#still completely captivated by the fact that these two had a 'same hat!!!' moment

[princesssarcastia]

in this land of milk and honey, we're too shy to say we're thirsty

here, have 1.5k of fic i just wrote about mission: impossible: rogue nation.  AU of the scene where Ethan Hunt wakes up a captive of the Syndicate, where Ilsa Faust gets to run the interrogation the way she wants to, instead of being interrupted by the Bone Doctor.  title from “Little Mercy,” by Doomtree. read it on ao3 here.

“What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind.  Pain is cheap.”

-

Ilsa grabs her tools by rote memory, uninterested in taking any care in the work she’s about to do. This isn’t the first time she’s worked someone over for Lane, and it won’t be the last time; she needs to stay numb to it, numb here in the moment and numb after his latest acquisition bends and twists, numb when she has to stand there in the aftermath as the others move in to take what they want from him, numb to the part of her that wants to perk up at the praise following a job well done.

The door groans under its own weight when the guards push it open for her, and she sees the man tense ever so slightly where he’s tied to the post.  Conscious, then, but not quite awake.  Her heels click in the silence after the door slams shut. 

She leaves the lights off; the shadows help, sometimes, with some agents.  Paired with the right kind of drugs, the right kind of touch, darkness can add a dreamlike quality to an already intimate process.  People like them feel safer in the dark.

This one is dangerous. Lane wouldn’t take such a personal interest if he wasn’t.  So, she slips off her shoes, sets them on the table with her tray and her jacket, unbuttons the top button of her shirt and rolls up her sleeves.

Ilsa turns around and—

He’s awake now.

He’s staring at her.

She stares right back.

The moment yawns and stretches between them, arching languidly.  Ilsa breathes in sharply, quietly, and takes a step toward him, still caught on his eyes—although the rest of him is hardly a chore to examine. 

He doesn’t move, focused intently on her.  Assessing. Calculating.  It feels—it feels a little like when Lane looks at her, like he’s cataloguing her expressions and picking apart the things that make her tick.  But it doesn’t make her want to curl up and hide when this man does it. 

“Nice shoes.”

Ilsa blinks, then quirks her brow, amused.  That’s a new one.  

“American intelligence, yes?”  A soft opener. 

He tilts his head, silent, but clearly not buying that she doesn’t already know.

“But not the CIA,” she continues, moving closer in even steps.  “No, you have too much personality for that, I can already tell.”

Now he’s amused, letting his lips twitch, but he keeps his silence.  She starts turning his reactions in her mind, letting her gaze fall over the whole of him to catch them all.  This one is a talker; she just needs to get him started.  And stop getting distracted by his eyes.  There’s something about them that draws her attention, but Ilsa can’t figure out what.

“How long have you worked for the IMF?”  She stops well outside of his reach but still close enough to see his chest rise and fall minutely with each breath.  If she focuses, she imagines she might be able to see it twitch with the beating of his heart.

“How long did you work for British intelligence, before you turned traitor?”  He fires back.  Right on the money.  Not that it’s a difficult guess, given where he is and how she speaks.

“Twenty years,” she says calmly, and watches him mentally turn on a dime, reassessing.  “They recruited me right of secondary school. I imagine it was much the same for you. Sometimes, they catch people later, but MI6 knows how to recognize a good asset in the making fairly early.”

Ilsa takes a step closer. “The agency was my whole life.  It consumed all my time and energy.  My waking hours and my sleeping ones.  And I was…eager to please.  An excellent agent, willing and capable of doing anything they asked of me.  It was hard, sometimes, but in the end it was worth it because I knew everything I was doing was for queen and country.  The greater good,” she adds, letting her mouth twist wryly. 

He watches her for a moment, and she lets him, lets the silence sit, lets it build.  It’s an obvious enough cue, and he’s curious enough now to take the bait.  He wants her talking as much as she wants him talking, neither of them in control nor sure they have the upper hand, yet. 

“What changed,” he asks finally, and Ilsa’s gaze catches on his eyes again.

“I woke up,” Ilsa takes three steps to her left, changing the angle of approach.  “I realized, one day, that I only thought I was fighting for the right side because it’s what I chose to believe.  None of my experiences actually supported that conclusion.

“Have you ever killed an innocent person, Ethan?”  She doesn’t wait for his answer.  “I know I have.  On accident, sure, as an unintended casualty of my mission; but on purpose, too.  Sometimes it was the mission.  To make things easier for MI6, for my handler, for England.  For their convenience.”

Now he shifts, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles clinking.  He doesn’t respond, but she can see it in his eyes.  He has.  Of course he has.  No one in their line of work hasn’t. 

That fact of life actually bothers him, unlike Lane and the rest of the men here.  The same way it bothers her when she forgets to be numb.

She knows what it is in his eyes, now, that’s pulling at her attention. 

His eyes are kind.  He looks kind. 

It’s impossible. 

“I realized I was only loyal to them because of a lie I was telling myself.  And that loyalty certainly wasn’t returned.  The agency doesn’t exist to care for its agents, it exists to use them up until there’s nothing left.  How many times did they leave me out in the cold, dangling in the wind, to survive or die under nothing more than my own ability?”

“That’s the job,” he says, with a hint of condescension.  It grates.  He probably means it to.

“That doesn’t make it right, the way they treated me.  The way your government treats you.”  

His eyes shift.  He knows her game, now, has mapped out the path she wants to take, the weak spots she’s aiming for.  The muscles in his limbs tense and relax minutely, imbued with the strength of surety, surety that what she’s trying to do won’t work. 

But his faith in himself is misplaced, because now she can tell he hasn’t realized yet that what she’s saying is true.  He’s like her, two, five years ago: unable to value his own life.  What his handlers do to him doesn’t matter because he doesn’t matter; you can’t hurt someone if they don’t see themselves as person capable of being hurt.  It’s fine if they use you because you’re letting them.  You’re a tool; if you’re not being used, then what’s the point of you?

The truth is, it does matter.  It does hurt them.  And they only let themselves be used because the right people broke them at the right time, cracking them wide open to let someone else in to twist them into knots.

Truth will out.  It’s more powerful than people like them, steeped in lies and deception, ever expect, which is why Ilsa is so fond of using it.

Faster than the eye can properly see, she lunges for him, sinking her needle into the meat of his bicep and depressing the plunger.  Too quick for him to stop, although he pulls his legs up to kick her in the chest and send her sprawling.

Truth will out.  But of course, the drugs help. 

His kind eyes blink rapidly, then slowly, clearly tensing to try and fend off unconsciousness that isn’t coming.  Oh, it won’t knock him out.  Unconscious is no use to her.  But it’ll ease the way for the truth; make him more pliant, more sociable, more open to suggestion. 

What Vinter and the rest of his stupid ilk never realize is that torture doesn’t work, especially on their own kind.  Pain is cheap.  Their bodies are disposable, their lives are disposable.  Ethan Hunt would happily die for the IMF, for the greater good, probably even for his fellow agents.  He’s a fighter, this one.  He’ll die before they break him. 

But if Ilsa can lay the truth of their lives out in front of him in ways he can understand, it will plant seeds of doubt his lived experiences can’t help but nurture.  Doubt is more dangerous than pain.  

Ethan Hunt and his kind eyes will never work for Solomon Lane, not after Lane shot that poor woman in the head in front of him.  Not after Lane made him feel helpless—and she’s sure Lane did, it’s his favorite way to make people feel, and he’s spectacularly good at it.  

She just needs to make sure Ethan doesn’t work against them.  Finding the ways his handlers have made him feel helpless is a good place to start.

Ilsa waits for his pupils to blow wide and his pulse to slow in his chest and neck before she starts. She stays where he put her on the floor, only shifting enough to sit up.

“How long have you worked for the IMF, Ethan?”  She asks softly.

One breath.  Two breaths.  He blinks again, licks his lips.  

 And tells her.

[wileys-russo]

can we get a morning blurb for alexia, leah and alessia in the style of the last two?

because i have some thoughts 💭

alexia gets up at like 5:30 am no problem and is productive as fuck while reader tries to get her to come back to bed and snuggle

leah gets up early but needs coffee and a moment of peace before she can actually start the day and is literally completely silent like you won’t get much more than “mhm” out of her, so reader and her usually just snuggle up a bit while they both wake up properly

alessia literally said herself that she needs several alarms and has a really hard time getting out of bed so reader usually has to drag her out and she is really grumpy and needy af for cuddles to compensate the fact that she had to get up

early mornings II a.putellas, l.williamson, a.russo

alexia

there was very little you couldn't and didn't love about your girlfriend. you adored how passionate she was and how that bled through into nearly every aspect of her life both on and off the pitch.

you loved how you saw a different side to her when it was just the two of you and her walls would come down. where with time she wasn't afraid to be vulnerable and emotional and raw, wrapped up in your arms after her knee would tweak or she'd look a little too deep into what the media was saying about her, just seeking solace within you as her safe person.

you were infatuated with how much she cared for her loved ones, family driven and fiercely protective of her inner circle. there wasn't much she wouldn't do for them and you found that utterly captivating.

however there was one thing about alexia that drove you up the wall and to the brink of frustration, and that was that she was somehow both a night owl and an early riser.

wound up after games she'd often forgo sleeping at all, opting instead to stay up and watch countless hours of footage, going over every little kick and tackle and sidestep with a fine tooth comb, desperate to find ways she could improve next time.

she could win ten nil and score a double hat trick and still seek out where her flaws lay, forever intending to better herself and her football every single day that passed.

you thought she might try to take better care of herself after her acl, but she'd ignored the warnings about her non existent sleep schedule her entire career and that wasn't about to change.

there were the rare nights she would go to bed with you and you'd finally fall asleep with her warm body beside you, limbs tangled together in crisp linen as soft words of endearment and tender confessions of love drowned your subconscious.

but the morning after you would always awake to cold sheets, stretching out desperately to find her, wanting nothing more than to curl into her strong arms and gently kiss her tanned skin as the two of you dozed in and out for a few hours, just wrapped up together in your little bubble of love.

but no, your girlfriends body clock insist she be up around five thirty each morning, off to the gym in your building complex for a workout with alexia always using the excuse it was empty that time of day and allowed her some much sought after privacy.

so each morning you'd wake up in an entirely different situation than the one you'd fallen asleep in and your mood would sour. you'd trudge out to the living room and most of the time her gym bag would be gone and you'd retreat back to bed.

but occasionally you'd find her curled up on the sofa with nala and a book in hand, cold cup of coffee beside her untouched despite her insistence she still make it.

this morning was not much different only alexia felt you stir beside her as she carefully slipped out of bed, never needing an alarm to be up and alert at the same time each morning, her body routine like clockwork.

"please stay." you'd pleaded, voice thick with sleep and barely loud enough for her to hear, reaching out to grab alexia's wrist as she'd tried to tuck you back in. "i have to workout amor." she'd whispered, face barely recognizable in the dim light of your bedroom, blinds still drawn and sun only just starting to peek over the horizon.

"no you don't. you're choosing to leave me, selfish woman." you mumbled, cracking one eye open to fix her with a grumpy glare as her soft lips curled into an amused smile.

"go back to sleep bebita. i'll have breakfast done when you wake again and you will not even know i am not here." her lips grazed your temple lovingly as slender fingers carded through your hair pushing it out of your face, and before you could even say another word she was gone.

true to her word you heard the bedroom door open a few hours later and the smell of her cooking gently waft through and invade your senses, but still annoyed you'd once again been depraved of a sleep in with her your eyes remained shut.

you heard alexia's footsteps pad softly around the bed and the click of her raising the blinds, warm sunshine bathing the room as your arm moved to cover your face.

"buenos días." you felt the bed dip as your girlfriend sat down, still refusing to move or acknowledge her in any way alexia chuckled and shook you softly. "stop." you mumbled, feeling her push your arm away as your eyes fluttered open, wincing at the sunlight and taking a moment to adjust.

alexia sat beside you with an amused smile embedded into her features. tanned skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat and clad only in shorts and a sports bra, freshly dyed blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail.

"i said buenos días cariño." the older girl repeated, pulling back the blankets to reveal you as you only sighed deeply in response. "ale! you're all sweaty." you whined tiredly as she moved to lay down on top of you, her skin sticking uncomfortably to your bare legs as your top half was covered with an old spain jersey.

"earlier you beg me to get back into bed with you. i am now in bed with you and you tell me to go away!" the taller girl laughed softly as you halfheartedly tried to push her off, giving up quickly as she didn't budge so much as an inch.

"you're all gross." you grumbled, her lips gently trailing a series of soft kisses from your cheek down your jaw. "that is not very nice amor." your eyes met hers, pools of hazel staring down at you in amusement as she ducked her head and rubbed her damp hair in your face.

"alexia!" you groaned, pushing her off and rolling onto your side, mumbling a string of insults in spanish under your breath. "we have to change the sheets today anyway hermosa, stop being grumpy!" you reached back and swatted at thin air as her hands teasingly squeezed your ass which now faced toward her.

"you don't seem to mind the results of my work outs, hm?" as you rolled back onto your back she sat up on her knees, purposefully flexing her abs and biceps as you couldn't help but admire her incredibly toned physique.

"i've seen better." you shrugged, lazy smile curling onto your lips as she shook her head. "oh you have?" she climbed back on top of you, straddling your hips and pinning your arms by your head as you nodded.

you craned your head eagerly as she ducked hers as if to kiss you, though right as her lips ghosted yours you squealed feeling her fingers dig into your sides, trying desperately to throw her off as she only grinned and continued the attack.

"okay okay! you are the best!" you panted out, stomach aching from laughing so hard as your girlfriends body again laid down on top of yours, your hands moving to trace where you knew her tattoos were on her bare back as her face pressed into your neck.

"your laundrys done, i walked nala and i cooked your favourite mi vida. are you ready to get up now?" the catalan mumbled in your ear, her hands moving to thread through your hair, short nails scratching at your scalp.

maybe mornings weren't all that bad.

~

leah

you stirred as the first of leahs alarms went off, reaching behind your head to tap snooze, smacking the bedside table a few times before you eventually found her phone.

much too accustomed to your girlfriends routine you opened your arms as her body rolled over into you, shuffling up the bed a little as her taller form pressed tightly against you.

one hand threaded through her soft blonde locks which sprawled across the dark navy bedsheets, playing with it absentmindedly as the other moved to dip just below the waistband of her joggers to rub gentle circles into her hip bone with your thumb.

she lifted her chin slightly as you smiled and pressed your lips to her warm forehead, letting them linger there as you felt her body once again settle as she dozed back to sleep.

you knew the first of her alarms was really for you. it was to alert you to the fact leah needed to be up in around a half hour, and that during those critical thirty minutes she wanted nothing more than every single second of your attention even if still asleep.

you lifted one of your legs a few minutes later as her knee knocked yours, clad in a pair of soft grey joggers which matched the black pair covering leahs ridiculously long legs, one of which would slot itself in between yours further entangling your bodies together.

you flinched slightly as your blonde lover would exhale deeply, nose tucked into your collarbone as her warm breath tickled your sun kissed skin, both of you just returning from a weekend away in malta for her cousins birthday.

then ten minutes after the first the second alarm would sound, and your hand would move from leahs hip to again stretch behind your head and tap snooze.

you knew then to shuffle across and brace as leah moved to lay down on top of you, hiding her face in your neck as your nose would scrunch, her baby hairs tickling you as you'd gently move them away.

your hands would then sneak up the back of her shirt, though today she'd fallen asleep in a cropped tank top leaving her bare back exposed and ready. your nails would gently scratch lines up and down her back, comforted by the feeling of her weight on top of you as she'd begin to slowly stir.

her breathing still even you knew she was starting to wake as she inhaled deeply, nose grazing your shoulder before her lips pressed a lazy kiss to the column of your throat and you'd continue the rhythmic back scratches, your chin resting atop top her head.

you'd made the mistake of falling back to sleep once after a late night and the moment your hands fell to your sides you shot up awake as leahs teeth sunk into your shoulder, playfully biting you in warning as you'd chuckled and continued with what she wanted.

you'd stay in this position for a further ten minutes before leahs third and final alarm sounded. she'd always huff quietly as your nails left her skin, rolling off of you as you sat up with your back to the headboard, now stopping the alarms all together.

leahs head would wiggle its way into your lap as she stretched, eyes still closed and a grunt leaving her lips as she relaxed again. your fingers would then trace her facial features with a touch soft as a feather, your hair falling around the two of you like a curtain as your head dipped and lips pressed gentle loving kisses all over her face.

you'd mumble good morning against her forehead, tapping her nose as her bright eyes would open, corners of her eyelids thick with sleep as she'd rub at them.

stretching her arms up her hands with a quiet grunt would clasp the back of your neck, thumb rubbing small circles in the middle of your shoulder blades as you were pulled down to properly kiss her good morning.

then warning her of the time you'd gently pull her hands away, kissing her finger tips and dropping them to her sides, her head moving off your lap as you slid out of bed and she'd follow. wordlessly the two of you would move to the kitchen, leah taking a seat at the bench as you moved to the coffee machine.

most mornings her head would slump to rest against her forearms which crossed on the cool marble, eyes closed and drifting in and out to the gentle hum of the coffee machine, feeling the warm sun bathe her back from the huge glass doors that lead out to your backyard.

but on colder mornings, or just when she was feeling a little extra touch starved her body would cling to yours. you'd only smile and settle into the taller girl, her arms hung loosely around your torso often tucked under whatever form of material was covering you.

in winter you'd complain that her fingers were icy cold and she'd only smile into your neck as they ran teasingly up and down your naked sides making you squirm in her hold.

the english captain would never utter a single word until a drop of caffeine hit her lips, and you knew better than to expect anything different.

you knew just how she liked her coffee, i know leah doesn't drink coffee but lets just go with it, after all you'd been making it for her the same way in the same faded arsenal mug for the last three years, forever teasing that the more she drank from it the less and less the bright red crest was even visible.

but still, she refused to get a new one.

you'd hand her the mug and she'd reward you with a soft kiss in silent thanks. not much of a coffee drinker yourself you'd brew a tea, leah waiting patiently beside you sipping on her own drink. if she was awake enough she would sigh impatiently as you'd playfully send her a glare.

then hands warmed by your own mug the two of you would move to the sofa, leah sitting down first and stretching out as you settled yourself sideways in her lap, back pressed against the arm of the sofa as you clicked on the television.

her coffee finished and tired state fading this was when the defender would finally speak, arms encircling you and squeezing tightly. you'd run your free hand through her hair as her chin rested on your sternum.

your heart would swoon as a "mornin gorgeous" would fall from her lips and she'd steal a mouthful of your tea, moving the empty mug onto the table beside hers and pulling your body as tightly into hers as she could.

your routine was timed down to the second, and leah had another twenty minutes before she needed to shower before training, so the two of you cuddled up and often watched the morning news.

well more accurately you watched the news as as her eyes watched you, shining with a sort of tender adoration and hopelessly lovesick gaze that nobody would ever see but you.

