counter where Cas sits. With an oddly resentful look at Cas, who is merely sitting with his book and his cup of tea, the man drops heavily onto another stool, leaving an empty seat between them. Cas can see right away that he’s a nice-looking man, in fact, that may be a bit of an understatement as Cas finds his gaze lingering on the man’s face. He looks a little harried, though, fidgeting in his seat before sighing again and opening up his computer.

Cas goes back to reading his book, only half-conscious of the typing and clicking from his neighbor. A few minutes later another loud sigh catches his attention and he looks up to find the man shifting over to the stool next to him.

“Could I…?”

From where he sits, Cas can see the warning pop-up on the man’s screen, flashing red with a low-battery alert. The man jiggles something and Cas realizes he’s holding his charging cord and gesturing toward the outlet on the wall.

“Of course.” Cas leans back as the man reaches across him to plug in his charger. From this close, Cas can see he has freckles scattered across his skin. It also gives him a vantage point to admire how the henley he’s wearing clings to him, showing off nicely rounded muscles. He jostles Cas’s tea cup with said muscled arm and there’s a brief, awkward scuffle as Cas tries to right it before it spills.

Apparently this is Castiel’s fault because the man heaves another sigh. “I usually sit there.”

Tea cup rebalanced, Cas spares him a long look. Apparently he’s one of those guys used to getting what he wants simply by being attractive. “I wasn’t aware there were assigned seats.”

The response he gets is not at all the cocky attitude he’s expecting. Instead, the man lowers his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “No, of course not. Sorry. Just not having my best day.”

He goes back to his computer and Cas goes back to his book. It’s a little distracting having him sitting so close. Not to mention the annoying way the cord trails across Cas’s place at the counter, especially when he realizes that the guy has gone to all that trouble to plug in his laptop and now he isn’t typing anything. A quick glance up shows he isn’t even looking at the screen, his eyes instead fixed somewhere out the big front window that faces the street.

Cas feels the strangest urge to ask him if everything is alright but before he can, the redheaded barista approaches, greeting him with a bright smile. “Hey, man.”

“Hi, Charlie.”

“The usual?”

Cas wonders what it would feel like to be the kind of person who frequents a place, showing up often enough that a friendly barista would anticipate his order. He knows he should spend more time out and about, getting to know people other than his co-workers, but the thought of it intimidates and exhausts him. Still, to be such a regular, a familiar face, a fixture somewhere other than his own living room couch...there’s something appealing about it.

“Yeah,” Mr. I-Have-A-Usual says, then quickly corrects himself. “No, wait. I’ll have the pumpkin spice with an extra shot and extra whip.”

Wondering how that differs from his regular order, Cas glances up to find Charlie staring with narrowed eyes at the guy. “What’s up with you?”

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re having this discussion right next to him.

The man slams his laptop shut. “Lisa’s picking up the last of her stuff this afternoon. She and Matt are up there now.”

Cas pretends to read but he’s been on the same page for quite some time, scanning the words without taking any of them in. Nevertheless, he flips a page. Totally not eavesdropping.

Charlie’s voice is sympathetic as she begins to prepare his order. “Sorry, dude. That’s rough.”

Resting his chin in his hand the man says, “Yeah, well, I’m gonna sit here and drown my sorrows in sugar and caffeine.”

Cas bites his lip to keep from smiling at that. It’s nice, though, that a guy this attractive isn’t railing about how he’s been done wrong or how he can do better.

“I mean…” Charlie ventures, once she’s presented him with his cup. “It’s not like you’re still pining for her.”

“I’m not,” he agrees. “We’re better off as friends.” He takes a sip of his coffee and, out of the corner of his eye, Cas can see him lick a bit of whipped cream from his upper lip. “I’m tired of getting that sad look from her, though, like I haven’t moved on.”

Charlie polishes the steam wand with a cloth. “Have you moved on?”

“I’m moving on. Ish.” He fiddles with the cup a little bit, running the pad of one finger along the rim. “I just don’t have a lot of time to, you know, get out and meet people.”

Looking around exaggeratedly, Charlie points out the obvious. “You’re out right now.”

“Yeah, but...this doesn’t count.”

Cas can’t help his smile this time. Charlie catches his eye before he can pretend to be absorbed in his book and smiles back. “More hot water?” she offers, and Cas slides his cup toward her.

While she goes to get him a refill, Cas feels eyes on him and turns to see the man looking at him. He can’t quite read the look on his face. The man isn’t glaring or inquisitive he just looks...thoughtful.

“I didn’t mean to overhear,” Cas starts, then clears his throat. “It can be hard to meet people.”

There’s a long moment when Cas worries he’s overstepped, but the man nods his agreement.

“I’m not really one for the club scene,” he says. “My brother wants me to go on one of those online sites but...that’s not really me.”

“I think our brothers would get along well,” Cas says with a laugh. “I know mine is looking out for me but…”

“Gotta do it on your own terms,” he finishes.

“Yeah.” Cas smiles his thanks at Charlie when she returns with his tea.

The other man holds out his mug. “Here’s to not meeting people.”