~

alessia

you were wide awake long before you heard the first alarm go off, already laid on your stomach and scrolling through your phone. you gave it a few seconds, glancing to the mess of blonde hair peeking out from the covers to see if she stirred.

when she remained dead asleep you rolled your eyes, pushing yourself up and leaning over her to flick off her alarm, the insistently annoying tone already making your head hurt.

knowing she had at least six more alarms set and didn't need to be up for another little while you allowed her to keep sleeping, flicking off the second and third alarm, eyes rolling in disbelief when once again she didn't even move.

on the fourth alarm you left it to ring out, seeing if an elongated period of time might mean it got through to her the way the shrill beeping was drilling into your own head. but once again, nothing.

"less, alarm." you shook her gently, hand above the covers as once more, nothing. "alessia, alarm." you warned, sitting up and now using both hands to jolt her body side to side. "yeah alright." she mumbled tiredly, one arm pushing you away from her as the other smacked around to stop the alarm.

you foolishly assumed that would be the end of it and she'd start to stir, but no the blondes body just collapsed right back into the sheets, pulling them up tighter toward her as you sighed deeply.

normally she was always a little harder to get out of bed of a morning, but having seen this pattern repeat itself too many times you knew today was going to be a real struggle.

but she needed to be up when you were like it or not, you'd made breakfast plans with your mothers and despite that your girlfriend had still stayed up late into the night on the phone to ella.

you'd kicked her out of the bed around a quarter to twelve, growing annoyed of the giggles and hushed conversations above your head, your girlfriend mumbling an apology into your hair and kissing the crown of your temple before retreating into the living room.

you'd had no idea when she'd come to bed, all you knew is that you were long asleep by the time she had and you'd woken up with her beside you. though it seemed she'd slipped in rather late considering her extra determination not to be awake right now.

a quick check of the time showed you had around fifteen minutes to battle with her about getting up, which knowing the striker laying dead asleep beside you was not enough time but you'd need to make do with what you had.

"lessi baby." you started softly, laying back down and moving her hair out of her face, slotting your body into hers and softly kissing all over her face. not even a flinch.

"time to wake up my love, we have plans to get ready for." you cooed in her ear, placing a few loving kisses to her neck as your hand moved to rub slowly up and down her back. "don't care." was all you received in response alongside a troubled sigh.

"yeah you do baby, you love your mum and we're going to have breakfast with her. it's already nine thirty, you need to get up." you spoke gently, hand moving to rest on her hip now as you again shook her body.

"no!" alessia groaned grumpily, rolling to face away from you as her next alarm sounded, her hand this time quick to tap it off within a few seconds. "yes!" you mocked, moving to sit on top of her, straddling the back of her thighs.

"come on baby, open those pretty blue eyes for me." you gently pushed up her top, ducking down and leaving a trail of soft kisses along her bare back up the line of her spine. "lessi." you sung out in her ear, only an annoyed groan following as her hand swatted to try and push you off.

"m'not going." she grumbled tiredly, tucking her arms under her head with a huff. "yes you are." you nodded, sitting back up and moving to jab gently at her sides. "no i'm not." she argued, face still smushed against her arms as you rolled your eyes.

"you are, so time to get up." you sang out, still poking and prodding at her, tickling her sides gently. "get off and stop fucking poking me!" she huffed moodily and you squealed as she suddenly rolled over beneath you sending you tumbling back to the bed.

"babe no!" you laughed but it was too late, the taller girl belly flopping down on top of you, pinning your body to the bed with her own. "sshh, go to sleep." the striker whispered, covering your face with her hand.

"get off me you dope, we need to get up!" you laughed, trying to wrench her hand off of you. "alessia!" you groaned now, grunting as you tried to push your body up but her larger form refused to budge. your annoyance grew as you felt her lips curl into a smile from her face tucked into your neck.

"i know you're awake so just work with me here and get up!" you grunted still trying to push her off as she purposefully went limp making it harder. "what time did you go to bed?" you sighed, starfishing out on the bed taking a breather.

"alessia. what time?" you repeated, tone more firm at her reluctance to answer. "four thirty, tooney and i played a little fifa and i lost track." her head lifted, eyes puffy with sleep as a guilty smile crept its way into her normally adorably sleepy features and your eyes bugged.

"oh you're going to breakfast! get off me right now russo." you warned seriously, the older girl doing as you asked but you groaned again as you tried to get up and her arms snaked round you.

"can't leave me now." she mumbled tiredly, arms pinned to your sides as she pulled your back into her front, swinging her legs over your own and sighing contentedly. "just lay there quietly, shut up, look gorgeous and cuddle me." your girlfriend requested, kissing your cheek before her head thumped back down to the pillow.

"if you wanted cuddles you should have woken up to your first alarm. we don't have time for this less!" you sighed, forever a stickler for punctuality as your girlfriend was the polar opposite hardly ever not fashionably late to everything.

"there's always time for a cuddle with me baby." the blonde debated, only squeezing you tighter and wiggling her body against you to prove her point. "i'll make you a deal." you started, one bright blue eye cracking open in silent confirmation she was listening.

"you get up right now, get ready and we go to breakfast. then when we get back i'll lay in bed with you for the rest of the day and we can cuddle all you want baby." you bargained, wiggling one arm free to affectionately graze her cheek.

"this feels like a trap." alessia mumbled warily, aware of your productive nature and that you forever used your weekends for errands and life admin, in disbelief you'd give all that up.

"oh for god sakes, less! we need to get up please." you whined, head thumping dejectedly. "fine!" the blonde eventually groaned, letting you go as she sat herself up. you couldn't help but smile as she glared down at you tiredly, pushing her hair to one side of her head and rubbing her adorably puffy face.

"alessia!" you grunted as once more she belly flopped down on top of you, wriggling around until she was comfortable, moving one hand to thread through your hair as the other covered your mouth shushing you softly.

"we will get up in five more minutes."

[fwkei]

How can you be so warm in a place so cold?

Izana x reader (fluff-angst) 

WC: 3.3k

CW/TW: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of abuse, mentions of drugs, mentions of blood. 

AN: made this take place right before the battle between Toman and Tenjiku, No spoilers. Explanation at the end of the story just incase you dont understand 

hey guys, thanks so much on the support/feedback on my last work. I appreciate it sm, and thank you for 5 followers 🥳 love yall fr. ANYWAYS, heres something i just made I hope you enjoy, and again i did not proof read this so I apologize for any mistakes, enjoy!

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

“....Do you remember it?”

He felt his body go cold….cold like that one night..That one night when he met you. 

The air felt sharp against the skin on your face. But this feeling comforted you in a way. Although it wasn't much, you looked forward to this part of your day, where you could just think and not worry for a couple of hours. 

You fisted your hands inside your pockets to create some sort of friction and warmth. You nuzzled your chin and mouth under your thick zipped up jacket that was a little too big on you when the park you always come to came into view. 

You looked down at your feet when suddenly you heard the squeak of a moving chain, you looked up. To see a boy sitting on one of the swings, slightly swaying back and forth. 

Your eyes softened at the sadden look on his face, and so you sat on the swing right next to him, taking your hands out of your pocket to hold onto the cold chains. He looked down at his dangled feet, and you only looked out into the scenery, debating on what you should say to the young boy.

He was small but still a little bigger than you. His skin was tan and had light pale hair. He seemed upset, maybe even angry. You hadn't even noticed that your gaze completely turned to him. You saw his hands that were resting on his thighs, moving up to grip the chains of the swing as he looked over at you with his cat-like irises. His eyes, they captivated you. They were a color you had never seen before. A lavender. A really soft and beautiful lavender. 

You two held eye contact for a good two minutes. When one of you suddenly decided to speak. 

“What are you doing out here this late?” he asked in a slightly irritated tone still keeping eye contact with you 

“I’m waiting for my mom to finish with work..” you said looking back out 

“Then why don’t you just go home. You shouldn't be out here.” he said swaying a bit

“But..I’m always out here, and I don't consider that place a home.” you said swaying with him on your swing 

You saw anger and frustration fill the boy's eyes. His eyebrows furrowed, and grip tightened on the chains as he looked at you with hate.

“Do you realize how spoiled you sound? You have a mom and a house. That you can go home to whenever you want. And you’re wanted! There's no reason for you to be out here and act like you’re miserable! Just go away!” he yelled at you 

He expected you to cry, frown, get angry, give at least some sort of reaction, and it angered him that his words didn't bother you. Your eyes still softly looked into his. Eyes with a hint of pity. It angered him even more. Just as he was about to speak and yell again. He gritted his teeth and stopped himself when he saw you look down. 

“That's not it..at all.” you said watching your feet dangle over the thin layer of snow 

“Then what is it?” he asked jumping out of his swing and standing in front of yours 

“Why do you want to know?” you asked looking up slightly at him making his breath hitch in confusion 

“Because..” he said getting quiet and realizing his outburst was rude

“What is your name?” you asked, stepping out of your seat to stand in front of him face to face, him only a few centimeters taller than you. 

“I..Izana..” he said finally getting a good and close look into your eyes 

He felt his eyes soften. He felt pity. He felt bad. He now knew he was wrong about you, everything he assumed was completely wrong. Izana could see the hurt in your eyes, he could tell you were going through a lot, and you could tell the same with him. He backed away slightly once he saw you smile.

He felt his heartbeat stop for a moment seeing it. How could you smile right now? Why would you smile right now? After his hurtful words...After what you were going through at home..why?

“My name is Y/n. I’m 10.” you said holding out your hand to the boy with a shocked face 

“10 too..” he said slowly, bringing his hand to grasp yours..

He felt his body warm up and mouth part. Your hand was warm, so warm and soft despite the cold air and chains that touched you. It confused him.

 How can you be so warm in a place so cold, Y/n? 

Izana thought to himself.

“Your hands are cold...here take my gloves...I don’t use them anyway. Do you come to this park a lot? I’ve never seen you here before..” you asked, reaching further into your pockets and taking out a pair of dark red knitted gloves and handing it to the boy in front of you. Looking into his eyes, waiting for a response.

“Thank..you...and you consider this a park? It’s just 2 swings under a streetlight..” he said softly taking the gloves from your hands gently

“Do you not? I thought it was..nice even though it’s not much, I come here every night.” you said

“You don’t get bored of it?” he asked 

“It’s the best it’s ever gonna get for me.” you said tucking your hands into your sleeves 

Izana’s mouth parted at your words. He knows you were going through something but what? Why was someone like you settling for something so...bad? Izana knew nothing about you except for the fact that you were overly nice. Overly nice to the point where it made him calm down.

“I can uh.. I can..take you to a better park! I know a place! Do you wanna come with me?” he asked bringing his arms to grasp you wrists tight making you surprised

Your eyes traced his face as a small smile grew on your face. Izana felt his face warm up at seeing you smile. It made him feel...good. Really good. It made him feel wanted. And he wanted to see you do it more often. He didn't even realize that because of your smile, a smile grew on his face as well. After a couple of seconds of looking into each others eyes, again...your eyes closed giving him a closed eyed smile as you said with a soft laugh-

“I do.” 

Izana let out a scoff of excitement as his eyes traveled down to your hands. Letting go of your wrists and lowering one of his hands to hold your hand tight. He looked back into your eyes with a different look. A look where you finally saw light in his eyes, and it made them that much more beautiful. 

“Okay. Don’t let go, just run with me.” he said as he started to walk and look back at you waiting for your reassurance 

“Okay.” you smiled bringing your other hand to hold your hat as you two started to run against the cold wind

The cold wind hit your eyes, making you squint. Occasionally Izana would look back at you while running to make sure you were okay, and it really was one of the best sights of your life. Seeing his slightly flushed face from the cold wind looking back at you with a soft and small grin and messy bangs spread across his face. It made your eyes widen and your face relax. He is so pretty when he smiles. You wanted to see him smile more often, it made you feel loved.

The running turned to jogging, the jogging turned to fast walking, and that turned to slow steps. You two stood in front of the park, with your hands still intertwined. You pushed up your hat that was blocking your view slightly and looked up to a park. A park with 2 slides, 4 swings, monkey bars, rods, and all sorts of things. With bright and warm lights shining over it… There was grass instead of cement, colorful benches instead of dirt covered stools, and  families with children instead of people with drugs. You felt the excitement grow all across your body. Your mouth opened as you let out a gasp of happiness. Your face flushed because of the overwhelming feeling. And Izana watched all of it. Didn’t blink once when looking at your happy face. 

“Cmon! Let’s go and play!” you said gripping his hand tighter before letting go and running to the park

“Yeah!’ he said running after you with a big smile plastered across his face 

Hour’s went by, but it only felt like a couple of minutes. You two let your minds run wild, pretending you lead a crew of pirates who had to fight against fish people, to running a spaceship that was battling against aliens, to pretending that the floor was some type of acid that could kill you making you two crawl around the apparatus like spiders till both of your minds and bodies grew tired. 

You two had played so much to the point where the cold snowy air didn't even feel cold, but like an AC on a hot summer day. You sat on your legs under the apparatus, while Izana sat the same way, but was playing with the grass on the ground. You watched his fingers fiddle with the green strings. You wanted to ask something, but couldn't seem to put your thoughts into words. 

“Izana-” you said looking at him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours 

“Yes?” he said looking at you 

“....Can we be friends?” you asked rubbing your hands waiting for his answer 

His eyes widened..you wanted him. Not only did you want him, but you wanted to be friends with him, be beside him, be with him. It made his heart feel weird, almost fuzzy. 

“Yeah! Let’s be friends.” he said smiling making you smile too

“What about you? Do you have a home?” you asked 

“No..I uh..I don’t. I don't have a family.” he signed deciding to keep back his sob story 

“Don’t worry, I get it. You can talk to me about it whenever we’re together again.” you said 

“When will we be together again?” he asked tilting his head 

“I don't know..but...I’ll always be at those swings, everyday. And when we get older..we can do other stuff in other places..like go to the beach..and bowling..you know?” you said smiling while counting things on your fingers 

“Yeah okay..sounds fun..Y/n..I can’t wait till we get older!” he said smiling making you laugh a little bit  

“Same!” you said 

Both of your heads quickly turned when hearing an angry man scream, a scream you knew far too well. 

“Damn it! You stupid little girl! Is this where you’ve been?! Huh?!” you both heard the male scream 

“Who is that? Who is he talking to?” asked Izana keeping his eyes on the man as he walked closer and closer 

“No..oh no..I’m late..” you said in a shaky voice 

“What?” asked Izana 

“Duck and hide. Izana please..” you whispered quickly gathering all of you stuff and crawling out from under the apparatus 

Izana had never in his life seen such a terrified face. Your eyes were wide, and your hands were shaking...but not from the cold, but from pure fear. Usually Izana would protest at orders thrown so suddenly at him by people...but the way your voice and whole energy changed within a split second made Izana shut up and listen to you. He ducked under the piece of plastic, Hiding himself while still letting his eye poke out to see you. 

“I’m sorry…” you said walking over to the man quickly looking down 

“Look at me when you speak to me.” he said when suddenly you felt a harsh and sharp slap against your cheek causing your head to turn to the side. You brought your hand to your cheek, while turning back to look at the man. Izana’s mouth parted in shock and disgust. Just as he was about to run out, you spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” you said 

“Damn right it won’t happen again! You think I like it when your whore mother calls me late at night telling me how ‘our’ kid isn’t home yet?! A kid I never wanted but I have to worry about?! Jesus fucking Christ. Bad shit always has to happen to good guys huh? I just wanted a fuck but this is what I get. he said as you grind your teeth in anger 

“I’m sorry.” you said again bowing 

Izana’s heart was beating so hard..he could feel it right against his ear. The amount of guilt and pity he was feeling was unbearable, he wanted so desperately to just get up and just defend you, in any way he could, and so he tried to change his position to get ready to run out and help you. But as he did so, his foot hit the halo metal causing a quiet bang, but since the street was quiet it could be heard. Loud enough for the angry drunk man with a bottle of alcohol in his hand to hear. Izana stopped dead in his tracks, and your eyes widened in fear.  

“Are you..Are you with someone?” he asked in an angry and deep voice as he started to walk towards the sound

“No! It’s just the rabbit I found! I was feeding it under the slide because that’s where the most full grass is! It probably just ran away.” you said spilling out lies on the spot with scared eyes desperately hoping he would believe you.

“Yeah yeah, I don't care about your little rabbit. Now c'mon start walking, I wanna buy a beer before taking you back.” he said, slightly pushing you, making you lose your balance slightly as your father walked in front of you. 

You took a deep breath of relief, as you started to walk you looked back seeing Izana had crawled out slightly, just enough for you to see him, and for him to see you. You saw he had eyes filled with worry and fear, you didn't want him to worry, truly. Because the night you had just spent with him...made your day...actually the rest of your life. And so you gave a soft smile and waved before placing your hands back into your pockets and turning your head forward. 

Izana could only watch you walk away in confusion, in anger, in sadness, in every emotion there was. He could understand that you two were different sides of the same coin. And it honestly hurt him. Hurt him so greatly to the point where he swore to himself that he would do anything he can to not just see you smile, but to keep you safe. 

And there was no way on earth he could fail at that, no way he would let you sacrifice your body for his well being like you had just done, no way he would let himself...right?

“When we first met...Do you remember it?” you asked looking into his eyes that were now filled with tears 

He felt his body go cold….cold like that one night..That one night when he met you. 

He couldn't respond, and only nodded his head, as his thumb wiped the blood that spilled from the side of your lips 

“Wasn’t it fun?” you asked smiling 

“It was.” he responded feeling his heart ache at your smile 

“It was the best day of my life.” you said feeling a lump in your throat 

“We can talk about that day later, let’s go to the hospital right now, okay?” he said holding his hand over your bloody wounds 

“I think this is it, Izana.” you said laughing a bit as he shook his head ‘no’ at your words 

“Don’t talk like that, please don’t talk like that.” he said, holding back his sobs, making his words come out shaky. 

“Do you remember what I asked you? About wanting to be friends?” you asked bringing your hand up to lift his chin 

He didn’t respond with words, but the frown on his face, grew, letting you know he did. Of course he did. Izana would never forget a moment between you two. 

“What I really wanted to...say back then was...that I liked you, but we were only so small, and as...I grew up with you, I realized it was more. Sound’s kinda cliche right? Was it the same with you?” you said in between pauses of pain.

“Y/n stop making this sound like a goodbye, I won’t let it be a goodbye, okay?!” he yelled out of frustration, but again, you showed no reaction, like before when he first lashed out on you. It made his eyes soften when realizing the poison you two were in, was just like years before. Just like when you first met. 

At the park, with 2 swings, and 1 street light shining over it. 

Suddenly, all the thoughts in his head were stopped when he felt your embrace. Your arms wrapped under his arms and around his upper stomach, and you cheek against his collarbone and neck. He was hesitant, his arms still hovering over yours, not hugging you back yet. But you didn't mind.  

“Don’t worry, I get it.” said slightly nuzzling yourself into him, breathing in his scent which you loved so much.

“I-”

Izana felt his heart beat so slowly.. at the familiar words you were speaking. But they were different from before, this time, you didn’t talk about being in his future...like you did before. His arms were still refusing to hug you back. His mouth still refusing to accept and return your love. 

“How do you think things would’ve been?

“Y/n..”

“Do you think we would've ended up together, and had a family? Like a type of family we never had?”  

“Y/n please..”

The feeling in your throat became stronger. You frowned and bit your inner cheek to keep in your sobs 

“How can you be so warm in a place so cold, Izana?” 

You heard Izana’s breath hitch at your words. His head slowly and hesitantly rested on yours, as you felt hot tears coat your scalp. And his arm’s fell to his sides, still refusing the fact that this is a goodbye.

But why was he refusing? He could’ve easily grabbed you and ran to the hospital. But instead he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he knew deep down that it was already too late. Your body was cold. So cold, it was unsettling. Because your body was never cold. You were always warm, you were home for Izana. Izana knew if he tried to make it to the hospital, it would make his final moments with you a waste. 

So what was he doing? He doesn’t know himself...All he knew was that he wanted to be with you till the end, but a part of him couldn't accept that this was in fact...the end for you two. 

“Please don’t leave.” he said in a shaky tone against your head

“I’m sorry.” you said feeling the hot tears that were congested in your eyes, finally fall out

“Don’t say that…” he said 

“Izana?” you said fighting against your sobs 

“Yes?” he said 

“I love you. And I always have.” you said smiling as you felt your final breaths.

Izana felt your grip on him loosen, and just as it did, he brought his arms and wrapped them over your cold body. 

You felt it, you felt his embrace, and you heard him scream that he loves you back, You heard and felt it all. But you couldn't let him know that you did. You couldn't even keep your smile as you took your final breaths. But you did feel the hot tears run across your cheek. And down to your neck, as he cried and screamed in regret. 

HIs body, still so warm..so warm against something so cold.

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

Explanation SPOILER HERE FOR TENJIKU ARC: BASICALLY, Y/n died before the battle against Toman, it’s not in the ff(as to who killed y/n) because i wanted the reader to have some control, but in this ff I made it so that Y/ns death was another reason for Izana to wanna take down Toman and Mikey, so as i was making this i had the imagine that Kisaki would be to kill or have someone else kill Y/n to make Izana even more unstable and easier to manipulate, hence the whole fight thing so yeah lmao. Izana and Y/n thought of each other as home, and fell in love with the feeling of being with each other i guess? BUT in the end, Izana thinks he’s too late, and thinks that Y/n didnt hear/feel him, which just makes him even more frustrated and angry, so he feels guilty and ends up taking that out on others and taking loved ones from others too (hence being a motive for ordering for emma ot be killed) sorry if this is confusing 

[charlie-rulerofhell]

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is  very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

[actress4him]

The Barn 2 - Auction

(Prompt #28 for Summer of Whump)

Previous | Next

Warnings: restraints, captivity, dehumanisation, shock collar, asphyxiation, human auction

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It was another day and a half before Jacob started to find out why he was there. During that whole time, he stayed hogtied in the stall, only being acknowledged when one of the goons came in to pour some water down his throat. The first time that happened he made the mistake of choking on it, and the sound set the stupid bark collar off again. The goon had just laughed at him.

On day two, when he was thoroughly bruised all over and aching from the cramped position, something started happening out in the barn. More and more voices filled the airy space, male mostly, but with a feminine laugh breaking through here and there. Jacob had no idea what was happening, but his heart rate sped up, regardless.

Then faces began appearing through the bars that lined the top of his stall. New faces, not any of the goons from before. Some glanced in briefly and moved on. Some stared openly, making notes on their phones. Others peered in curiously, smiling at him, leaning their heads in towards each other and exchanging secretive words.

He felt strangely like an animal in a zoo.

Part of him wanted to cower back into the corner, try his best to hide from the stares. But his pride wouldn’t let him. So instead he bared his teeth like the animal they seemed to think he was, trying to look as menacing as a mute, tied-up, sleep- and food-deprived, skinny blond guy possibly could.

He wondered if that was part of the reason some of them laughed.

The staring didn’t last long, thankfully. The faces stopped appearing, and the voices faded, though not completely. They sounded like they were standing outside of the barn, rather than in it. Somewhere close to him, a latch grated open, and there was a shuffling sound in the hay as a semi-familiar voice - Fancy Suit Man - rose above the rest, as if addressing the crowd.

For a long time nothing else really happened. Another voice spoke for periods of time, and every once in a while footsteps would enter the barn, and another latch would open. From the sound of it, they were opening each stall, drawing closer and closer to his each time.

Were there others trapped in here, like him? More importantly, what were they doing with them now? What were they about to do to him?

Eventually it was time to find out. Footsteps approached again, and this time the same man who’d laughed at him getting shocked the day before appeared at the stall door. Jacob glared at him as if that would change his situation at all.

The door swung open, and the goon quickly got to work untying the rope that connected Jacob’s wrists to his ankles. His heart was pounding for sure now. Maybe if he kicked out at the man’s face...maybe if he could get the stupid collar off…

He didn’t actually have any sort of plan by the time the rope came off. He tried kicking anyway, regardless of the fact that his ankles were still bound and he wouldn’t have been able to run anywhere, but the goon seemed to anticipate this, ducking calmly and catching Jacob’s leg in one, beefy hand.

“I’d break your ankle for that if it wouldn’t get me in trouble for damaging the merchandise.”

Merchandise?

There was no time to figure the statement out. Fingers were sliding down the back of his neck, in between the collar and his skin, and it was too much, too tight, the metal prongs dug holes into his throat while the black box they were attached to pressed up against his Adam's apple. He tried to gasp, but nothing came through. Instinctively he brought his bound hands up to the collar, groping at it, trying to pry it forward and give himself some air, but it was no use. There was no more give.

Through the fog of panic, he distantly registered that he was being dragged. Backwards, out of the stall, by the collar.

Black spots started dancing in his vision.

Just when he thought he’d surely pass out, he was thrown sideways onto gravel. He immediately sucked in a lungful of both air and dust, and began hacking until he thought a lung might spill out onto the ground any second.

He was still gasping and choking when a pair of hands grabbed onto the rope tying his wrists and yanked them up over his head, hooking something to it that pulled at the rope, scraping it across his already chafed skin. A second later, and he was jerked backwards.

And up. And up.

When the dizzying motion stopped and he was breathing somewhat normally again, he found himself looking out on the entirety of the crowd that had come by his stall earlier. They were all gathered around, watching, staring at him once again. And it was no wonder, because he was on full display now. It seemed they had hooked him up to the pulley on the front of the barn, the one normally used for hauling hay bales up to the loft. Now it was being used to keep him upright, toes just barely brushing the ground.

“Alright, folks, this is our last lot. Last chance to own one of these fine specimens for yourself, because I’m sad to say that after today I must move on to greener pastures.” Fancy Suit Man was standing somewhere to Jacob’s left, though he couldn’t crane his neck quite far enough to see.

“Now, I know a lot of you like to come to these events to find you a good laborer, but this particular lot I’d have to recommend for any of you who might be looking for...other purposes.” He finally appeared in Jacob’s periphery, gesturing to his body. “That’s not to say that he couldn’t be a good worker, eventually. He’s just gonna need a little...training. The shock collar you see him modeling might give you a good idea of what I mean.” He chuckled. “That’s not included, by the way. You’ll need to find your own creative method of shutting him up.”

Labor...other purposes…training? He didn’t know what any of it meant, and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to go home. He wanted his apartment, his bed, his leftover pizza, his cat Molly. He wanted to call his mom and tell her what had happened to him and let her lecture him one more time about the dangers of living alone.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Alright, let’s start the bidding at $2,000.” The second voice he had heard before started up, quickly dropping into a drone of words and numbers that Jacob couldn’t keep up with. A white sign was raised, and the number changed. For a moment he couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t let himself wrap his brain around what was happening.

But there was no denying it, not really. He was being auctioned off.

A man in a trucker hat - not the goon, but another of several audience members wearing the style - was bidding rather fervently, egged on by the short, frumpy woman who hugged his arm. A few others joined in here and there, but after a while it came down to just that couple and one other man. He wore a hat, also, a Stetson that was pulled down far enough it left his eyes in shadow. There was never a twitch or flicker of emotion on his face, just a steady raising and lowering of the number twenty-eight sign in his hand.

Eventually, the man in the trucker hat gave up, much to his wife’s disappointment.

“And...sold! to Number Twenty-eight.”

Fancy Suit Man started blabbing on about his appreciation for the turnout, but Jacob was too busy being dropped to the ground and wrested off the hook to pay attention. The man in the Stetson approached, looming in the background while a couple of goons held him down. One started attempting to pull his wrists and ankles back together, despite the fight Jacob was putting up, while the other unhooked the blasted collar.

As soon as it was gone he shouted as loudly as he could, which wasn’t nearly as loud as he’d have liked, seeing as how his throat was practically mutilated. “Get off me! Get your stupid, filthy hands off me! I don’t belong to anybody, you can’t just sell me! I’m a human being, and you are all just sick, demented -”

The one who had taken off the collar joined the second and they were able to get him hogtied once more. They stepped back then, leaving him writhing in the dirt while Stetson looked on.

“Well, the boss did warn you. He’s a feisty one.”

Stetson’s stoic facade still didn’t crack. “I’ll take it from here.”

The goons stepped back. In one, fluid motion, Stetson reached down, grabbed hold of the shorter piece of rope, lifted Jacob off the ground, and slung him around his shoulder so that he hung against the man’s back like a sack of potatoes. He cried out in surprise and at the smarting pain in his wrists, glad he could do so now without getting the tar shocked out of him.

He continued to fight as he was carried away from the barn, bouncing, hoping he could make the man drop him despite knowing the fall would hurt. Nothing seemed to faze Stetson, though. They stopped after a minute, and the jangle of keys and creak of a tailgate being opened was heard. Then he was being tossed down onto a grooved truck bed and shoved deeper inside. Before he could get his bearings and try to scoot anywhere, the tailgate slammed shut, and a cover came down over the bed.

He was left in complete darkness, wondering where on earth he was being taken next.

[ohnopoe]

Main Attraction | Jack Daniels

Ship: Jack Daniels x afab!Reader Summary: Going undercover can be fun, but sometimes the target isn’t the only one you find yourself distracting Word Count: 2.5k+ Author’s Note: This is my INSANELY late entry for the wonderful @din-damn-djarin‘s Song Prompt Writing Challenge! My song was, of course, Main Attraction by Jeremy Renner. Also, super sorry, I do try and keep my readers as gender neutral as possible, but this one just kinda happened!

The job was simple, well, as simple as it could be when partnered with none other than Jack Daniels himself. You’d been briefed, of course, taken note of every detail Champ had thrown in your direction, but the truth of it was, you hardly needed it.

Your role was one you’d played before, hell, you’d played it so damn often that it was practically second nature at this point.

You were the distraction.

So many times you’d been tasked with the role, especially as one of the very few female agents at Statesman, and often it was a lot of fun. High class, expensive balls, exclusive events you’d never attend otherwise. It had left your wardrobe bustling with beautiful dresses and outfits that Champ saw no reason for you not to keep, each attached with memories of fun filled nights where you kept the bad guys captivated as whichever agent you were partnered with did the heavy lifting, searching for whatever it was you were after.

There was something ethereal about standing before your wardrobe, running your fingers over gowns you could never dream to afford otherwise, they were a hint at another life, the life of your covers, of something luxurious and exquisite, something many dreamt of.

But those gowns remained exactly where they belonged tonight, on hangers and dust covers, safe at home and far from the dangers of your job.

No, this distraction asked for something very different. It wasn’t about long flowing gowns, or diamonds that caught even the subtlest of lighting, shining their brilliance throughout the room. Tonight called for something far from all of that, but just as captivating, if the glances Jack had been throwing your way were anything to go off.

The drive had been surprisingly quiet, in fact, you would have been worried that Jack was actually nervous, had you not caught the way he quickly glanced away when you caught him staring at the high hemline of your skirt out of the corner of his eye.

You’d been on missions like this together plenty of times before, with plunging necklines and slits up your thigh that were meant to keep the gaze of anyone who so much as glanced past you. And every time that you did, he would be there with some flirtatious comment that would have had your cheeks burning if you didn’t know he did the same to just about anyone with legs.

But this was different, it was as though the tight little dress had stolen not just his words, but his ability to think straight.

It had been almost amusing as you arrived at the secretly shady club. The way he refused to meet your gaze, the way his hand hovered against the small of your back as you entered, where he would usually happily use the excuse to play to the role, his hand slipping just a little lower than necessary.

But, that was then.

Two hours ago.

You’d been in the club for two damn hours, with all manner of lecherous men taking in what they could of your rather exposed body, and if that wasn’t getting old quick, the lack of progress certainly was.

Surely, he had to have found the papers you were after by now, it wasn’t as if the secretive sub-basement was even that big to begin with. But still, your comms remained irritatingly Jack free.

Songs bled from one to another, without any real hint as to where one ended and another begun. And you continued to dance, continued to throw just enough flirtatious glances over to the men you knew were using the club as a front for, well, let’s say nefarious activities, to keep them where they were, to keep them well away from the mission Jack was on.

But then he was there, lingering off to the side, against a wall; as if he could ever truly blend in. How no one else noticed a fucking cowboy in a club, you had no idea. How none of the women that passed him by bothered to give a second look, well, that astounded you. Even in the most ridiculous of outfits, he stole your attention at every turn, yet there he was, the covert agent of the two of you. Champ must have been losing his damn mind.

Catching his gaze, you raised a brow in question, hoping he had what you were after so you could get the hell out of there, but he gave nothing away as his lips slowly drew into a smirk, eyes drinking you in as you continued to dance amongst the crowd.

“Jack,” your voice was low over your comms, a warning tone, but the way his gaze instantly met yours gave you no sense of accomplishment, no, he was enjoying this too much. “Please tell me we can move soon.”

And there it was again, that damn silence that had your skin crawling.

It felt unnatural for Jack to be so damned quiet. Where were the quips, the quick flirtatious lines? Hell, you’d even take criticism if it just got him to say something.

But instead he just watched and, was that a drink in his hand? Oh hell no! The bastard had clearly gone up to the bar at some point to order a drink, and there you were, still putting on a show for men who made your stomach curl.

“That drink better mean you got it,” you muttered once more, watching the way his lips curled into a more prominent smirk as he took in your words. But still, he didn’t respond, simply watching you over his glass of whiskey as he took a long, slow sip of the watered down liquor.

Damn that man.

If he didn’t have it, you were going to have to think of something, and quickly. There was only so long you could keep the targets on the perfect level between intrigued and not actually trying anything, without losing their interest all-together.

But if he did have it, oh, you were going to kick his ass when you got out of there.

Movement at the booth before you captured your attention. Some of the group were on the move, and it looked awfully like they were getting ready to go back to business, to go downstairs… where Jack was meant to steal the papers you needed.

Glancing back towards where Jack had been lingering against the wall, you were met with an empty space that had you gulping nervously. Hopefully, he had noticed they were on the move, hell, hopefully he’d already taken what he needed to so you could be out of there already.

In your panicked thoughts, you didn’t even notice the way a new body shifted through the dance floor until the warmth of their body radiated through the thin fabric of you little red dress.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Jack’s voice was like velvet, that southern twang drawing out each word languidly. It was the same tone he used when you needed to calm down, when your fears and anxieties got the best of you. The same tone he used when convincing you to rest, to let him take the first shift and just get some sleep while he looked after you both. It was the same tone he used when the others couldn’t hear him over the comms, when work slipped away, and Jack was just- Jack.

And it worked, for all of a few seconds. Your shoulders dropped, your body unwinding from the tight coil it had wound itself up in defensively. It worked, until you remembered the bastard still hadn’t actually told you if he’d got the damned papers.

“Jack, if you don’t have-”

“Relax, I got it,” he interrupted, each word dancing over your skin, his lips so damn close to your ear that there was no way anyone could over hear him.