Carefully, so as not to spill the hot liquid, Cas toasts with his mug. “Amen.”

The man stops with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “Shit.”

Charlie and Cas both follow his gaze. A couple is crossing the street, holding hands. The woman has shiny dark hair and she’s smiling at her tall, handsome companion.

“That’s them?” So much for pretending he hadn’t been listening.

“Yeah. They’re gonna come over here and make big, pitiful eyes at me.” The man sets his mug down despondently.

“Because you haven’t ‘moved on’?” Cas makes actual finger quotes before he can stop himself.

They’re getting closer now, clearly approaching the coffee shop door.

“Well,” Charlie says, “I’d pretend to be your girlfriend but Lisa already knows I don’t swing that way.”

Impulsively, Cas puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. It’s just as firm as he imagined it would be. Startled by the sudden touch, he turns in confusion, looking first at Cas’s hand, then at his face, eyes lingering on his mouth. Cas gives a questioning lift of his eyebrows and receives the faintest nod in response. In the next moment Cas is leaning over and kissing him. He hears a soft noise of surprise from Charlie, and then there’s nothing but the man’s mouth, soft plush lips against his own and the whisper of stubble on stubble. The kiss deepens and Cas realizes the man has put a hand to Cas’s face, cupping his jaw gently with his warm palm.

“Hey.” A female voice causes them to pull apart. Lisa is standing there and Cas catches his breath as he gets a good look at her. She’s pretty, bright dark eyes looking between the two of them with a hint of amused curiosity.

“Oh hey, Lis,” the man says. He licks his lips slowly like he’s still tasting Cas. Come to think of it, Cas can taste cinnamon and sugar and the sharpness of coffee. He wipes a hand over his own tingling mouth.

“Were you going to introduce me?” She’s got one eyebrow arched and Cas can see instantly why this guy likes her.

“Uh…”

Cas gets to his feet to shake her hand. “I’m Cas. You must be Lisa.”

“I am. And you are apparently a well-kept secret. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, you know.” The man has gone a little pink. It’s a good look on him.

Lisa reaches to pull him into a hug, smiling at Cas over his shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

The four of them stand there chatting for a few moments longer and Cas can’t resist placing a hand at the small of the man’s back. Casually, the man reaches back and Cas goes to remove his hand as subtly as possible but instead he finds their fingers threaded together. Cas tries to make appropriate small talk but he’s distracted by the way his heart is pounding and the confident grip of the hand in his.

When Lisa and Matt leave, Cas looks down at their joined hands. When he raises his eyes, the man is looking at him, his green eyes wide and curious. After a moment of stilted silence, they separate and sit back down.

“Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that but that was cool. And um nice. It was nice.” He’s full on blushing now and rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“It was very nice,” Cas confirms, and then something occurs to him. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

Cas smiles. “Hello, Dean.”

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

Traditions; OC Kiss Week 2018

Hey ho, here’s another one. Features @rufinagertrude‘s Anarchy/Justice Hollister, and the twins Davin and Finn, who I borrowed from @colonelcupquake and who will probably not let me use them again after this, lmao. These are three characters I have never goddamn written so it’s a bit of a mess, but it’s hopefully a fun mess. Ilu guys and I’m sorry. <3

1159 words, in that weird nebulous modern AU Rufina and I always use to talk about these dickheads.

Five minutes to midnight, just as Davin was finishing the last of his drink, Justice Hollister strode over from seeming nowhere and slid into the seat between him and his brother.

“You two,” he said brightly, throwing his arms over both of their shoulders. “Seem to be in need of another drink.”

Finn ducked his way out of the embrace almost before the arm could even settle, scowling fiercely.

“Fuck off,” he growled, “We ain’t looking to owe you something, now or later.”

“Owe me?” Justice managed to look properly abashed despite the drama in his voice, leaning back with a hand spread neatly over his heart. “You wouldn’t owe me anything! I always buy my friends a drink to ring in the new year. Sort of a tradition of mine.”

He winked. Over the top of his head, Davin caught his brother’s eye and rolled his.

“Go on and find ‘em, then,” he said, finally shrugging Justice’s arm off of his own shoulders before jerking his head back towards the rest of the bar. “Must be around somewhere.”

Beside him, Finn snorted into the rim of his emptied pint glass.

Before Justice could muster up a retort though, the sound of a chair scraping back interrupted them both, and Davin felt someone slide into the seat on his right.

“Tried to warn you, mate. Miserably daft, these two.”

Alex still had snow melting off of the shoulders of her jacket and the soles of her boots, which sheared off in chunks as she kicked her feet up against the crossbeams of the bar. “I’ll take their drink though, since you’re offering.”

“How very generous of you.”

Davin couldn’t be sure, but he swore he heard a line of force in Justice’s remark, thin and warning. When he looked up though, the man was all smiles.

“Of course," he went on, "If they’re not going to take free drinks when they’re offered...”

He trailed off to look pointedly between them, too earnest to be as nonchalant as his tone implied. Sighing, Finn glanced over towards Davin and gave a halfhearted shrug of surrender.

“Fine,” he said, fluttering a hand towards the bar. “If it’ll get you to go away, fine.”