Humming in approval, and finally feeling the calming effect that having Jack by your side on the job always seemed to bring, you began to turn towards him, only to have him stop you.

His hands were playing against the fabric of your dress, so light you could almost believe you were imagining the gently caresses, were it not for the warmth he emanated.

Your words were oddly reluctant as you spoke again, your mind desperate to remind you of the job at hand, no matter how much your heart and body wanted to lose themselves to the man behind you. “Then can we go?”

“Don’t wanna rush off too quick, do we? Might cause a fuss,” and while normally you might argue, might point out that every minute spent in the humid club was another minute for the target to realise what you had taken, you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to fight him.

Not when those large hands spread out against your waist, holding you with that same lingering care that had you catching your breath when you arrived. Not when his breath danced over the bare skin of your neck and shoulder, so light that you worried it would draw out goosebumps. Not when the smell of his cologne was filling your senses, intoxicating and captivating.

No, maybe one dance wasn’t the worst idea, especially as it gave you an excuse to raise your hands behind you, to sink your fingers into the small curls at the base of Jack’s neck as he hummed happily against you.

Even the music, grating and loud, seemed more acceptable with Jack swaying behind you. And, sure, it was still part of the show, an excuse to leave the dwindling audience without being obvious, an out before any of them got too possessive of what they thought was all for them, but with your eyes closed, and the warmth of his body pressed up against yours, for a moment, you could pretend.

You could pretend that it was real, that you were just out for a night off with the man that had captured your attention the moment he tilted his stupid hat in your direction. You could pretend that his hands wandering against you reverently were truly filled with the care and devotion that they played at. You could pretend that this was completely normal.

It was over too soon, but even in your blissed out moment of daydreaming, you couldn’t begin to pretend that it was still the same harsh electronic beat that had begun when he had sidled up behind you, even if it seemed Jack was in no great hurry to leave either.

But you had to, especially now that the group you had been keeping an eye on was dwindling even further as you found yourself distracted by Jack’s touch.

Pulling your hands from him felt like a magnitudinous feet, something you ought to be proud of as you turned in his hold. He didn’t back away, didn’t remove his hands from your waist, he merely stood there, staring down at you with a look in his eyes that- no, that was a trick of the fluorescent lights. There was nothing there, but the usual mischief that always lingered beneath the surface.

“We should go,” when had your voice turned so soft?

“We should,” he agreed, but made no move to leave, lingering there in the moment, until it seemed as though a switch had been flicked within him, and he was pulling away. “Come on,” he nodded towards the doorway, hand taking yours so gently that it had your heart thumping away in your chest almost violently.

The cold air of the night hit you the moment you made it outside, and with it came your wits. Jack’s hand was dropping your own in an instant, as if it had burnt him, and any feelings of warmth that had been brewing within you left at the movement. And then those thoughts were there, questions and irritations, bubbly away below the surface, now taking centre stage as you searched your bag for the keys.

It wasn’t safe to linger on the softness you felt towards your fellow agent, it would only end in heartache, only cause you issues on the job. But anger, irritation, that was much safer.

Your steps were fast, desperate to put as much distance between you and the club as possible as you focused on the brewing rage.

You could focus on the way he waited, stood on the sidelines as you distracted the target, as he took his time when you should have been making your way far from the club. You could focus your attention on the completely unpredictable manner his personality seemed to shift, emotions flaring from playful and light to silence in a matter of seconds, without a hint of explanation. You could focus on your damn job, the reason you were there in the first place.

“You want to tell me what took you so damn long?” you were fuming as you started the car, not daring to look towards the source of your irritation.

“What can I say, I was distracted,” he answered so easily that it only stoked the fire within you.

“By what Jack?” your tone was harsh, harsher than it had ever been directed towards him as you peeled out of the carpark, ready to merge amongst the masses and lose any trace of you in the crowd. “You were standing there for god knows how long, and you must have found the papers beforehand- so I don’t see what-”

“By you sugar,” he interrupted with a warm chuckle that fought to melt the icy barrier you had placed around your heart once more. And it was working, hell, it always worked. It was like he was your own personal kryptonite, and it left you floundering.

“By- what are you- Jack, this isn’t funny. If I’m going to have to report to Champ about why it took us a damn hour longer than expected, I want a serious answer.”

Silence answered you, filling the car just as it had on the way to the club, but it was different now. Emotions fought against one another, and it was stifling.

And then, just as you thought you couldn’t take another damn second of his silence, he spoke, humour and something you couldn’t quite place filling his tone, making it softer than you had expected. “You’re kidding, right?”

You didn’t reply, only throwing a deadly serious glare his way to show just how much you were not kidding, before returning your attention to the road.

“We’ve done a few of these now, you distracting, me going in… Don’t get me wrong, you look downright gorgeous in those gowns of yours, but this-” he paused, nodding towards the dress you were sporting, the dress that hadn’t come from Statesman, but was something you had bought yourself, albeit some years ago. “You’re stunnin’, and I don’t just mean because I can get a good look at you.”

You almost hated the way your body betrayed you at his words, your glare softening, a smile beginning to play at your lips at him just being, well, him.

“This is more you, and you, well, you’re the perfect distraction, darlin’.”

[hualianff]

Untethered III 《II》

Hold On – Park Yun Seo

White noise rings through Xie Lian’s ears, replacing the brutal assaults of battle until they fade away into the background. Beads of rain make contact with Xie Lian’s face, soaking his hairline and his clothes. But nothing else matters in this moment besides the ring Crimson Rain holds hostage, away from Xie Lian’s heart.

“It’s common courtesy to answer when someone asks a question, little Prince,” the pirate captain sings, pulling tighter on the ring until the chain feels like it’s going to snap.

“No!” Xie Lian gasps worriedly. His hands fly to grasp the ring, effectively unhooking it from Crimson Rain’s sword, but cutting his right hand in the process. Blood immediately oozes from the small wound, cleansed by the rain and sliding down to splash onto the deck.

Xie Lian grimaces while inspecting his hand. His other palm closes around the ring protectively, pressing the cool surface to his lips. The prince unconsciously closes his eyes, memories flooding his mind, letting through five year’s worth of forbidden euphoria.

He envisions the grungy tavern on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Xianle, where Shi Qingxuan had convinced him to sneak out to explore outside the palace walls. He can taste the muskiness in the air, hear the drunken pandemonium. Shi Qingxuan had eventually gone off to gamble–particularly well-versed in wagering despite being of nobility status–leaving Xie Lian sitting at the bar alone, unsure of what to order.

Xie Lian remembers a mysterious figure taking the seat to his left, draped in a red overcoat with an eyepatch covering his right eye. The stranger did not hesitate to call the bartender over, ordering two beverages with a slight lilt in his baritone voice. Xie Lian awkwardly fixed his gaze onto his glass of iced tap water, hoping his common robes, untied hair, and makeup-less face would go unrecognized.

That, and the fact that he had no experience ordering or drinking alcohol, even at twenty-years-old.

The bartender brought over the eye-patched man’s drinks, setting them down with a thunk! Xie Lian was content to watch for the stranger’s drinking partner from his peripheral vision, perhaps even pick up on how to drink in the proper manner. He would be damned if he didn’t learn one useful thing during this night of freedom.

However, Xie Lian was not prepared for the man to grab one glass and slide it in his direction. Xie Lian froze in his seat, sitting with his back ram-rod straight, hands neatly placed in his lap. Should he kindly refuse the offer? Unsupervised drinking was certainly risky. Or should he take a cautious sip? He would think that was the polite thing to do.

But before Xie Lian could react, the man casually angled his body towards him, leaning his elbow on the bar and propping his face with his palm.

His next words made Xie Lian’s heart come to a complete halt.

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian’s memories abruptly shift, and he is transported to the day when he first saw Ghost Ship. It appeared out of nowhere, easily twice the size of the traveling ship Xie Lian had taken to a neighboring kingdom. When the royal guards jumped to attack, Xie Lian simply held a hand up, stopping them in their tracks.

The prince walked to the side of his ship, assessing the Ghost Ship with keen eyes. Ghost Ship was traveling at a faster speed, quickly passing the royal ship by with no intention of initiating battle. When the better half of its length sailed beyond Xie Lian’s sight, the man steering the wheel came into view. As if in slow motion, Xie Lian locked eyes with the man, who donned familiar red and an eyepatch, and also wore a signature captain’s hat.

A captain. A pirate captain, Xie Lian remembers thinking, captivated by those broad shoulders, tattooed skin, and eccentric clothes. The same pirate captain circles in on him like a hungry shark, scimitar scraping along his arms and back, tearing the drenched fabric of his robes.

“Who knew the Prince of Xianle cares so much for a plain piece of metal?” Crimson Rain continues spitting his words like poison.

Xie Lian curls in on himself, trembling.

When pirates began uncharacteristically wreaking havoc on the docks of Xianle’s ports, Xie Lian often rushed to the scene to fend them off himself. Specifically, a pirate who could give Xie Lian a run for his money when it came to sword fighting, but always escaping with an evil smirk painted across his lips.

When Xie Lian had nearly drowned, those same lips had pressed against his own to breathe air into his lungs.

That had been his first kiss.

A few months later, Xie Lian had snuck out of the palace once again to the very same dock at the end of the port, where a certain pirate awaited him.

The images flitting through his mind now blur together, becoming unrecognizable except for the sensations imprinted on his body.

A warm body claiming him in a king-sized bed, among silken sheets and the pale glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. It was almost too dark to make out the man on top.

Almost.

One lust-filled eye bore down at Xie Lian.

“You like that, Your Highness?” the baritone voice growled into his ear.

Xie Lian hears his answering moan play inside his head and inhales sharply.

Between the secret meetings came secret letters specially addressed to the prince. They appeared with the changing winds, anonymously delivered under the pretense of confidential mail sent from other royalty. But no one could imitate that atrocious handwriting, nor invoke the same joy from Xie Lian when seeing his favorite red, butterfly seal.

Isabella’s Lullaby – Takahiro Obata

“It’s from someone special,” Xie Lian grits out, hanging his head low. The ring–presented to him with the most tender gaze and gentle hands–symbolizes hope. A promise of unconditional love.

“Trust me,” a low whisper ghosted against Xie Lian’s temple. “I’ll come back for you.”

And Xie Lian believed him.

That was one year ago. The spontaneous visits stopped, and so did the carefully crafted letters. With no one to confide in, Xie Lian spiraled down underneath everyone’s expectations and his own realized failure. He had been foolish. Blind. Naive.

Within that one-year period, Xie Lian lost faith.

Not in his love. Never in his love.

But in destiny. In free will. In god.

The one thing, one person, he needed most in this lifetime, was no longer within his reach.

Until now.

“Where will you run now, dear Prince?” Crimson Rain’s voice brings Xie Lian back to the present. His eye holds none of the familiar warmth it once did when he slipped the very same silver ring onto Xie Lian’s finger.

The rumbling and squeaking of footsteps make their way towards the pair, Xie Lian’s royal guards abandoning the protection of the ship to come to their prince’s aid instead. But even as Xie Lian gazes up at Crimson Rain’s, brandishing that strong jaw and classy smirk, the prominent eye patch, and the shimmering eye that radiates insanity, Xie Lian feels a certain sense of peace wash over him.

It’s finally time.

Xie Lian gives the pirate captain a hostile smirk of his own, taking out the white ribbon holding up his hair and letting the rain weigh down his brunet locks.

“Hua Cheng,” Xie Lian croons knowingly, widening his eyes in faux innocence. The instant look of surprise on Crimson Rain’s face is all Xie Lian needs before kicking the pirate’s sword to the side, scattering it a few meters away. Xie Lian dives for the exact sword, adjusting to the new weight and shape of the weapon. His palm throbs where the cut splits further open, blood staining the hilt.

Xie Lian swiftly points the sword at Hua Cheng’s jugular, their positions now switched.

Now, it is the pirates who are yelling chaotically, demanding their captain not let a rotten prince get the best of him. Hua Cheng simply clicks his tongue, signaling his men to retreat.

“Your Highness...” the pirate captain murmurs. Xie Lian digs the sword more insistently into Hua Cheng’s skin, forcing the pirate back. Xie Lian herds him onto the official plank, where traitors are typically executed, sentenced by the prince himself.

“Back. Up,” is all Xie Lian offers bitterly, his long hair curtaining his face, body still tense even though he has the upper hand. Hua Cheng holds his hands up in surrender, his hair drenched with rain, the long braid crooked where it cascades down his right shoulder.

“Xie Lian,” Hua Cheng addresses in a sweeter tone. “My dear Prince, if you could see yourself now.”

Xie Lian swallows thickly.

“You are a beautiful sight,” Hua Cheng rasps out, no more than a whisper. Yet, Xie Lian catches every word, and his heart clenches painfully.

Of course, Hua Cheng would think that.

Xie Lian’s sword wavers, but only because the pouring rain has stolen every bit of warmth as it washes down his body, making him shiver. The prince knows everyone’s attention is on them, the royal guards cheering their prince on in hopes that this conflict will end in their victory.

But they remain unaware of their biggest defeat.

The Prince of Xianle had fallen in love with a pirate.

With an unbearably heavy heart, Xie Lian draws his sword back. Tears leak out of his eyes and stream down his face, mixing in with the rain. In this very moment, Xie Lian feels the most suffocated he’s ever been, and wonders if this is truly what it feels like to be on the brink of death.

As if it happens in slow motion, Xie swings the sword with all the power he possesses. Hua Cheng’s arms stretch open in vulnerability, lips forming into a small, understanding smile.

“Gege.”

Something inside Xie Lian shatters. The familiar term of endearment is for Xie Lian’s ears only. His heart pounds against his rib cage with the ferocity of an imprisoned soul, screaming at Xie Lian to ask not what he would wish for in death, but what is he willing to live for?

The answer is right in front of him.

“I’m back.”

《Bonus I》

[absconditum-imaginaerum]

                        [[9:49 PM]] - Mistletoe - Juyeon - Fluff - [[1,386]]

 The Christmas party at your best friend’s place this year was themed, which meant everyone was assigned an outfit—Santa, Mrs. Clause, a reindeer, or an elf. Couples were often assigned things that match, such as Santa and Mrs. Clause, a reindeer and an elf, or in less typical pairings, an elf and Mrs. Clause, or Santa and a reindeer. Somehow, you had picked (in a blind draw) for a Santa outfit. Honestly, you couldn’t help but laugh. You had a few options—wear one of those oversized coats, wear something mischievous, or find something in between.

You were able to create something just in time; not something too modest, but not too revealing either. You at least had a skirt that felt somewhat long enough, and a top that would keep you warm and also be fashionable as one could make a Santa outfit not made for a burly man. You only wondered if a pair, should you find one, would be a male dressed up as Mrs. Clause. The thought rolled through your mind as you sat on the couch next to the decorated tree, swirling your champagne as you listened subconsciously to the conversation that was taking place around you. It was a smaller gathering, compared to the parties your friends usually threw; for that, you were thankful.

The couch sunk down to your left, while you were crammed in the right corner. He was done up, all out on the costume, right out of the movie Elf complete with yellow tights and the curly shoes.

“Don’t look so lonely over here, it’s Christmas,” he whispered to you, trying not to draw attention your way since he knew that’s the last thing you wanted. You sighed, taking a sip of your champagne before finally meeting his eyes.

They glittered, reflecting all of the multicolored lights that beamed from the tree and off the tens of ornaments as you looked up at him. He was holding his flute out to you, gesturing for a quiet cheer to the end of the year with the hopes of new and better things on the horizon.

“I’m not lonely,” you replied, “at least, not anymore,” you joked with him and leaned into him as he wrapped a playful arm around your shoulders. You could feel Juyeon’s smile as he tilted his head against yours, relishing your company for a moment before being brought up in conversation, and turned to actively engage the group, but not once did he think about pulling his arm back from around you.

He guzzled the rest of his flute of champagne, staving off the embarrassment of the story that was being told, a story from high school years he would have rather forgotten, but you couldn’t help smile at the blush on his cheeks. You finessed the flute from his hand and rose from the couch to carefully step between people’s feet, using refilling his glass as an escape because he was two seconds away from turning to you for help, and that was the last thing you’d hoped for.

You busied yourself in the kitchen where there was a bit lighter to see what you were doing as you uncorked the champagne after pulling it from the fridge to fill Juyeon’s glass and top yours off before his tall frame was rushing through the entrance of the kitchen. He scrambled across the tile flooring, almost slipping in his silly elf shoes before he was wrapping you up from behind, almost knocking a flute from your hand.

“What are you doing?” you laughed, steadying the champagne.

“We’re getting ready to do the white elephant exchange, and they told me to come find you,” he muttered, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. It brought a blush to your face; it was things like this that were fueling the rumors of a relationship between the two of you and while you agreed that the two of you were friendly with each other, there was never the blossoming of a relationship.

“I’ve only been gone like twenty seconds!” you protested.

“Okay, maybe I also wanted to escape the embarrassment, but I mentioned it enough to get away,” he told you, his little hat flopping off his head and onto the counter before he tugged away from you to snatch it up. You turned to look at him, watching him shake his hair out and fix it up a little bit before daintily replacing his hat with a toothy grin.

“You’re cute,” you told him and handed his flute back before cupping your hand against his to tug him back out to the living room so you could start drawing numbers for the gift exchange. He stood next to you, tall and warm with a long arm around your body as you watched people diligently pick their gifts from the table they were splayed out across. They looked almost identical, all cubically shaped wrapped in the same plain white wrapping paper to prevent people from trying to guess what they were.

You laughed at the group, typical goofing around as they all hollered for the picker to hurry up before breaking into fake arguments. It was almost endearing, the way Juyeon stroked his hand against your arm like the two of you were watching your kids on Christmas morning being absolute fools. You finally picked your gift; a reindeer headband for the festivities and a set of small assorted candles. Juyeon got a set of tilting puzzles, the kind where you have to maneuver a ball from one side of the puzzle to the other. White elephant gifts were always silly, usually gag gifts, but you were pleased with your candles, and even more pleased with the way he helped the headband onto your head.

“My cute little reindeer,” he teased you with a smirk. You shook your head and rolled your eyes until all of the presents were claimed and people were busying themselves with their gifts and trading things back and forth, leaving the attention still off you, for just a moment that is.  His attention was taken by someone, which was fine because you were still enjoying the chaos that was unfolding in front of you between all your friends about their gifts and other things.

That is, until Juyeon’s honey voice was sliding into your ears and down your spine like thick sap again, asking you a question you weren’t sure you would ever hear him asking you, so just to make sure, you turned to look at him so you could read it off his lips and asked him to repeat.  There was a tinge of blush on his cheeks, a nervous laugh falling from his lips first.

“I said, can I kiss you?”

You looked between his eyes like he had ten heads, and when he finally caught on that you were obviously confused, that it seemed like a question out of the blue, he motioned up with his head to indicate the mistletoe that hung just above the both of you. The situation rotated in your head probably a hundred times before a soft smile overtook your lips.

“It’d be bad luck not to,” you replied, unleashing the butterflies in his stomach as he turned entirely towards you, sliding a hand against your middle and around your back to pull you close to him and slowly leaned down with the tilt of his head to mesh his lips against yours.

“Oooooohhh!!!!” the group called—they had to be tipped off by someone. But not even the whoops and the hooting and teasing encouragements broke Juyeon away from you, in fact, it may have only made him a little more confident before he pulled away and the whooping increased littered with some cheers. In the background, confirmations of people owing others money and losing bets about your status seemed to be lost in his captivating gaze as he looked down at you, locking your tunnel vision on him.

“Wow,” he breathed, breath hot against your face, fingers still furling in the soft fabric of your bright red costume.

“Yeah, wow,” you replied just the same, and in your subconscious, your fingers were tugging at the back of his neck to bring him back down.

And more hollering ensued.

[bat-besties]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.

AO3 10k 

Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!

CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence

- 

Remus was...

(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)

....Remus.

Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.

Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.

Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-

“Morning, shitwad!”

Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.

“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.

There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.

Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”

“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”

When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-

That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.

Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.

“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.

“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”

“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.

Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.

Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.

His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.

Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.

“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”

Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”

He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”

“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.

“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”

“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”

"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”

Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.

"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."

"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."

Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.

After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.

"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.

Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."

The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"

He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"

"Kinky!"

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”

So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.

“No, I do agree, but wolves-”

The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.

“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.

“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”

A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.

Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”

There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.

Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.

“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.

“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.

As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”

Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”

“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.

“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.

Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.

The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.

As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-

But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.

He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.

That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.

His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.

Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?

Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-

Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.

But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.

He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.

“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.

He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”

“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”

“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”

Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.

“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”

He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”

And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.

Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”

He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.

As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”

“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.

“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.

As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.

They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.

Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.

Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”

“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.

“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his…”

“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”

He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”

“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”

“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.

An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”

“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-

“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”

“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.

“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.

“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.

Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”

“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”

They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.

“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”

The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.

Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.

“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”

They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.

Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-

As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-

“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”

Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.

Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.

He glanced at Janus for his reaction.

He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”

A cold feeling washed over him.

No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.

Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.

Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.

It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.

It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.

“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”

He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”

In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.

They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.

“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”

All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”

“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”

The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.

He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”

“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”

The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”

Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”

Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”

“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”

The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”

Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.

“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”

As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”

“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”

“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”

Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”

Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”

“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.

He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-

As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.

“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”

“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”

He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.

On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”

It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.

“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”

Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”

He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.

“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.

“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.

After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.

With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.

He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.

Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.

It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.

He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.

A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”

Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.

“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-

Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-

Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.

Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.

Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-

Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.

Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”

Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.

Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.

Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.

He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.

Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.

Janus put his hands up to the window-

“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.

Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”

“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.

Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”

Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.

Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.

The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”

Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.

“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”

He paused, then nodded.

He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”

Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”

He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.

For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.

“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.

He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.

The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.

The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”

Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.

He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”

He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.

“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.

“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”

“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”

The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”

“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.

“Out.”

Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.

He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.

They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.

They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.

As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.

They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.

“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”

“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."

"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”

Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”

“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”

"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.

"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."

"Really?"

Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”

“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”

“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”

Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”

“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”

“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”

Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”

They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.

Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”

She began to close the doors again without comment.

“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”

She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.

He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.

“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”

“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.

“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”

Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”

“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”

“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”

Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”

He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.

“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”

*

By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.

The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.

They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.

Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.

It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.

He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”

Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope…” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”

He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.

There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.

They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.

Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.

It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-

But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.

Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”

Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.

“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”

His eyes widened.

“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”

For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”

Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”

Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”

Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.

“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”

“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”

“There are more people like you?”

He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.

Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”

“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”

Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”

For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”

Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.

“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”

Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”

Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”

The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.

Virgil waited for him to finish eating.

“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.

Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.

Both of them stared.

Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.

Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.

He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.

“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”

“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.

“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”

“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-

“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”

There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”

“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.

A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.

A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”

He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.

He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.

Janus winced.

“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.

“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”

So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”

Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”

Janus nodded. “I can collect-”

“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”

“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”

“Bullshit.”

He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”

“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.

“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”

Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”

“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”

After a moment, Janus gave a nod.

“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”

Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”

[kinktae]

bitchin’ || pt. 4 (M)

↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader

word count: 5k

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l

warnings: multiple smut scenes, science talk, banter, jealousy, alcohol & LOTS of colorful 80s slang lmao

A/N: This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness!

OFFICIAL PLAYLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

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PART FOUR

“Ouch! Watch it, Yara! You’re stabbing me!”

Yara released her grip from the striped material of your sweater, letting it fall back down against your torso.

“I’m sorry… Is your personal tailoring experience not luxurious enough? Did you want some sparkling water? Some Crystal Light, perhaps?” The petite girl quipped, eyes narrowing.

You pressed your lips together, holding back the snarky remark that was wanting to come out from between them. You really weren’t in any position to complain. Yara had gone to the trouble of coming up with both your and Jungkook’s costumes, not to mention the fact that she was missing her scheduled viewing of Saved By The Bell just to help you get ready — truly honorable act on her part.

Shutting the pair of scissors with a sharp snip, your best friend placed them down onto the bathroom sink decisively, clearly satisfied with the holes she had carved into your oversized red and green sweater.

“What do you think? I can smear some more brown eyeshadow on the sweater if you want.”

Turning towards the mirror, you let your eyes fall over Yara’s handwork.

When Yara said you were going to be Freddie Krueger you should have expected that there would be no half-assing on her part. Jungkook was right in his assessment that the two of you were similar. Yara, although sometimes indolent, was absolutely unstoppable when she set her mind to something.

“It looks great. You went above and beyond as always.” You flashed her reflection a smile.

Reaching for the hat that sat on the counter, Yara plopped it onto your head, a satisfied grin finding her as she took in the completed look.

“So are you ready?” She inquired. “Tonight’s the big night. You nervous?”

“A little…” You confessed, shrugging. At your words, Yara adjusted your hat slightly.

“Don’t be. We went over the game plan last night, remember?”

Keeping still until your best friend’s creative vision for your hat was completed, you let out a sigh.

“Yeah.”

It should be easy; smile, hang onto Jungkook’s arm as if he was your life support, and be sure to kiss him somewhere everyone could see. Piece of cake. Totally.

Sensing a weight behind your tone, Yara offered you an encouraging smile, her hands finding yours.

“You’re gonna have a totally kick-ass time, I’m sure.” She enthused.

“As long as Jungkook doesn’t sneak off to go bang his ex and leave me alone. I don’t know anyone who is gonna be there.” You sulked, before tapping a finger against your chin in contemplation. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. If he and Kiri get back together, I can finally stop pretending to date him.”

At your words, Yara’s eyebrows furrowed as if to tell you something you had said hadn’t sat well with her. Before she got the chance to express what that was, however, a loud series of knocks rang out.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You mused dryly causing Yara to laugh.

“I’ll go let him in, you stay here and try on the socks.” She ordered as she walked out, slamming the bathroom door behind her, leaving you without a choice.

You were curious however, ears tuned into the greeting that was just outside the door as Jungkook came in. Slipping on one of the socks, you brought it up to your knee, tugging at the fabric until it was no longer bunching around your ankle.

“What the hell? You cropped the shirt yourself, didn’t you? I told you I was gonna cut it for you.”

“Chill out. What’s your damage? I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to cut my own shirt.”

“Yeah, nice going, dipshit. It’s fucking crooked!”

You let out a sigh.

Your best friend and fake boyfriend could not be left unattended for even a minute without needing you to play referee, it seemed.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you poked your head out, “Children, children, let’s play nice–”

Jungkook’s head turned to you, expression softening from the irritated glare he was offering Yara just moments ago. You hardly noticed, however, too captivated by what he was wearing to pay the gentle way he looked at you any mind.

He was in a cropped white jersey, the number 10 plastered across his chest in blue just above the ragged seam of where the shirt ended, exposing inches of the lower half of his firm stomach, causing your face to flame.

Low on his hips was a pair of blue sweatpants, the ends of them tucked into his high top Chuck Taylor’s that were similar, if not the same, to the pair you had been planning on wearing.

Johnny Depp would surely be proud of Jungkook’s rendition of Glen Lantz, you decided. He even wore the same pair of silver headphones around his neck.

You cleared your throat, finally pulling your eyes away from your pretend lover’s torso.

“Wow… that’s crooked.”

“Hah! Told you.” Yara pressed, pleased at your assessment.

“Remind me why I put up with the two of you again?” Jungkook frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, unaware of the way it caused his already short shirt to ride up further.

Pulling yourself from the bathroom altogether, you walked over to the couch, plopping down onto it as you began to put on your other sock.

“Sick costume, nerd.” Jungkook praised, eyes fixated on you as you moved. “You’d make a hot serial killer.”

“Yeah, well, don’t cream your pants.” You teased, flashing him a grin.

“I can’t promise anything tonight. I’m a frisky drunk.” He winked back, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Ugh, barf me out. You’re the first on my list when I finally crack and go full homicidal.” You informed him, causing him to chuckle.

“Pleasure and pain. You really know how to get me going, Y/N.”

Yara was leaning up against the kitchen counter, quietly watching the two of you with increasing intrigue. Taking in the way the sides of your eyes creased in amusement as you continued your banter with your so-called fake boyfriend, she suppressed a smirk.

“Well…” Yara finally spoke up, a sly look on her face, “as endearing as I find your warped, semi-abusive way of flirting with one another... I have a show to catch so if you both could just hurry it up—”

“Woah, woah, woah, we’re not flirting.”

“Get real, as if I’d be flirting with him.”

Yara could only laugh at the way you both denied her accusation immediately, words overlapping with one another in unison.

“Whatever. I’ve got fake blood in the bathroom. Jungkook follow me.” She brushed the two of you off.

The costumed boy flashed you a funny look before ultimately trailing after your best friend.

Chewing on your bottom lip in silent contemplation, you let yourself ponder on your best friend’s words.

That wasn’t flirting, was it? No, that was just you and Jungkook’s usual playful banter. Sure, maybe the two of you had gotten more comfortable with one another as the days have ticked by, but it wasn’t as if it was anything more than that, right?

Lately, you had been catching yourself growing somewhat excited about seeing Jungkook, even though you saw him nearly every day. Somehow having the messy-haired boy in your life had become routine.

Having Jungkook by your side felt normal as if you wouldn’t mind it if things were always this way. And that scared you.

Shaking your head, you began to put on your shoes, tying up your laces solemnly.

The moment you held your event and Jungkook and Kiri were back together, things would go back to the way they were before. You didn’t want Jungkook to be someone you were going to miss, but it seemed like with every lopsided grin he threw at you he was cementing himself into your life more and more.

This business venture of yours was looking out to be more costly than you initially anticipated.

But as Jungkook and Yara walked out of the bathroom chatting excitedly, Yara’s hands stained and Jungkook’s jersey now smeared with fake blood, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d be willing to pay the price if it meant that this warm feeling in your chest would last just a little while longer.

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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asked you, hand gripping yours tighter.

You tried your best to meet his eyes. It was difficult considering how dimly lit the room was. Fitting though, considering this party was Halloween themed.

“Yes. You’ve asked me that four times now.” You told him loudly, trying to be heard over the loud sound of Michael Jackson’s Thriller playing throughout the house.

“I dunno, you’re not saying anything. It’s, like, freaking me out.” He admitted.

“I’m just… observing.”

“Observing what?”

He watched as your stare fixated itself on the beer pong tournament that was occurring across the room, excited shouts coming from several people as one of Jungkook’s brothers scored a point.

“Gorillas.” You said, finally. “In their natural habitat.”

Jungkook laughed, enjoying the way your nose scrunched up at them.

“Hey now, did we say before we got here?” He tutted disapprovingly, waging a finger at you. You followed the digit with the frown.

“Yeah, yeah, I promised no judging the common folk. This is how the intellectually lesser entertain themselves, I remember.” You sighed out, gaze flicking up to catch the amusement in Jungkook’s eyes.

The costumed boy nudged his shoulder into yours; he liked it when you joked around with him like this. It made him feel like you were comfortable around him and that you might even enjoy his company.

“Do you know what you need?” He began happily.

“I do not but my answer is already no.”

“A drink.” He continued, ignoring you.

Suddenly, you were yanked forward, Jungkook leading you by the hand towards where you assumed the drinks were.

You hadn’t been at the party for very long, but already the social interaction had exhausted you. Jungkook was far more popular than you had previously concluded; the two of you could hardly take two steps before running into someone who wanted to say hello to the frat boy attached to you.

It was daunting in a sense – the concept that every person that came up to him was going to leave the interaction with the impression that you were Jungkook’s girlfriend. Perhaps guilt wasn’t the right word, but something about the way the party’s attendees glanced down at yours and Jungkook’s intertwined hands caused your stomach to flip and neck to grow hot.

So you kept to yourself mainly, letting your socially confident boyfriend do all the talking. You didn’t mind, really; it was somewhat remarkable the way Jungkook could handle himself in a social situation. He had a way of acting like every person that stopped to chat was important.

As Jungkook and you made your way into the large fraternity house’s kitchen, you wondered if it wasn’t acting at all and if he was just that nice of a person.

“Righteous costume, JK!” A disembodied voice called out from somewhere, clearly directed at Jungkook.

You hardly had time to decipher where the voice had come from before an outrageously good looking boy draped in a white toga came forward, pulling Jungkook into a hug.

“You finally cut your hair. Looking good, Tae.” Jungkook laughed back, patting the handsome man’s back affectionately.

You watched their interaction with interest. This wasn’t acting, as far as you knew. Judging by the way Jungkook’s laugh has grown higher in pitch, something you had noticed occurred when he was genuinely happy, you knew you were witnessing genuine friendship, not just polite socializing.

“And who is this lovely lady who, might I add, looks killer? Pun totally intended.” The model man mused, eyes flashing your way.

You felt heat prickle at your cheeks.

“Taehyung, this is my girlfriend Y/N, Y/N this is Kim Taehyung. He’s head of our finance committee.” Jungkook introduced the two of you, causing your eyes to grow wide.

So this was the guy Jungkook had told you about. The guy who could help you throw your event.

Taehyung let out a scoff, “Seriously? That’s how you introduce me? The finance guy? I’m also your favorite brother, could’ve opened up with that one.”

“Taehyung’s my Big. He’s taken me under his wing or whatever.” Jungkook explained, running a hand through his dark hair.

A nervous giggle escaped you, taking Taehyung’s extended hand into yours to greet.

“Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.” The mulleted man grinned, causing one of your eyebrows to quirk up in surprise.

“You have?”

Taehyung put his hands up defensively, not noticing the way Jungkook’s expression had fallen beside him, “All good things, don’t worry. The kid talks about you nonstop—”

“Hey! So Y/N has been thinking about throwing an event here on campus, isn’t that right, babe?” Jungkook interrupted suddenly.

The arrival of the new pet name caught you off guard for a moment, before remembering that you and Jungkook were meant to be a couple after all.

“Oh yeah, Jungkook mentioned something like that to me. Tell me about it.” Taehyung said.

You stood silent for a moment, realizing that this moment was the one you had been anticipating all week long.

Relaxing your shoulders, you grinned at him.

It was now or never.

“Yeah! So the event is called STEM for FEM. I’ve got all kinds of games and pamphlets prepared. It’s basically meant to show girls that no matter what people think, there are in fact opportunities for us in the more traditionally male-dominated fields. It may be a steep road, but it’s one worth taking. And they’re not alone. There are programs out there that girls can reach out to. They offer all kinds of support; emotional, educational, financial—“

Jungkook reached for a cooler that sat by his feet, pulling out a beer. You didn’t need him for this. This was precisely what he had watched you practice into the mirror over and over; you were ready.

Popping open the can, he took a small sip, a small smile creeping on his face as he watched the way the fire in your eyes spread, your pretty lips wrapping around the words that you carried in your heart wherever you went.

“That’s radical, girl. It sounds like you’re really passionate about this stuff, huh?”

Jungkook caught Taehyung’s reply once he walked back over to you guys. He had gone off to make you a drink, figuring that cranberry juice and vodka would ease any sales pitch nerves you might have.

“Yeah, I am.” You smiled. “I’m a biology major myself.”

You tore your eyes away from the blond boy to take the red solo cup he was offering. Bringing the cup up to your nose, you sniffed it experimentally.

“Do you have a sponsor?”

You were grateful that you hadn’t taken a sip of your drink yet as had any liquid been inside your mouth you surely would have choked on it.

“Oh, uh! Not yet!” You squeaked out, causing Jungkook to fight down a chuckle.

“Because Beta Tau Sigma happens to be under our campus philanthropy quota and we’d love to support a cause like yours.” Taehyung offered, causing your heart to soar.

“Really?” You gaped.

“Sure! Just swing by anytime this week and I’m sure we can work out the details.”

This was happening. The event you had poured your absolute heart and soul into planning was actually going to happen… holy shit.