“No shit, though,” Davin called as he turned to go; but if Justice was focused on anything other than his gleeful hunting down of one of the bartenders, it was be a veritable miracle.

He returned barely two minutes later, winding his way back through the crowd as quickly as he seemed physically able while juggling three pint glasses in his hands. The third, to Davin’s immense relief, was not kept, but slid in front of Alex, who took it with a kindly nod.

“You three are cheap dates,” Justice said as he stepped back, propping his hands on his hips. “I asked the bartender for another round of whatever you were having and she actually grimaced at me.”

“Ought’ve brought back something better, then,” Davin muttered around the lip of his pint. Beside him, he heard Alex snort and mutter a quiet, "Ass," under her breath. Justice, of course, pretended not to hear.

"I can’t imagine it’s that bad though. You’re drinking it, right?" He wedged himself further into the increasingly too-small space between them and grabbed at Davin's glass, who jerked away on reflex. Barely a second later, his drink was a full swallow emptier.

“Hey!”

"Oh, no. It's bad." Justice recoiled with a step back, ignoring the shout to a one hand theatrically over his mouth. "Forget what I said; whatever I paid for that was too much. Do you two have as bad of a sense of taste as Alex, or did someone just forget to wash that glass? God, that's gotta be it. Here."

Without missing a beat, he wheeled around, grabbed Finn's drink too, and tipped it back in one long swig. Finn started towards an indignant noise, but it was drowned by the early rumblings of the midnight countdown, and by Alex's long sigh of suffering.

"Fuck’s sake, Justice. Sharing a drink doesn't count," she said, with a tone that suggested that she had expected this and was disappointed anyway. The glass cluttered abruptly back onto the bartop, and Justice turned to her with a look of begrudging acceptance.

"Won't give me that one, huh? Damn." He sighed and tapped the screen of his phone. A dimly lit '11:59:52' appeared for a moment, then was whisked away into a pocket. "Guess it's onto plan B, then."

That was all of the warning Davin got. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, then on the back of his neck, and then the solid press of lips against his cheek. It vanished nearly as quickly, in a blur of dark hair before he could even move away; a second later, Finn let out a shout of alarm. The wooden legs of their stools squealed in unison against the wood as they both leapt to their feet and whirled on their attacker….

But Justice was already gone, well out of grabbing distance and already making quickly for the door.

“Before dawn, Alex! Remember!” he called, grinning and gesturing to his phone. Then the clock ticked over to midnight, and he disappeared in the explosive chaos of waving arms and upheld glasses that turned the crowd around them into a shouting, cheering mob.

Finn swore loudly and pushed himself over to the line of revelers as if he were about to give chase, but Davin’s brain worked half a second faster than his blood, and he rounded towards where Alex sat sipping at her drink, watching with the casual disinterest of someone who had already seen the climax of this particular situation before.

“You were in on this,” he snarled, jabbing a finger in her direction. She raised an eyebrow at him. Shrugged.

“Justice has been begging me for John’s number for near a week,” she said simply. “I told him that if he managed to get a New Year’s kiss out of the both of you, I’d give it to him. And since Adelina had already bet me that you two wouldn’t be caught dead getting tangled in something like that…”

She shrugged again, but a smirk had crept across her lips that even the edge of her pint glass couldn’t quite hide. Davin glared back at her, seething. He had been used. For a bet. And not even a well-made one; he’d been the unfortunate victim of someone else’s cobbled together wager, and he wouldn’t even see the spoils from it. He didn’t want to.

He jabbed a finger towards Alex again and opened his mouth to summon some sharp, biting retort to his aid. What came out was a hissed, “Fuck you,” in as deadly a tone as he could manage before he stormed off to the bathroom, determined to scrub the left side of his cheek totally raw.

[thepunisher]

A Bottle Marked ‘Poison’

Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes | E | 9428 words | 2/? | 

ao3 link 

Summary: The headstones are clean and well preserved and surrounded by fresh, colorful flowers when he reaches them. Not lilies, never lilies. But roses and sunflowers and violets. Someone has been taking care of them for years. (Not him. He can’t even take care of himself.) There’s names and dates and pictures. There’s quotes. Beloved mother. He has a split lip, his eye is a nasty shade of purple and he’s still nursing three bruised ribs. Somehow this hurts more. OR On the anniversary of their deaths, Tony visits his parents’ graves. He has an unexpected encounter. Things go downhill from there.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Longing

I take no joy in mead nor meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings.

There is an empty place within me where my heart was once.  

George RR Martin, A Clash of Kings

He debates a long time on whether or not he should go. He doesn't want to, of course. Just the thought has him jittery, anxiety buzzing under his skin like electricity, leg bouncing up and down non-stop. And yet it's not like he really has a choice.

When the walls of the workshop start closing in on him, sight going fuzzy around the edges, the decision is made for him. He throws the screwdriver he was fidgeting with on the work table, metal hitting the surface with a clang he doesn't even register because he's already out of the door.

The Mansion is austere and sterile, ghosts haunting every square metre of it.