“Wow, that’s just… wow!” You replied, breathlessly. “Thank you! Thank you so much, seriously. I can’t even begin to thank you enough…”

Taehyung shook his head, clearly amused, “No need to thank me, it’s a worthy cause. Besides, think of it as a thank you.”

“A thank you? For what?”

“For dating my brother. You’re the reason he comes home every night grinning like an idiot after all.” He grinned cheesily.

A smile broke out onto your face despite yourself, but the good atmosphere didn’t last for long, as a hand finding yours caught your attention.

“Alright, alright, enough sappy shit.” Jungkook urged, cheeks tinted ever so slightly pink.

Much to the blushing boy’s chagrin, Taehyung reached over to rustle Jungkook’s long looks.

“I’m just teasing.” The blond laughed. “By the way, any chance you’ve seen Hobi?”

“No, why?”

“Dude is totally wasted. Heard someone say he was gonna jump off the roof into the pool.”

“The house doesn’t have a pool?” Jungkook blinked.

Taehyung flashed him a look as if to say ‘exactly.’

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Y/N. We’ll talk soon, yeah?” Taehyung asked.

“Absolutely.” You nodded.

“See ya later, man!” Taehyung called out through a crooked smile before slipping back into the crowd of people that lay just beyond the kitchen.

An excited squeal erupted from you, your hands reaching out towards Jungkook as he reciprocated your enthusiasm and embraced you in an elevated hug.

You let out a laugh, carefully holding onto the cup in your hand so as not to spill it before he set you back down.

“You did it!” He cheered.

“We did it.” You corrected.

“I didn’t do anything?” Jungkook looked at you in bewilderment.

You shook your head, “Not true. I would have never met Taehyung if it weren’t for you. Thank you, meathead.”

Jungkook looked at you warmly for a moment, knowing that despite the cruel nickname, your sincerity was genuine.

“Cheers, nerd. To a deal well done.” Jungkook said decidedly, holding out his beer.

Bumping your cup into his can, you took a swig of your drink, grimacing as the overwhelming taste of vodka made its way down your throat.

“Taehyung was awesome.” You began once you had downed a few more sips of the liquid poison. “I don’t know why I was expecting some ape-like barbarian.”

“Probably because of those gorillas you just saw over at the beer pong table.” Jungkook joked. “Yeah, Tae’s great. He’s a Legacy too, so everybody here loves him.”

You stared at him blankly, clearly not understanding the term.

Jungkook sighed, “I mean he comes from a long family of Beta Tau Sigma alumnae. His older brother Seokjin graduated last year—”

“Wait, Seokjin? You don’t mean… Kim Seokjin… our lab professor?” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Yep.”

“No way! But he’s so…” Your eyebrows furrowed, struggling for the right word.

“Smart?” Jungkook assumed flatly.

You fought back a smile, “I was not gonna say that.”

“Mhm, I’m so sure.”

“Anyway,” You smiled, poking a finger into Jungkook’s chest, “I had no clue you liked me so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk about me? I’m the reason you come home grinning every night?” You recalled Taehyung’s words.

You watched in amusement as Jungkook visibly tensed.

“W-Well, duh. You’re my fake girlfriend, I mean, it would be weird if I didn’t do any of those things...” Jungkook defended, eyes narrowing at you suddenly. “Quit gloating.”

“I’m not gloating.” You smirked.

“Yes, you are. I can see it in your face. You’re a gloater.” He said decidedly, moving to make himself a drink.

“How very dare you! I am nothing of the sort.”

“Admit it, Y/N. You relish in my misfortune.” He poured some cranberry juice into a cup, clearly moving to recreate your drink.

“The fact that I relish in your misfortune has nothing to do with this.” You waved off quickly, sending the two of you into giggles.

You somehow managed to down your cup, flashing Jungkook a grateful smile as he began to make you a new one.

You were admiring the way Jungkook’s shoulders filled out his jersey when another voice made itself known, pushing its way into the kitchen.

“Kookie, is that you?”

It was Kiri. The way Jungkook jerked around immediately, eyes as wide as saucers, told you that much.

Turning to where Jungkook’s eyes were fixated, you came to find a tall and leather-clad girl, her curled hair unmoving as she strutted forward. You couldn’t hear anything over the hum of the music playing throughout the house but you’d imagined you would hear the sound of her bright red heels rapping against the tile floor if it were quiet.

Her top was black and off the shoulder, and it dawned on you that she was dressed as Sandy from Grease.

You watched in silence as Jungkook nodded at her, a grin on his face.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you were avoiding me.” Kiri smirked, teeth on full display.

“Avoid you? Never.” Jungkook teased.

Suddenly, a weird feeling bubbled in your stomach as you watched the two interact.

Strange. Must be the vodka.

“I’ve just been busy, I guess.” He shrugged, clearly trying to play it coy.

At his words, Kiri’s eyes flickered to you, causing you to freeze.

“So I’ve heard.” She said simply. You smiled at her awkwardly.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook jumped into action, “Y/N meet Kiri. Kiri meet Y/N, my girlfriend.”

“Y/N L/N, right? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” Kiri admitted, eyes shaded with something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You, uh, have?”

“Of course!” She smiled, although it didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I like to keep tabs on all the girls in Greek life… or I guess in your case, have had Greek life in them.

You blinked.

Jungkook eyes quickly moved to you. Crap. He knew Kiri well enough to detect a catty comment from her no matter how innocently she presented it. You were smart; he was sure you had caught exactly what she was implying.

For a moment, no one said anything. Jungkook gripped his cup tighter, wondering if he should say something to ease the nearly palpable tension.

However, before he got the chance, you smiled, cocking your head to the side.

“No worries, I get it. You wanted to scope out your ex’s new girlfriend, right?”

Jungkook let out a breath, realizing that you weren’t looking for any kind of conflict.

You could tell you words pleased Kiri with the way the side of her painted lips turned upward.

“So, Jungkook told you about me. How flattering.”

“Actually, he hasn’t said a word.” You smiled.

You took a step forward; it wasn’t anything aggressive or confrontational, but it was enough to capture Jungkook’s attention.

“Let’s just say I also like to keep tabs on things involving those that go inside of me.” You lowered your voice, sending Kiri a small wink.

Jungkook must know you pretty well too because he also knew that your comment wasn’t nearly as lighthearted as you made it out to be. He fought back a grin.

Kiri straighten up suddenly, “So what are you two dressed up as? A dumb jock and dirty Waldo?”

‘Well, she’s certainly not being subtle anymore.’ Jungkook thought dryly.

“Freddie Krueger and Glen Lantz. Like from Nightmare at Elm’s Street.” Jungkook answered, no longer bothering to uphold a pleasant tone.

“Is that so? I don’t watch horror movies.” Kiri shrugged.

“I know you don’t.” He reminded her.

“So did you come alone? Or is there a Danny Zuko somewhere that you’re matching with?” You asked casually, not liking the way your insides churned every time Jungkook and Kiri spoke to one another.

“He’s over there by the booth. He’s in charge of the music.” She replied, polished finger directing you where to look.

Sure enough, across the room on an elevated platform was a DJ booth, the man who was operating the device sporting a leather jacket and greased hair.

A gasp fell through your lips as you took him in, recognizing him immediately.

“That’s—” You cut yourself off immediately, turning away from him. “...so cool! Him being a DJ and whatnot.”

Kiri nodded cautiously, clearly catching on to the way you had changed your tune suddenly.

“You know what, I think Jungkook and I are gonna head over to the dance floor. But it was really great meeting you, Kiri.” You told her, reaching for Jungkook’s hand.

Your fake boyfriend sensed your urgency and took your hand comfortably.

“Nice seeing you.” Jungkook called out to her breezily as the two of you began to walk away, not bothering to give Kiri another glance.

Your heart was pounding but you tried your best to look nonchalant, knowing Kiri was probably watching the two of you leave.

As you reached the dance floor, you allowed yourself a sparing glance around to make sure that Kiri was out of ear’s reach before you wrapped your arms around Jungkook’s neck and began to sway your hips.

Bringing your mouth to his ear, you spoke, “Kiri is dating Eunwoo.”

Jungkook sent you a look, “Yeah. I know.”

You shook your head as Jungkook’s hands found your waist, keeping up with your pace.

“You don’t understand. Eunwoo is Yara’s ex.”

“Wait– Really?”

You nodded.

“Great. So he’s banged two of my girlfriends then. I swear to god, Y/N, if he tries to get into your pants next I’m gonna kick his ass into the next decade.” Jungkook grunted. You laughed.

“I just don’t understand. I swear he was in love with Yara just last week. He used to slip love notes under our door for her, you know. I even didn’t know he was in a frat?” You frowned.

“He’s a new member. He was just initiated a little while back. Fucking prick.”

That made sense. From what you had gathered tonight, everyone within Jungkook’s fraternity seemed quite friendly with one another— it didn’t make sense that an active member would betray Jungkook like that.

“You handled that very well, by the way.” Your pretend lover spoke suddenly.

“What? Kiri? Whatever, I’ve dealt with worse girls in high school.” You shrugged easily, hand finding itself running in Jungkook’s hair.

He had mentioned once that he needed a haircut but it seems as if you had successfully managed to talk him out of it. You like his hair like this.

“She was trying to use an intimidation technique that Gamma Alpha Tau uses on possible pledges.” He explained. “I promise you she’s not always that…”

“Snarky? Judgmental? Standoffish?” You offered, quirking up a brow.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, “I just mean she’s usually better behaved than that.”

“Right. Well, either way, this is a good sign.”

“What is?”

“Her hating me. Just means she’s jealous and then we’re one step closer to closing your half of the deal.” You enthused.

“Speaking of the deal, I believe you owe me a kiss, Freddie.”

Jungkook’s words took you by surprise and as much as you wanted to wipe that slick grin off his face, you knew he was right.

Humming, you let go of his hair, moving closer so that his nose was brushed up against yours.

“Your move, meathead.” You urged, letting your bottom lip brush against his teasingly.

Pressed up against him like this, you could feel a low rumble erupt in his chest.

“You teasing me?” He mused lazily.

“Didn’t you say you liked your pleasure with some pain?”

If Jungkook had a reply, you didn’t catch it in time as his mouth found yours, distracting you from any trivial thoughts weighing you down.

Something was intoxicating about the way Jungkook kissed you; he wasn’t rushed or in any hurry, but the way his mouth moved against yours made your chest pound as you brought your fingers up to pull at his hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the sound of Rick James in the air, but when his hand found your jaw and his tongue ran itself along your bottom lip you happily obligated, whimpering as his tongue moved against yours with the same fervor as the kiss you shared on your bed.

Jungkook was trying his hardest to hold back, he really was, but with the way your fingers pulled against his scalp, he felt himself start to grow greedily, grinding his hips against yours.

A whimper left your mouth and before you could make left from right, Jungkook broke the kiss and turned you around, pressing his chest into your back.

Heat rocketed to your face as you were suddenly reminded that you were in a room full of people, kissing Jungkook like this.

Your worries were soon eased as he began to press a trail of kisses down your neck, causing you to sigh.

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand? I’ve got a bottle of Malibu in my room with our name on it.” He murmured into your neck.

For a moment, you wondered if you should say no. If Jungkook kept touching you like this, especially with alcohol in your system, there was no guarantee what you’d do.

You let out a squeak as Jungkook’s tongue found your neck, the hot muscle dancing against your skin.

Letting your eyes roll over the room, you froze as they met a familiar pair.

Kiri was stood by the DJ Booth, eyes fixated on you two, her stare cold and unmoving.

Suddenly, a feeling came over you. It felt hot and not in the nice way Jungkook had been making you feel. You hardened your stare, holding her eyes. Was this why Jungkook kissed you? Did he know Kiri was watching?

Sensing the way you had tense against him, Jungkook pulled away from your neck.

“Something wrong?”

Fine. If Jungkook wanted to put on a show for her, then you were happy to assist.

Instead of replying, you turned your head and answered with your mouth, kissing him in a way you knew Kiri wouldn’t be able to ignore.

“Let’s get outta here.” You breathed as you broke the kiss.

Jungkook’s eyes were dark, eyelids low as a positively devilish smirk crept over him.

Following him as he lead you out of the room, you couldn’t help but glance behind you, the sides of your mouth curling up as you met Kiri’s glare once more.

[disneydeb1928]

One Piece Theory: The SWORD Initiative

The SWORD Initiative 

SWORD first appeared in Chapter 956 when it was discovered that X Drake, a member of the 11 Supernovas was, in fact, an undercover Marine. Not much is known regarding this organization other then Drake is the Captain and Koby is also a member.

Storytelling: Oda is not a newbie when it comes to storytelling. I’ve said it a million times, but I will say it again: Oda has mastered a very unique type of storytelling. Many others will tell you the same thing. He is a man who values how you feel about characters above how you may feel about his organizations overall. This is why, he always introduces characters, allowing you to make your own judgements before revealing more information on them. With that being said, some people may believe that since this is a recent addition to the plot that this organization must not have been around long. However, that just isn’t true. Oda would never create something this relevant to the story that isn’t routed deep in the past. He loves to make his reveals and have us gasp because suddenly something that happened 200 chapters ago now makes sense. With that being said, I think it is safe to say that there is more to this organization that meets the eye. Therefore, let’s first establish their existence within the established timeline.

Timeline:

X Drake was born on October 24, 1491. We know that he was taken in by the marines when he was 20 years old (in 1511) after the incident of Rosinante stealing the Ope Ope no Mi from his father’s pirate crew. The wiki says that “He [would] eventually enlist as a Marine himself” indicating that he didn’t join right away.

Drake doesn’t appear in the story until chapter 498 (in the year 1522). That means that there are 11 years unaccounted for. In that time, we know he apparently rose to the rank of rear admiral before defecting (Ch. 509)  – again no timeline specifics have been give (but I don’t doubt we will get them in the future).

However, me may be able to speculate based on other Marines.

·         Tashigi was able to go from Master Chief Petty Officer to Ensign (skipping Warrant Officer) in the couple of months that took place between the Loguetown Arc and the Post-Enies Lobby Arc. After the timeskip, Tashigi was a Captain (skipping 4 positions). Therefore, overall, for her to go from Master Chief Petty Officer to Captain, it took roughly 2 years and a couple of months.

·         Similarly, Smoker was able to from a Captain to a Commodore and then to Vice Admiral in the same time period (2 years and a couple of months).

·         Therefore, one could speculate that to go from Master Chief Petty Officer to Vice Admiral it would take around 4 years and 6 months. Since Rear Admiral is only one rank below Vice Admiral I’m going to say that the times are probably similar. [Disclaimer 1: I say this recognizing that there are probably 1000 different things that go into promotions within the Marines (such as accomplishments, age, etc) and that not every person is going to advance at the same pace. With that being said, I do think that we can still learn a lot from it – He’s not a background character after all]. In conclusion, I think 4 years and 6 months is a decent ballpark to aim for and I am willing to speculate that it would have taken Drake at least 4 and a half years to reach the rank of Rear Admiral, putting his age at around 24 (placing this in the year 1515) [Disclaimer 2: This age is completely based off the possibility that Drake joined the marines during the first year he was with them]. All this means, is that at the earliest Drake was a Rear Admiral by 1515.

We are led to believe that his defection has always been staged, and that from the beginning, everything he did was towards advancing SWORD’s goal. So that means SWORD has existed since before the beginning of the series.

We do not know how long he was a pirate before he made his appearance, however, by the time he did, he already had a full crew and a bounty of 222,000,000. We know that Cavendish became a Supernova in 1521, so I think we can make that the latest that Drake could have possibly left the Marines.  

Flashing forward, I think we can pretty much conclude that Koby joined SWORD at some point during the 2-year timeskip.

The Creation of SWORD

If that is the case, that we can conclude one of two things. Either:

1.      Drake created the SWORD organization and began his own mission alone

2.      SWORD already existed before that point and someone approached him to join and start his mission

There isn’t enough information available at this point to really say either way. However, I would speculate that SWORD wasn’t Drake’s idea.

Possible SWORD Members

1.) Issho / Fujitora & Ryokugyu

Issho and Ryokugyu are both new Admirals to replace the positions that Kuzan and Akainu left open during the 2-year timeskip. From what we’ve seen of Issho’s personality, I think he is probably one of the more likely options for SWORD members. He intentionally blinded himself when he became disgusted with all the evil and corruption he had seen in the world (Ch. 799). Some might say that he joined the Marines to fight that evil but perhaps the Marines are the evil he wanted to fight? We’ve seen multiple instances where he put the good of the people above capturing Luffy and the Straw Hats. So much so, Akainu and him got into a heated debate that ended with Issho being band from any Marine base until Luffy was captured (Ch. 801).

Outside of personality wise and evidence of him going outside of Marine orders, there is another reason he is on this list, as well as why I grouped him with Ryokugyu, who we know almost nothing about. And the answer to that is: The Folklore of Momotaro.

An excerpt of the Folklore of Momotaro:

“When he matured into adolescence, Momotarō left his parents to fight a band of Oni (demons or ogres) who marauded over their land, by seeking them out in the distant island where they dwelled (a place called Onigashima or "Demon Island"). En route, Momotarō met and befriended a talking dog, monkey and pheasant, who agreed to help him in his quest in exchange for a portion of his rations (kibi dango or "millet dumplings"). At the island, Momotarō and his animal friends penetrated the demons' fort and beat the band of demons into surrendering. Momotarō and his new friends returned home with the demons' plundered treasure and the demon chief as a captive.”

It has been said before that Aokiji, Akainu, and Kizaru’s Admirals alias are based on the three animals that helped Momotaro (pheasant, dog, and monkey). A fan wrote to Oda in the recent SBS (Vol. 76) and theorized that Fujitora and Ryokugyu (The tiger and ox) are based on the oni (demons) that Momotaro had to face during his adventure, which would imply that they could be against the World Government. Oda jokingly responded, “I’m not saying a single thing about whether this theory is correct or incorrect, okay? (cold sweat)”. If this is true, I think this could serve as proof that they are either members of SWORD or even the Revolutionary Army.