Tony hates it. He hates the smell of it, the silence, the absolute lack of indication that someone is actually living here. He hates every damn stupid knick knack littering every available surface so much sometimes it's hard not to shove them all on the floor and watch them break in a thousand little pieces.

He hates that two decades later he still can't find the courage to go past the doors of the master bedroom. Can only look at his mother's perfume sitting on her vanity from afar, bottle left opened, pearls scattered near her brush.

He couldn't really move in his old room, the one of his childhood, of his teenage years. The one with stupid posters of his stupid heroes on the walls and a closet stuffed full of useless trophies that never amounted to anything. Too many memories and too many disappointments there. He took for himself one of the guest rooms. He thinks it's somewhat fitting, considering he's a guest in his own home.

It's a house but it feels more like a golden prison and he's been sentenced for life.

(He committed too many crimes he needs to atone for, he deserves it.)

He could take up and leave of course, like he left the tower, like he left the ruins of Malibu, like he left the compound. Tony Stark is good at leaving broken things behind him.

But to go where? He started over many times before and always ended up empty handed anyway. Resilient, yes, but there's nowhere in the world where his demons wouldn't follow, so the Mansion is as good a place as any.

He's doing fine, really.

(His life is a long line of fine.)

Christmas, though. Christmas he doesn't know how to deal with, perhaps he never has, never learned how to.

It's never been his favorite holiday, not even when his parents were still alive. Other children would spend the night waiting for Santa, he would be waiting for Howard and Maria to come home from whatever gala or party or get away they'd gone to, Jarvis, and Ana before she passed, his only company.

His mother would always look apologetic whenever they got back. She would caress his hair and kiss his cheek and tuck him into bed, her voice soft while singing an italian lullaby.

Jarvis would try his best to make the house as festive as possible, and Christmas’ eves were always spent making cookies and reminiscing stories of aunt Peggy’s adventures, and Christmas mornings were always spent unwrapping a pile of presents that would never make up for the indifference.

The first few days of January he would always be shipped back to boarding school, his belly fuller and his gaze emptier, head filled with words of inadequacy and sweet nothings.

He found Jarvis’ Christmas decorations in a closet, stored with other junk, while setting up Friday’s eyes and ears. He thought for a long time whether or not to make an effort and put some around the house, stared for even longer at a Christmas ball he had made with mechanical parts when he was six. Howard had been pissed at the waste, but Jarvis had looked so proud he's displayed it right at the front of the tree, nevermind that it clashed with the rest of the golden and red ornaments.

He didn't throw everything away, but it was a close call.

(Perhaps he is nostalgic after all.)

Still, there was no reason to put them around. No reason for oversized bunnies, either. And so the house is quiet, no trees, no lights, no presents. No people to celebrate with.

He could go on another 72 hours tinkering binge, his go-to way of spending this time of the year, so many things to do after all, but Rhodey would probably come over just to kick his ass, and he can't have Rhodey worry over him. He deserves a break.

The invitation came over a week ago, by phone, mail and text. Rhodey really wants him to go and he won't accept a no for an answer. Tony can take a hint.

He's gotten into his head that he'll smooth down all the wrinkles on his own. He's putting a lot of effort into making this whole team thing work, and that's really the only reason why Tony is gonna show up at all.

He should take the car, rather than fly in, but really, as an escape vehicle, his suit is much faster than his Audi.

And Tony is pretty sure that he'll want to escape sooner rather than later.

The flight over goes by in a blur, one thought chasing after the other too fast for his mind to linger. He has no recollection of it whatsoever.

The sky is white and the atmosphere feels charged when he lands on the roof of the compound. It hasn't started snowing yet, but it's gonna happen any minute now. Everyone has been predicting a white Christmas.

The suit disassembles and reassembles behind him in a matter of seconds and a crisp cold engulfs him so suddenly he staggers. He should have taken a coat with him, but he wasn't exactly thinking properly, leaving in a hurry before he could change his mind. Again.

The insulation system he installed after he almost froze to death works so well he never even noticed the temperature while in the air, and yet now that he is, it's easy for his mind to travel thousands of miles. For a moment he loses focus of the structure, of the gardens, of the trees around him, of the Quinjet parked in the front courtyard, and the only thing he can hear is the sound of crunching metal, no white pavement, but frozen ground under his feet. His hand moves to his chest before he can even process it, and he finds himself exhaling slowly only when he feels the arc reactor humming under his fingers. Whole.

Rationality is the first thing to go out of the window when you panic, and they say that you should make an effort to bring it back, as it's your best tool to fight anxiety, that you should explain to your brain that there's no reason to be scared.

(Bullshit.)

It's hard to reason when reason also screams that this is a terrible idea, and he should not have come.

It's not too late to tuck in tail and leave, but he doesn't. He pats down his hair instead, thankful it's so short so it's probably not too messy, and hopes that there's no engine grease on his rumpled clothes.

The Iron Man follows him down inside the compound like a quiet shadow, before parking itself in a hidden niche.

There are a few people around the building, operatives who work for the Avengers and keep things in check, run lesser risk operations, keep the world spinning.