2.) Kuzan / Aokiji

Kuzan, very similar to Issho, has had multiple instances where he has deviated from what Akainu refers to as “absolute justice”. For starters, he was the once responsible for allowing Nico Robin to escape from the Buster Call on Ohara by providing a small boat while also a trail of ice for her to leave safely. Another example is when he (similar to Issho) didn’t arrest Luffy because he defeated Crocodile, saving Alabasta.

However, I think a big reason why many people speculate that he may be a part of SWORD are the parallels between him and X Drake. After the timeskip, we discover that after losing the Fleet Admiral fight between him and Akainu, Kuzan resigned from the Marines. Afterwards, he became affiliated with the Blackbeard Pirates, just like how Drake resigned and created the Drake Pirates. I will say, that these similarities give just as many reasons as why he would be a SWORD member as for why he isn’t. It’s possible these stories are too alike for Oda to tie them to the same cause. However, it is possible that the SWORD initiative is all about going undercover as pirates. But if that was true, then why is Koby not undercover? Just food for thought.

3.) Smoker & Tashigi

If we were to make a list of likeable Marines, Smoker would probably slotted right behind Koby. From the moment he comforted that crying little girl in Loguetown, he gained a lot of fan-fare. I think a lot of people hope that Smoker is a member of SWORD. Like the previous two Admirals above, he has had his fair share of compromising the Marines’ belief in “absolute justice” in order to do the right thing. In fact, out of all of the Marines mentioned on this list, he has done this the most. All of those moments have served as an example of his character. Outside of that, I think it is interesting that Smoker decided to request transfer to G-5 at the beginning of the timeskip, a place known for having difficulties. I think it is definitely possible Smoker is a member.

4.) Rosinante

Very similar to Kuzan and Drake, Rosinante placed himself undercover in order to stop his brother, Doflamingo. It is very possible that this was a very early SWORD mission. Or it could have what led to the creation of SWORD.

6.) Sengoku & 7.) Monkey D. Garp

Like Smoker and Tashigi, these last two are an example of ‘we like them, so we want them to be a part of this good organization’.

Honestly, I have tried to wrap my mind around why the heck Garp is even still involved with the Marines. The only other ‘D.’-bearer we know that was in the Marines, was Jaguar D. Saul, who ended up defecting in order to save Nico Robin during the Ohara Incident. If Garp is not a member of this shadow organization, then there is a deeper reason for why he joined the Marines and stayed.

[lesdemonium]

My Heart

Rating: E Words: 9,118 Summary:

Things were different after the mountain.

For one thing, when Jaskier met up with Geralt again, it was with a refugee princess in tow. Somehow this wasn’t surprising, given the way Geralt’s life often went, but it did create a different dynamic.

Beyond that, though, Geralt was different. Softer, somehow. Like he was actively trying to smooth away his hard edges, and his face often constricted with the pain of it.

Jaskier didn’t quite know what to do with it.

read on ao3

Things were different after the mountain.

For one thing, when Jaskier met up with Geralt again, it was with a refugee princess in tow. Somehow this wasn’t surprising, given the way Geralt’s life often went, but it did create a different dynamic.

Beyond that, though, Geralt was different. Softer, somehow. Like he was actively trying to smooth away his hard edges, and his face often constricted with the pain of it.

Jaskier didn’t quite know what to do with it.

--

Jaskier had broken a string on his lute. 

This wasn’t entirely unheard of. After all, with use, strings tended to break every so often. One spectacular time, Jaskier had stumbled while tuning his lute, and the string and snapped so suddenly that it whipped his face, splitting the skin of his cheek. The scar wasn’t truly visible anymore, but Jaskier still noticed it, and more importantly, Geralt still noticed it. Though the event happened years ago, it could still startle Geralt into the witcher’s version of giggles. At those times, Jaskier found himself both indignant over Geralt laughing at what had really been Quite painful, honestly, Geralt, and warm over the fact that Geralt of Rivia was actually brought to laughter over a memory involving Jaskier.

A string broke again, and luckily this time it happened without maiming his face, though poor Ciri was nearly a casualty. This time, however, Jaskier was dismayed to find that he had no replacements. He hadn’t had enough coin to afford more strings the last time he stocked up on materials and he had only replaced them recently, so surely they would last. They had, it just had been a very long time since the thought had crossed his mind.

Jaskier wasn’t pouting. Despite Ciri’s teasing, he was definitely not pouting, he was just a little… off, without the ability to play his lute. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and they hadn’t planned on any stops in towns until they made it to Posada, where Geralt said Vesemir had sent him a note, which was still days away. Jaskier was a grown man, he could handle a few days of disappointment until they made it to Posada.

His mood was definitely soured, though.

Without his lute to play, he was quite a bit more observant. They should have turned right at that fork, but Geralt had led them to the left. Ciri hadn’t noticed, but of course she wouldn’t, she was still learning. Surely, though, Geralt knew that they had turned the wrong way.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked. Geralt grunted in return. “Shouldn’t we have gone the other way at that cross section? We’re moving away from the river. You aren’t losing your sense of direction in your old age, are you? Oh, what a way to perish.”

Ciri giggled at Jaskier’s dramatics and Jaskier was sure Geralt had rolled his eyes. But even a minute later, he still hadn’t answered the question.

“Geralt?” Jaskier prodded.

“We have business in Lyria,” Geralt answered, finally. “We’ll stay the night there, then continue on to Posada as planned.”

Jaskier’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press further. Geralt was taciturn at best and frequently elusive, but if Geralt wanted to tell them what their business was, he likely would have already told them. They weren’t far from Lyria, at least, so soon Jaskier would know what, exactly, was so pressing to make Geralt of Rivia change their plans without so much as a warning. So Jaskier bit his tongue and they continued on silently.

Jaskier found himself without words when Geralt pointed him toward the very same shop Jaskier had replaced his strings at all those years ago. There wasn’t a hint of humor on Geralt’s face, though Jaskier did notice his eyes glide over Jaskier’s cheek.

--

Finding themselves in Posada again was strange. It wasn’t the first time they had been back since their meeting, but every time held a strange edge. Posada felt both familiar, and like a brand new world to Jaskier every time, though the town itself rarely changed.

Vesemir’s note turned out to be inconsequential; it was merely a reply to Geralt’s announcement that Geralt would be bringing company with him to Kaer Morhen this winter. When Jaskier read it, he almost scoffed--that was what they had rushed here for?--but one look at Geralt’s face silenced him. Geralt had been tense the past few days traveling, leading Jaskier to believe this message was more important. Life or death, even. Now, however, the lines on Geralt’s face had finally smoothed away, and his shoulders dipped. Geralt was relieved. This wasn’t just an acknowledgement, this was permission.

Jaskier supposed it made sense. If they didn’t have Kaer Morhen, then Geralt had nowhere safe to take Ciri. And if the fort was as secretive as Geralt had led Jaskier to believe, then Geralt must have been legitimately concerned that Vesemir would deny them. Then what would they do? Hole up in a court for the winter with Jaskier? That seemed recklessly dangerous, what with Ciri being a wanted young lady.

“Well!” Jaskier said, handing the letter back to Geralt. “Wonderful news! I, for one, think we should celebrate by sleeping in a bed, don’t you?” He turned to Ciri, who nodded vigorously, as if she had never heard a more devine suggestion in her life. “And as we are rather low on coin, it sounds as if it’s time for me to earn my keep!”

And with that, he stood up, lute in hand, to grace the fine people of this establishment with his craft.

The concert went well for a long while. Jaskier hadn’t been counting, exactly--it was hard to sing, play an instrument, keep eyes and charm on the room, and do math in his head all at once--but it seemed as if there was enough coin in his hat to pay for not one, but two rooms. Poor Ciri could finally have a moment to herself, rather than constantly having either Jaskier or Geralt as her babysitter.

Jaskier’s audience was a beautiful one. As the wine and ale flowed, they danced with his jigs, they sang along with some of his more colorful tunes, and some of the women (and a couple men) grew a little teary eyed at his more maudlin ballads. They clearly had chosen a good tavern to set up in, because every so often patrons, heavy with drink from other locations, made their way inside and joined in the festivities.

He was about to call it a night and take his coin to the inn-keeper, when he decided to end on his claim to fame. This wasn’t the first time he had played the song that night--in fact, it was the only one he knew how many times he had played it, because all four times he had sent a wink to Geralt’s scowling face. This time, however, Geralt wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he was talking to some man, and the way they were bowed low together convinced Jaskier that this must be about some monster. It was disappointing, but Jaskier brushed it off quickly. It was easy to, when he had caught Geralt staring at him all night, looking less surly and more… captivated. No, surely, captivated was the wrong word. Geralt had hardly expressed any interest in Jaskier’s music before, aside from correcting Jaskier’s creative licenses. But there was something in his look that made Jaskier feel seen. Every time, he had quickly broken the eye contact, but he was living off the high it gave him.

That particular line of thought had Jaskier neglecting his duties to the room. His playing didn’t falter--he could play this song in his sleep without a single mistake, thank you very much--but he had definitely lost the crowd for a moment. When he came back with a cheeky grin and a wink at one of the women, he was too late to attend to the fist that hit him a moment later.

To say he was caught off guard would be putting it lightly. He stumbled, his cheek blooming in heat and pain, and nearly dropped his lute. Luckily, he caught the beautiful thing with a jarring twang of the strings, and for a moment there was complete silence before it felt like everyone started yelling.

“Shut the fuck up, witcher whore!” was the only piece Jaskier picked up as he attempted to catch up with his shocked, sluggish brain, before he was assaulted again; this time the fist went for his gut.

Jaskier was quicker this time in disengaging--the punch turned into more of a light tap as Jaskier nimbly stepped away from the angry drunkard. His moves were as slurred as his words, but still he pursued Jaskier with intent to hit him again. Jaskier wasn’t much of a fighter, especially not when he had nowhere safe to put his beloved instrument, but he was quick and lithe, especially when confronted with a man who had likely had drunk Jaskier’s bodyweight in ale. He only had to evade him long enough for the man to get tired or for someone else to step in and escort the brute out, and Jaskier had faced far more frightening foes than this.

Unfortunately, his space was extremely limited, what with the patrons scurrying around like they had been victims of the onslaught and their deserted furniture clogging up Jaskier’s path. So when the drunkard was yanked away from a very near second assault on Jaskier’s face, Jaskier’s breath came out in a cheered rush. It wasn’t surprising to see the witcher as his savior, and it was extremely satisfying to see the brute tossed out on his arse outside the door.

What was surprising, was Geralt immediately returning to Jaskier once the man was taken care of. His hands on Jaskier’s face had Jaskier gasping, and Geralt hesitated, moving fingertips away from the bruise. But it hadn’t been pain that caused Jaskier to gasp, rather it was the soft, gentle way Geralt was touching him.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, turning Jaskier’s face with a soft press of fingers on his jaw.

“I’m just fine,” Jaskier breathed, and he wanted to ask Geralt what he was doing, but he didn’t want to break the moment. Geralt’s fingers ghosted over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier was sure he would have a bruise there tomorrow, but all he could feel now was the white-hot heat Geralt’s fingers were leaving behind.

They were there for hours, Jaskier was sure, as he catalogued the way Geralt’s eyebrows knit together in concern for him, but when the spell finally broke and they returned to the world, not even a minute had gone by.

Their rooms were lovely, and Ciri’s had been on the house, as an apology for the brawl.

--

Jaskier’s favorite thing to do, now that the three of them were together, was to watch Geralt teach Ciri.

There was a new lesson every night they camped. Whenever they stayed in inns, Ciri received a helpful reprieve of privacy, after that first night when she was in a much better mood the entire next week after having some time to herself. Turned out thirteen year old girls needed some alone time. Who knew? But when they made camp for the night, Geralt took the opportunity to give her at least one new skill.

Sometimes it’s survival related: which berries are safe to eat, how to pick the best firewood, how to set a trap for rabbits. Sometimes they sparred, and though Ciri never won, Jaskier could see her getting closer, the way her arms and legs were thickening with muscle, and how her hold on her wooden sword became surer every time. Tonight, the subject was apothecary related. Geralt spent the past half hour pointing out the plants around their campsite and the medicinal benefits of each one, both for humans and witchers.

Teaching seemed to come naturally for Geralt.. It was the most patient Jaskier had ever seen him, and usually Ciri listened with rapt attention. Every so often, she would interrupt to ask questions, and Geralt would stop, listen to her, and answer the question without any trace of annoyance. He always answered carefully and thoroughly, making sure she understood before he continued on with whatever he was saying.

Jaskier found himself playing and composing quietly, just so he could hear the two of them as they worked. It was the most peaceful Jaskier had ever felt. He was so peaceful, he almost didn’t notice the cold settling in around him, despite the fire. He didn’t notice he was shivering until Geralt abruptly stood up, peeled off his cloak, and draped it around Jaskier’s shoulders without so much as a word, before going back to Cirilla.

It happened so quickly, Jaskier didn’t have time to protest, only react. Even that he found difficult. He froze, glancing after Geralt, who just continued on his lesson as if nothing had happened. Jaskier waited a moment, trying to figure out if this was real, before he tugged the cloak closer with a small, private smile.

There was something particularly comforting about being surrounded by Geralt’s scent.

--

Sex hadn’t changed much. Over the years, being intimate with Geralt had been so varied based on the circumstances that there wasn’t really much of a “normal” to speak of. The main difference now that Ciri was here was that it was rare for Geralt to touch Jaskier under the stars. The only time they found release with each other was when they stayed at an inn, which only happened every now and then, since they were trying to make their coin stretch farther while Geralt was taking less contracts.

The way Geralt held him afterward, however, that was new. It wasn’t that Geralt had been cold or distant after they had lain together, he had accepted any tenderness Jaskier had initiated. Now, though, Geralt seemed to seek it out.

Once, Jaskier had gotten up immediately after they were finished to grab a cloth to clean them up, and Geralt’s eyes had seemed… wounded, almost. Geralt was completely rigid against Jaskier’s body as he pressed against Geralt’s side, and only relaxed when Jaskier pressed soft kisses along Geralt’s shoulder. After that, Jaskier made a point to prepare a cloth and some water before they engaged physically, so he never had to leave the bed. It was a little uncomfortable, wiping them down with water that was now cold--especially after sessions that lasted hours--but it was worth it for the way Geralt stayed pliant and open against him.

Tonight, Geralt had been particularly thorough. He had teased Jaskier for hours, drawing sounds from his lips that Jaskier didn’t even know he could make. Jaskier wasn’t as young as he had been when they started this, but Geralt had been singular in bringing Jaskier just to the brink of his breaking point. Now that they were finished, Jaskier was too worn out even to clean the spend from his chest. His arms and legs were boneless, and all he could do was catch his breath.

Geralt looked downright smug as he took over the task, though cleaning Jaskier’s body seemed to come second to mapping the planes of Jaskier’s skin with his mouth.

“I hope you’re not trying to start something again,” Jaskier mumbled fondly. “I have nothing left to give. You’ve finished me. I fear you and Ciri shall have to leave me behind.”

If the sharp burst of air from Geralt’s nose was anything to go by, he at least found this amusing, but he didn’t stop. His lips trailed their way along Jaskier’s body, pressing soft, intent-less kisses, mostly on marks Geralt had left behind, but on bare expanses of skin as well. Jaskier sighed into the action, feeling almost close to tears, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing if Geralt looked up only to see Jaskier crying? But he couldn’t help it. It was moments like these when Jaskier wanted so, so badly to tell Geralt he loved him, but knew he couldn’t.

But then Geralt was face to face with Jaskier again, pulling Jaskier close, allowing Jaskier to press his face into Geralt’s neck, and running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s bare back, and Geralt had to know. He had to know how affection bloomed in Jaskier’s chest, how every kiss he pressed to Geralt’s skin was a declaration of love.

I love you. I have always loved you. I always will love you, he kissed.

--

This wasn’t the first time Geralt had gotten hurt.

But Geralt was gasping for breath and Ciri’s eyes were wide as saucers with her barely concealed fear and Jaskier knew things were going south quickly.

The one respite was that both the drowners and the kikimore were dead. What wasn’t good was that Geralt hadn’t been expecting the kikimore, and witcher healing be damned, Geralt was hurt from the strike it landed on him before Geralt could kill it. Geralt had barely been able to pull his sword from the beast before he passed out into the swamp, and thank god Jaskier and Ciri had been there to pull him out of the water, or he would have drowned.

Now, though, he was going to die simply because Jaskier couldn’t find the right freaking potion.

Geralt was going to be annoyed when he came to and his bag was disorganized, but Jaskier could deal with that later, because right now he just needed to find that blasted vial of swallow. And then Geralt was going to get an earful about needing to pack the important potions closer to the top or, and here was a novel idea, in their own compartment.

It was after he pulled out probably the third vial of fucking bindweed that Jaskier finally, finally found what he was looking for, and he tipped its contents into Geralt’s mouth without even making a triumphant noise--that was how scared he was. Already, color was coming back to Geralt’s face and Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief before he could finally tend to the gaping wound in Geralt’s chest.

“He’ll be okay,” he had the presence of mind to say to Ciri, who immediately sat back and let out the breath she had been holding.

He and Ciri struggled to pull the dead-weight of the witcher, water-logged armor and all, to a nearby clearing, and Ciri set to work building a fire (thank you, Geralt, for making her so self-sufficient) while Jaskier tended to Geralt’s wounds. Taking off his armor and shirt wasn’t easy, but he managed it well enough. If Geralt complained of a headache when he woke up, Jaskier would insist that was due to the battle, rather than when Jaskier dropped his head on a log. He stitched up the gaping wound from where the kikimore had pierced him, and despite how badly his hands were shaking, he had to admit that his stitches looked fine. Not expert, by any means, and not even the best he had ever done, but Jaskier was at least convinced that they would do their job.

He was washing the blood off Geralt’s chest when Geralt came to, though Jaskier didn’t notice until the witcher’s hands wrapped around Jaskier’s. He looked up and let out a relieved, just shy of manic, laugh to see Geralt’s amber eyes looking up at him.