Tony waves at them whenever he crosses them in the hallways, Christmas trees and lights and decorations making the place look more alive than he's seen it in a very long time.

It's been almost a month since he last made an appearance. He's been upstate less and less since it got crowded again, any excuse good enough to stay as far away as he could.

(Sorry, super important SI meeting, Pepper would kill me if I missed it; oops, launch of a new product; you see, I have this thing, and it's much more convenient if I just stay over at the Mansion.)

It never felt like home. Not really. Not after they defeated Ultron, and he would stroll in sometimes, bringing tech as presents and basking in a camaraderie that always had him feeling like a guest in his own property. Definitely not after all that was left of the Avengers were him and Rhodey and Vision, and the silence would echo across the hallways.

(Home is where the heart is, and he doesn't have one.)

“I'm so glad you came, Tones,” says Rhodey the moment he enters the common dining area, and enveloping him in a hug.

Tony allows himself to soak in the moment and hugs him back so tightly his bruised ribs protest. He doesn't care.

Too soon he lets go, his eyes darting fast across the room, taking in the scene in a matter of seconds.

It seems like a century ago that they were all here discussing the Accords, the quiet before the storm, the beginning of the end. The place doesn't even look the same anymore. He tore it down and built it over after Wanda and Vision’s little accident, but every inch of it is burned into his retina like a scar and it's not gray marble he stands on, shiny and whole, but a gaping hole that reaches the foundations; it's not scattered people chatting and a table overfilled with food around him, but too many empty chairs.

(None of them look the same. They're all strangers under friendly disguises.)

He told everyone that the new look and the new furniture were necessary for structural reasons, but the truth is that it was too painful to walk past those rooms everyday and be constantly reminded of what had been and what no longer was.

(Some gaping holes you can't fill.)

“Oh, I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Rhode-Bear,” Tony replies nonchalant and he feels like snickering when Rhodey rolls his eyes in the exasperated way that is only reserved for him.

He looks good. Steadier than he was even the last time he saw him. He's standing on his own, one arm propped casually on a piece of furniture as an afterthought, as if he doesn't really need it.

Tony studies him like an hawk. Guilt clawing at his insides cause he should have made an effort, he should have come more often and not just to check on the braces. He shouldn't have stayed away so much just cause the prospect of facing the others feels like sandpaper across his skin.

He takes in Rhodey’s relaxed pose, his brown eyes free of the uneasiness Tony got so used to seeing after the fall and hated with every fibre of his being. His shoulders are not clenched in an effort to handle the pain, physical and not, he knows Rhodey felt for months.

Tony hopes the hand squeezing Rhodey’s shoulder, and his half but sincere smile can convey all the words he will never be able to tell him. All the love he will never be able to express.

“I was so sure I was going to have to come and drag you here,” Rhodey says, his tone only half joking, and Tony thinks of the half dozen messages of empty excuses he composed on his phone and deleted before he could send them. “I'm really happy you came, man.”

“Yeah, well…” He rubs behind his neck. “It's Christmas.”

“That, it is,” Rhodey says, before narrowing his eyes. “So would you mind telling me what happened to your face? What's with the black eye and the lip job, Tony. What the hell.”

“What, this?” Tony gestures towards the bruises. Shit. He should have put on concealer or something. “I was just sparring with Happy. I got a little distracted and he got carried away. That man has a surprisingly mean hook.”

Rhodey scoffs. ”Yeah, nice try. Too bad Happy is in California with Pepper right now. Has been for two weeks, in fact. Wanna try again?”

Tony winches. He wonders how long it would take to call his suit to him and run, and if that would be considered rude. Probably. Nevermind that Rhodey would just hop on the War Machine and follow him, and he would never hear the end of it.

“Uhm. Funny story,” Tony says, putting some distance between them, hand scratching his nose. “I ran into a door.”

He can see Carol chatting with Wanda, Sam and Vision from the corner of his eye. His heart speeds up a little. He knows that not all of them are going to be here, some of them are celebrating with their families and other people. Some of them moved on.

(He hasn't.)

He thinks he can spot Natasha and Peter behind the tree, but he's not sure. Rogers is nowhere in sight. Nor is his friend.

When he turns to face Rhodey again, he meets the most unimpressed stare. “And what? You didn't apologize so it hit you again?”

Tony giggles. God, he missed this. Missed him. He feels his shoulders sag a little in relief. This is familiar. He can do this.

“It was a very aggressive door. You wouldn't believe it. I'm thinking I'm gonna sue,” he says.

Rhodey pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, you show it who's the boss.”

“Exactly!”

“Tony,” Rhodey says, tone serious again. “I wanna know what's going on with you, okay? I wanna help. I'm here for you, you know. Whatever it is you're doing, you don't have to do it alone.”

It's hard to meet his eyes. God, he's such an asshole. He doesn't deserve Rhodey.

“I'm not doing anything, I promise,” he says, and it'd be convincing to anyone else but Rhodey knows him better. “Okay, okay. But it’s not like I started a fight club! I'm not doing anything dangerous. Better?”

“I'm more worried about you doing something stupid.”

Tony sneers. “Come on. When was the last time I did something stupid?”

“Oh, I don't know. What time is it?”

“Abuse!” Tony cries. “I will not stand by and be insulted. I'll have you know I made the list of the fifty most influential people on the planet for what? The eighth year in a row?” He polishes his nails on his shirt. “That's eight more times than you did, by the way. How is that for stupid?”

When he looks up, Rhodey is still staring unimpressively.

“You do know I'm the leader of this team right?”

Tony fakes a gasp, his hand moving in a clutching-pearls gesture. “What? When did that happen? I can't believe this!” He shakes his head, drops the pretense. “I was kinda there for it, you know? Wholeheartedly supported the idea, in fact, though I'm starting to regret it. You don't need to remind me every three seconds, I get it! You're the leader of the Avengers, sir, yes, sir. It's too bad your girlfriend outranks you, really...”

Rhodey sighs. “Yeah, you can drop the attitude, Mr Stank, cause I never will. I'm gonna find out what's going on, sooner or later.” He points his index at Tony.  “You know I will. And when I do, I will kick your sorry as--”

“Mr Stark! Mr Stark!” Peter calls from across the room, making them both turn. “Merry Christmas, Mr Stark!”

“Nice to see you again, Tony,” says Carol, beautiful in a dark blue oversized cardigan and jeans, as she and Peter make their way towards them and Tony is so grateful for the distraction he can't stop himself from sighing in relief.

“Hey there, kid,” he says, ruffling Peter's hair.  He's wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and a happy expression on his face, like a child in a candy store.

“Carol. Always a pleasure.” He smiles, kisses her cheek.

“So,” he rubs his hands together. “What have you been up to?”

“Not much,” Carol says, inching towards Rhodey and resting her hand on his shoulder. Tony can see Rhodey’s whole demeanor lighting up, like a sunflower basking in the sun. It puts the first real smile on Tony’s face. “Things have been blessedly quiet.”

“Don't jinx it,” says Rhodey, eyes soft.

“How about you, kid? Helped any old lady cross the street lately?” Tony asks Peter.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny,” Peter replies. “I don't just help old ladies,” he mumbles grudgingly, almost too low to hear.

“You're adorable,” says Tony. “Is that Green... Elf. Whatever. Is he been giving you any trouble?”

“You've been listening to my reports?” Peter asks in a happily surprised tone, eyes huge.

“Well, duh. When have I ever stopped?” He raises an eyebrow. “So? Do I need to be concerned?”

“Uh. No. No, Mr Stark,” says Peter fast. “I have everything under control! And it's Goblin. Green Goblin.”

“Pfff,” Tony waves his hand. “Goblin, Elf. Same difference. He still looks stupid. You listen to me, kid. Anything goes south, you call me, okay? I don't want you out there alone. Again.”

“Oh, please, Tony,” interrupts Rhodey. “Peter is much more responsible than you'll ever be. And he knows who to call when he's in trouble. Which is me. Am I right?” He gives Peter a meaningful look.

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir,” Peter blushes.

“See? Adorable,” Tony says. “Now leave him alone, I got him first. Go play mama hen with some other kid. This one is mine.”

Carol laughs at the two of them while Rhodey sputters and Peter gets more scarlet.

For a second Tony almost thinks that everything is going to be okay.

“It's good to see you, Tony,” says Rogers then, appearing behind Peter, and it's like someone poured frozen water over Tony’s head. “It's been a while.”

He's carrying two enormous plates, one in each hand. His hair is longer than the short, practical style Tony was used to see him sport, combed back, curling under his nape. There's an easy smile, almost shy, half hidden behind his beard. He's wearing a sweater almost as ugly as Peter's, with maroon reindeers with red noses.

Tony feels like his limbs have suddenly turned into lead, and they're too heavy for him to move. It takes a couple of seconds to put a smile back on his own face, and he's pretty sure it looks forced despite his best effort. “Cap,” he says, and it sounds strained even to his ears. He shoves one hand inside the pocket of his pants. “Well, you know how it is. Companies to run, millions to make, and all that.”

Everyone is quiet around them, almost like they're waiting for a bomb to go off.

(It already exploded. They're all wounded beyond saving.)

“Right,” says Rogers, and his face falls a little. “Yeah, you're busy, I know. It's just…” He juggles with the plates for a second before finding a balance. He eyes Tony’s bruises and Tony sees him hesitate, the words he means to say at the tip of his tongue. “Well, I'm glad you're here today,” he says, in the end. “I better put these down before I make a mess.” He smiles again, though it looks a little tighter, before heading towards the table.

There's a small awkward silence that no one is fast enough to fill.

That went well, Tony thinks, when he remembers to start breathing again.

He's still in a haze when he realises that Barnes is looming a few feet away from them, arms crossed over his chest. When he meets Tony's eyes, he nods. Tony blinks a couple of times before nodding back.

When he looks around he sees everyone exchange nervous glances. A couple of them sigh audibly.

“Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving,” proclaims Rhodey. “Let's get this party started.”

~~~~~~~

He doesn't think anyone notices when he slips out. Rhodey and Carol are sitting on the same sofa, almost no space between them and there's a smile on Rhodey’s face Tony hasn't seen in a very long time. A smile that he never thought he would see again. It hurts deep inside Tony's chest, almost like it's getting a little hard to breathe, and if he stumbles so hard he needs the wall to steady himself, he's already in the hallway and it's nobody's business.

When he makes it to the roof, it's to find it already covered in white, his shoes leaving prints behind. It's been snowing for hours now.

It's cold and not for the first time he regrets not having taken a coat with him. He's sure he must have one or ten in his apartment here at the compound, but he hasn't set foot in there in a while, and he doesn't really want to.

He reaches the railing and stops, rests both hands on the granite, and it's like whatever force was holding him upright is failing him. He closes his eyes and breathes in the quiet, lets the air, sharp and brisk, fill his lungs.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but he still feels emotionally drained. There's an undercurrent of distrust between them all that it seems they're all politely agreeing to ignore for the sake of making things work. He doesn't know if he should be grateful for that or not, but he sure is grateful for Clint’s absence. And for Peter and Carol’s presence.

He wouldn't have made it without them acting as a buffer. He felt his heart constrict in his chest each time Rogers attempted to start a conversation, his jaw hurts from biting his teeth down too hard.

Someday in the future, perhaps, when he'll have made peace with himself and they'll have made peace with each other, someday, he'll be ‘Steve’ again, and calling him ‘Cap’ will roll off Tony’s tongue without faltering first. Not today though. Today he's an empty vessel filled with brashness and good manners.

Today his wound is still festering.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that, the grass that surrounds the building is slowly but steadily being covered by an inch of snow and it's sort of hypnotic to watch. The sky is whiter than ever, despite it being late afternoon and his breath is coming out in small puffs of smoke when he feels like he got himself under control.

He used to love snow, back when he was a kid. He was never allowed to go out and play with it, never really had anyone to play with either, that was a privilege that belonged to other kids, kids that were free. But he could watch. He'd see children throwing snowballs and building snowmen and he would long for that, his brain supplying faster trajectories and aerodynamic shapes.  

Those fantasies disappeared the older he got, but the longing never really did. The longing of belonging.

(He never truly belonged anywhere and anyone who ever belonged to him left him behind.)

Tony cups his palms to his mouth and blows on them, uselessly trying to warm them up a little, his fingers numb. He should go back inside. He doesn't want to.

“You're gonna catch a cold,” says a voice from somewhere to his right and he's not proud of the high pitched sound that comes out of his lips.

Instinct has him strucking his hands out in defense as he turns around looking for threats. He made the mistake of assuming he was safe.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales when he spots Barnes. He's sitting on the floor leaning to the railing, head tilted back, elbows resting on his knees, eyes closed. There's snow on his hair, some strands are wet. The top of his black henley appears soaked.

“Nah, just me,” says Barnes cheekily.

How long has he been there?

He finds himself walking towards him and he stops when he's only a few feet away. A few seconds ago he was almost all the way across the terrace. He doesn't remember moving.

“I do have a heart condition, you know,” Tony says, and he drums his fingers over his chest, hearing the glass ticking. Something flashes behind his eyes and suddenly he's back in Siberia again, Barnes digging his metal digits into the arc reactor of the suit, the uni beam ripping his arm off in one clean shot. He shakes his head to clear it, stumbling back, he hits the concrete railing behind him, and he looks up, wary that Barnes might have noticed, but Barnes hasn't moved at all.

Barnes snorts and it takes him a second to remember that he said something to prompt that reaction.

Tony narrows his eyes, angry at his own stupidity. Angry that his heart is beating too fast. Embarrassed that he allowed himself to be vulnerable when he should have been the least. That past and present collide every time he forgets to breathe and he doesn't know how to stop one from pouring into the other.

(He doesn't know how to live.)

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” he says. “Or we gotta stop meeting period, really. I'm good with either.”

Barnes says nothing, but Tony could swear his lips are twitching a little. He was not joking, not really. It hurts to see him.

He spent almost the entire week thinking about their last encounter, musing over all the things he should have done differently, all the words he should have said instead. He doesn't want to acknowledge any of it.

He's stuck in a limbo. He wants to move on but he can't get past it. It's not fair.

(It's not fair to either of them.)

“Are you following me?” Tony asks, cause it can't really be another coincidence. Whatever deity who loves to play games with his life wouldn't be this cruel.

Barnes looks up at that, one eyebrow raised. Someone should have gotten him a razor for Christmas, his face seems to always be sporting some kind of permanent stubble. There's snowflakes on his lashes as well, his eyes are really blue. “I was here first, actually. Are you following me?”

It's Tony's turn to snort.

He's the last person he wants to be alone with. Well, perhaps Rogers takes that gold medal, but Barnes comes a close second.

(Untrue. It's himself he doesn't want to be alone with, but there's nothing he can do about that.)

He came to the roof to regroup, to get himself together. He should have gone to his workshop, in hindsight that was clearly a much smarter idea. Less risk of running into people he'd rather avoid there. But he did actually need some air, and the workshop is filled with half abandoned projects he's been putting off for too long. He doesn't need a reminder of all the things he's yet to do. Of all he should come back to.

The wind is whipping Barnes’ hair around his face, and Tony registers for the first time that Barnes is not wearing a coat either.

“What's with you and your aversion for jackets?” he asks, remembering he was wearing just a hoodie back at the cemetery as well. “You know, those things you use when it's cold? Ever heard of them?” He shivers, rubbing his hands together to no avail. The temperature doesn't seem to be affecting Barnes at all, despite the fact that he must have sat there under the snow for far longer than Tony figures.

“You mean those heavy things that keep you warm? Pretty sure we had those last century too,” Barnes replies, tone dry. Asshole thinks he's funny, wonderful.

“Guess it's one of the perks of being a super soldier,” Tony mutters.

Barnes shrugs.

Tony turns to face the garden again, leaning forwards, elbows resting on the railing. He spots Peter throwing a snowball to Sam before taking cover behind a tree, Wanda using her powers to hit Vision with much more snow than is usually polite. Vision doesn't seem too upset as it goes right through him. “That's cheating!” Wanda screams, laughter in her voice.

“I don't mind the cold,” Barnes says, voice so soft, Tony almost misses it. “Reminds me of cryo. Cryo meant peace for me.” He lets out a long exhale. “There were no missions in cryo.”

Tony doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

He wonders if Barnes has any other reason for disclosing such truths other than to unsettle him. If he's even aware that he's doing it. That he's baring himself to a stranger. A stranger who tried to kill him.

When he angles his face to see him, he finds that Barnes hasn't moved, head still tilted back, eyes still closed. Hair and shirt wetter.

“Why didn't you stay in cryo then?” he asks, not sure why. “In Wakanda, I mean.”

“That… that wasn't really my decision.”

“Steve,” Tony says, cause it's not really a question. He already knows the answer.

“I guess the world needed me.” Barnes shrugs again. “Well, they needed my... talents.”

Tony is quiet for a while. He thinks back at the battle with Thanos, at the world disintegrating under their feet. At the certainty that they wouldn't have made it. That he'd disappointed them all cause he hadn't tried hard enough, he hadn't planned ahead enough, despite knowing what was coming. Despite having felt it in his bones.

“What about now?” he says eventually. Thinking that if it was him, if he had a way to turn it all off to find even some semblance of serenity, he would go on his knees and beg for it.

Barnes brow furrows. “Why don't I go back to cryo?”

“Yeah.”

It's a while before Barnes replies. He turns his head away when he does, gaze distant. “I thought about it. I think about it a lot actually. It's not like the world really needs me anymore. No one really needs me.”

Tony makes a sound at that. “Pretty sure your buddy would disagree.”

Barnes shakes his head, wet strands falling in front of his eyes. “Stevie doesn't understand. He's still waiting for his best friend and that man is dead. He’s been dead for a very long time.”

“Why don't you then?”

Barnes’ lips twist in a parody of a smile. “Guess that would make a lot of people happy, wouldn't it?”

Tony stays quiet. He thinks about it. Would it?

Not having to see him would certainly be easier for him, but it wouldn't change much of anything at all. His parents would still be dead. Steve would still have lied.

Barnes looks at his hands. “I've… I've killed a lot of people. I don't even know how many. I've been Hydra’s puppet for a very long time. Nothing will ever take that back. There's no undoing the things I've done.”

When he meets Tony’s eyes, there's no hiding the depth of his sorrow.

(It's like looking in a mirror.)

“I can't go to sleep. I don't think I… I can't go to sleep.”

I don't think I deserve it , Tony thinks. That's what he meant to say, he doesn't know how but he's sure of it.

Tony opens his mouth to say something. He doesn't know what yet, but he feels like he has to say something.

“There you are, Buck! I've been looking all over for you,” comes from behind them, and Tony jerks upright as if burned. When he turns around he finds Rogers standing at the door.

The moment Rogers spots him, Tony can see his friendly expression turn into one of confusion, then concern, eyes darting from Tony to Barnes before settling on Tony.

“Hey, Tony,” he says, tentative. “I thought you already left.”

He turns to Barnes, gaze assessing. “Everything alright?” he asks, and it's stupid but the two words hurt Tony more than they have any right to, more than he expects them to, despite the fact that he knew they were coming.

Rogers doesn't trust them to be alone together. It's fair. But it's a reminder that something between the two of them is fundamentally broken.

Some broken things you can fix, assembling the pieces if you can find them all, and gluing them back together. Some will still work, as good as new, but they will always carry the cracks like scars. In some, the water will find a way to filter through those cracks, and they'll be whole, but not whole .

Which ones will they be?

(The glue is still drying for them. Soon they'll know.)

“As a matter of fact, I was just leaving,” Tony says, and a handful of seconds later the suit flies to him and he's encased in its shell. Safe again.

“Well, this was nice,” he says, already hovering a few feet off the floor. Barnes and Rogers are both looking at him. Barnes’ hands are closed into fists, Rogers mouth is hanging open. “Let's never do it again.”

He waves once, before lifting off. He doesn't wait for a reply. If it comes, he doesn't hear it. He's already gone.