“Jaskier-” Geralt started, only to be interrupted by Jaskier.

“We are going to have words, Geralt of Rivia, about where you keep your fucking potions. I could have lost you just because it took me so fucking long to find the right one. You may have superhuman healing abilities, but you’re not impervious and you can’t just walk away from a kikimore trying to rip your heart out, you great, big-”

This time Jaskier was cut off by Geralt pulling him down into a soft kiss. It was effective, Jaskier had to admit. As soon as Geralt’s lips were against his, Jaskier stopped his tirade and just melted. Well, melted as much as he could without putting any weight on Geralt, who was still very much not healed. It didn’t last for long--they both found themselves short of breath quicker than usual, probably due to the physical exertion and Geralt’s injuries. But instead of pulling away, Jaskier rested his forehead against Geralt’s.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jaskier whispered.

He took a moment to breathe before pulling away and getting back to work on cleaning Geralt up. Ciri rejoined them and dutifully asked questions about the kikimore, and Jaskier smiled as he worked. It was kind of her to let Geralt go back to a teaching mode, lest he be uncomfortable with Jaskier’s fussing.

It took hours for Jaskier to realize that was their first kiss outside of sex.

--

Jaskier was not sick. He couldn’t be. Jaskier didn’t get sick.

This was a stance he clung to the entire walk that day. Even though he was definitely slower than usual--Geralt often had to slow Roach so Jaskier could catch up--and Ciri looked at him pityingly every time he let out a nasty cough--but that was just the dirt from the road irritating his lungs. Every time he insisted that he wasn’t sick, that it was just allergies, or he didn’t sleep well the night before, Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. 

By the end of the day, though, it was getting harder and harder to cling to this assertion. When they made camp, Jaskier dropped heavily to the ground, unable to even fathom helping with camp, but Ciri and Geralt had it under control anyway. His body ached all over. He felt like he would never be warm again, shaking as he sweat with such intensity he was sure he had sat right inside the fire.

“Come on,” Geralt finally urged him, helping Jaskier up--despite Jaskier’s protests that, Really, Geralt, I’m fine right here--and into the river.

The water felt like ice, and his entire body tensed as he wrapped his arms around himself to try to stave off some of the chill. Geralt was not far behind; he’d had to help Jaskier out of his clothes, and didn’t even laugh at a single one of Jaskier’s very witty sexual jokes. Once he was naked, too, he joined Jaskier in the river, and hardly even reacted to how cold the water was, the mutant. But Jaskier had to admit, the way Geralt washed him felt divine. It was completely unnecessary, as Jaskier reiterated to him every chance he got, but every time Geralt just hummed or shushed him, then went back to washing Jaskier’s hair. Eventually, Jaskier gave into it. He leaned into Geralt’s body and allowed himself to be taken care of; he even managed to doze a little against Geralt’s chest. 

Leaving the water wasn’t very nice, but the way Geralt led him with a hand on the small of his back was.

The potion, solution, stew, whatever it was, that Ciri made didn’t taste nice, but the way Geralt smiled at her and told her “You made it perfectly,” made Jaskier feel the warmest he had all day.

Soon, his body felt so heavy and his mind felt so cloudy that all he could do was lean into Geralt’s side. The witcher held him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like they had always done this, and carried on testing Ciri on the uses of various herbs and roots. Jaskier barely noticed drifting off.

When he woke--hours later, judging by how the fire had died down--he was on a bedroll, tucked tightly against Geralt’s body. Jaskier lifted his arm and draped it around Geralt’s middle, managing to press a kiss against Geralt’s temple before the clutches of sleep took him again.

--

Geralt was drunk and Jaskier was delighted.

It didn’t happen often. Geralt didn’t drink to excess unless he felt safe enough to do so, which was rare, especially since gaining Cirilla. But something about this town had, apparently, made him feel secure enough to let loose, because when Jaskier had come back from his performance, Geralt’s eyes were unfocused and he had a lazy smile on his face.

“Ciri, I thought I left you in charge,” Jaskier teased.

“And I did exactly what you taught me to do--arrange the situation to my advantage,” Ciri smirked back, and, ah, she did look a little hazy eyed as well. Sneaking drinks was much easier when Geralt was also drinking, Jaskier assumed.

He had to admit, though, he was very proud of her mischief. But now he had a very, very inebriated witcher on his hands.

“Well, I think the party is officially over. Let’s go upstairs,” he said, standing up.

Geralt’s gaze was lazy and fond, and it never left Jaskier. Although he also did not seem to be listening to Jaskier, because it took several tugs to get the witcher to stand up. Jaskier was relieved that Cirilla at least seemed to be more sober than his White Wolf, but that still meant that her steps were meandering as she, more or less, led the way upstairs.

“I don’t have to bar your door, do I?” Jaskier asked, turning a stern gaze on Cirilla, though he was pretty sure the impact of it wavered some due to the way Geralt was leaning on him and petting Jaskier’s cheek.

“The innkeeper stopped serving me about an hour ago anyway,” Ciri huffed. “And everyone fun already left. I’ll stay in, I promise.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at her a moment longer, as Ciri made a cross over her heart, then grinned toothily and slipped into her own room. Jaskier sighed fondly, before opening their door, which really would have been easier without Geralt nipping at his neck and earlobe the entire time.

“Geralt, honestly. You do make this difficult,” Jaskier whined, but he finally opened the door and all-but dragged the witcher through the threshold.

He barely got the door closed before Geralt was pressing him back into it. Jaskier huffed a laugh as he curled his fingers into Geralt’s gorgeous white locks, keeping Geralt’s head exactly where it was: sucking and nipping a mark into Jaskier’s neck.

“Not a very subtle location, darling,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Good,” Geralt answered. His leg shifted and his thigh pressed against Jaskier’s hardening length so deliciously, eliciting a gasp from Jaskier’s lips. “Then they’ll know you’re mine.”

A flush crept across Jaskier’s face. “Yours, hm?” Geralt hummed his affirmative. “It’s a pity you heal so fast. I can’t leave anything on you.”

“They know,” Geralt answered, pulling back to admire his handiwork. The grin he gave was downright wolfish, just moments before he leaned back into Jaskier’s space to kiss him so hard that Jaskier was sure his lips would be kiss-bruised tomorrow, too. He couldn’t find any will to complain. Especially not when, minutes later, Geralt continued, “Don’t need marks for everyone to know I’m yours.”

--

They were getting closer to Kaer Morhen.

Although Jaskier knew that was always the destination, and that Ciri and Geralt had to get there soon, he still wanted, more than anything, to stall them. Soon they would have to part, and Jaskier would have to find some way to grow used to sleeping alone again. He didn’t even know if he’d see Geralt again in the spring, like usual. Maybe he and Ciri would stay in Kaer Morhen for protection. The idea of a season without Geralt was enough to inspire Jaskier into a mournful ballad. The threat of longer had him feeling too empty to even pick up his lute.

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. And it was easier at night, when it was harder to see Geralt’s face. Wrapped up as they were, he knew Geralt could still see his, so Jaskier only spoke once his nose was buried in Geralt’s neck. It was going to be hard enough to harden his body language--Jaskier didn’t think he’d be able to keep his face neutral.

“We’re very far north,” Jaskier began.

Geralt hummed. His fingers played with Jaskier’s hair at the nape of his neck, and it would have been so easy to just pause there, end the conversation, and let Geralt be tender with him. Only for Jaskier to continue to feel on edge as they got closer and closer to Kaer Morhen.

“We’ll be at Kaer Morhen soon.” 

Geralt only hummed his agreement again. Was he really going to make Jaskier ask? Jaskier waited a moment, but Geralt did not continue. Apparently he was. 

“Do I have another week? A few days?”

Geralt’s hand stilled. “Jaskier?” he asked, and he sounded so confused.

“Until we part?” Jaskier just barely whispered it. He didn’t want to will this into reality, but he had to know. He had to know how long he had left with Geralt and Ciri, until he had to make his own way.

Geralt was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, he sounded pained. “You’re not coming to Kaer Morhen?”

A wave of ice rolled over Jaskier. He pulled back, suddenly very, very frustrated that he had waited until nightfall to have this discussion. He couldn’t see Geralt’s face, only his eyes that just barely shone through the darkness. Well, if he couldn’t see Geralt’s face anyway, then he might as well have the reaction his nerves felt like they needed. Jaskier sat up, looking incredulously at Geralt as he tried to puzzle this out.

“I didn’t--you never--” Jaskier sputtered, turning around to face Geralt. So much for schooling his expression. Jaskier was bewildered. He tried a few more times to speak, his mouth opening and closing over and over until Jaskier was sure he looked quite like a fish. When he finally found his voice, he sounded quite hysterical to his own ears. “I thought it was only you and Ciri going!”

Geralt slowly sat up, too. His hand was hesitant as he reached for Jaskier, but even with the hesitancy, Jaskier startled some when Geralt touched his hip. Geralt continued on anyway, tugging Jaskier closer.

“I thought you were coming, too,” he said, and his voice sounded as hesitant as his hand had been.

Jaskier stared at this man, this bewildering, reticent man before him, his mouth agape. “Geralt, you didn’t-” he started, then paused. Gods, his voice sounded wrecked. Jaskier knew he wanted to go, but he didn’t know just how much he wanted it until now. He tried again. “You didn’t ask me to. I-I thought. I thought I couldn’t.”

Geralt hummed, but instead of answering, he laid back down. After a moment, he hauled Jaskier down with him, pulling their hips flush and smoothing away Jaskier’s surprised squack with his lips. Jaskier melted into the kiss--he hadn’t found some way to mess this up. Though he still didn’t know where this left them.

“Geralt,” Jaskier insisted, finally pushing Geralt away with a hand on his chest.

Geralt hummed, tried to kiss him again, then let out a soft, breathy laugh when Jaskier’s hand stayed firm.

“Jaskier, come to Kaer Morhen with me,” he whispered, and a shiver went through Jaskier’s body. He was pretty sure nothing Geralt had ever said to him sounded quite as seductive as that, and he wasn’t even trying to seduce Jaskier now. “I want you there.”

Jaskier grinned, and leaned in for a kiss, but Geralt pulled back. Jaskier raised an eyebrow, confused, until Geralt nudged his hip against Jaskiers.

“Oh, you great, big--yes, darling. Of course. Of course I’ll come to Kaer Morhen.”

This time, when he surged forward to kiss Geralt, Geralt didn’t pull away. In fact, he wrapped his arms around Jaskier and tugged him on top of his body. Jaskier’s legs bracketed Geralt’s hips and his arms haloed his head as they kissed. He didn’t need to breathe anymore; Geralt had more than filled him.

“Can you please go to sleep?” Ciri asked after a while, and Jaskier had to laugh at how annoyed she sounded. “Gross.”

--

Jaskier was being good. Honestly, he was. If being good meant sulking in the corner of a tavern while Geralt and Yennefer discussed “very important matters” at the other end of it, then he was being a saint.

Geralt had only told them this morning that they needed to stop in Gelibol. Jaskier was excited; he was ready to have an actual bed to sleep rather than the cold, hard ground. Not to mention, Ciri was just as ready as Geralt and Jaskier were to get some time away. What Geralt had failed to mention was the fact that Yennefer was the reason they were in Gelibol, not because he was so overcome with lust for Jaskier that he just had to fuck and be fucked by him until they were both sated enough to finish the hard journey to Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sorceress; Cirilla only just barely managed to stop in time to avoid a collision. Then he turned on his heel, leveling Geralt with a glare that Geralt, the absolute demon, shrugged off.

“She has information on Nilfgaard, Jaskier,” he said, stepping ahead of Ciri and leading Jaskier into the tavern with a hand on the small of his back. He brought Jaskier to a table and all but pushed him into the chair. Jaskier glared up at him, but allowed the manhandling. Damn him. “The more we know the better.”

“Can I talk to her, too?” Ciri asked, though Jaskier saw the hurt flash across her face for the briefest of moments.

Geralt must have seen it, too, because he shook his head. “Not yet. Watch Jaskier. Don’t let him do anything stupid,” he said, then paused a moment. “Or drink himself to death.”

Jaskier scowled at Geralt as he turned to the sorceress, and just barely managed to resist the temptation to mock him. He did, however, immediately order copious amounts of ale from the barkeep.

“You don’t like her very much, do you?” Ciri said, sitting down next to Jaskier so that she, too, could watch the conversation.

“Now, what gave you that idea?” Jaskier asked, before downing half his ale in one go, and immediately motioning for another.

The conversation between Geralt and Yennefer went on long enough that by the time Geralt returned to the table, Jaskier was well and truly drunk. And moody. But he had been moody before Geralt had left, so that wasn’t much of a change.

Geralt’s steps were wary as he approached the table. “I thought I asked you not to let him drink himself to death,” he said, looking reproachfully at Ciri.

“He’s still alive,” Ciri answered with a shrug. “And, really, what did you expect me to do when he’s like this? Scream at him?”

Jaskier snorted, but Geralt only pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yennefer wants to talk to you. I already bought our rooms. I’m going to take him upstairs.”

Geralt reached for Jaskier, but Jaskier threw up his hands. “I can walk myself, thank you,” he said, though he grimaced a little at how his words slurred together. Okay, maybe drinking as much as he had in such a short period of time wasn’t the best idea. But Jaskier was emboldened with righteous fury. And maybe a little jealous. And hurt. Mostly the emboldened with righteous fury part, though.

He slammed his hands on the table, loud enough that a few nearby heads turned, and pushed his chair out. Jaskier took a deep breath and stood up, swaying enough that Geralt took a step forward, but Jaskier waved him off. He wasn’t about to be carried out of here in front of Yennefer of Vengerberg. Even if, really, he probably needed it.

Jaskier managed to make it to the stairwell without too many issues, aside from nearly knocking over a stool as he rounded the corner of the bar. Yennefer hadn’t even said anything, except for whatever she had scoffed into her drink as he passed, but Jaskier hadn’t heard it and was too afraid if he wheeled to face her that he would eat the floor. He wanted to maintain some shred of dignity, thank you.

These stairs, however, were not happening. Jaskier stared at them hopelessly for a moment, then stepped up the first one, only to immediately stumble back down. His hands clenched into fists as he tried again, and this time he got four steps up, before he swayed dangerously back and had to be caught by Geralt.

“Geddoff,” Jaskier grumbled, pushing half-heartedly at Geralt. 

He pressed his hand against the wall and tried again. This time he got only one step and was attempting a second when Geralt sighed behind him and swept him up into a bridal-style hold.

“I can do it,” Jaskier insisted, feeling hot shame wash over him.

“Maybe by next week, but we don’t have that kind of time,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier sighed and allowed it--not that he really had much of a choice. The only thing fighting against Geralt would do now is land him very painfully on the floor, and Jaskier had zero intention of causing that kind of drama.

So Geralt carried him to their room, through the doorway, and dropped him unceremoniously on the bed. Jaskier groused to himself and rolled over onto his side, curling his body up on what could generously be called a mattress as he heard Geralt undress.

“S’where are you sleeping?” Jaskier asked. God, he sounded miserable. This wasn’t a good look, and he knew it, but he was far past being able to help it now. “Didn’t Yennefer get a room?”

“Stop it, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.

Jaskier did stop. He didn’t say a word or move as Geralt’s boots landed heavily on the floor. The mattress dipped a bit as Geralt sat on the other side, and Jaskier could just barely feel the heat from Geralt’s body.

“What’d’you learn?” Jaskier asked.

“Nilfgaard is much farther south. They took a big hit a few months ago. They’re rebuilding and seem to have no idea where Ciri is. Yen thinks they’ll start looking again soon, but we have time until then. She didn’t have more information on Ciri’s powers, but she’s going to look into it, see if anyone can help her. She had some suggestions on how to help her harness it, though.”

Jaskier harrumphed. He was, somehow, more bitter at the fact that talking to Yennefer was useful. Of course it would be, though. The sorceress was brilliant. And had far more ability to do information digging than anyone in their party could. Honestly, Jaskier was surprised Geralt didn’t meet up with her sooner, and yet--

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded petulant. He knew he did. He couldn’t help it.

“Is that what this is about?” Geralt sighed again. “I had a feeling you’d react poorly. Clearly I was wrong.”

Jaskier finally turned just enough to scowl at Geralt, then rolled back over. He grunted a reply back.

“Damn it, Jaskier. What’s the matter with you?” Geralt snarled, finally standing up.

Ah, there they were. It hurt, but a masochistic part of him wanted this. It was easier if Geralt at least had a reason to yell at him. Then Jaskier could control this.

“Nothing, Geralt,” he mumbled.

Geralt rounded the bed, kneeling to look at Jaskier’s face. Jaskier reared back and rolled away onto his stomach so he could turn his face to the other side, ignoring Geralt’s frustrated huff.

“You don’t wear jealousy well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pushed himself up on his hands, turning his glare back on Geralt. “I’m not jealous, Geralt,” he exploded. He was, but that wasn’t what this was about. Jaskier would always be jealous of Yennefer, for having a piece of Geralt that Jaskier couldn’t have, for being the one Geralt chose over him, but that wasn’t what this was. “You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t tell me the real reason why we were here. Instead you hid it from me and-and-and-”

He didn’t know what else he wanted to say. He didn’t know what the and was. He pushed himself up fully, sitting on his calves, and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. 

“Is this it? Where you... Take back my invitation? She can offer more for Ciri, so now it’s time to yell at me and push me away? Because I’m jealous?”

“You pushed me away tonight.”

“Oh, so for once it’s me! Great! I’ll go tell Yen that this time it was me that drove you to her, at least this time I will have had warning before you go off--”

“Jaskier,” Geralt cut him off, and something about his tone made Jaskier quiet. Geralt scrubbed a hand over his stubble, and the room was suddenly so quiet that the sound was loud. “You’re drunk. And you’re spiralling. And you need to stop. You’re being an asshole, and still, I’m here. Not with Yennefer. With you. So will you shut up and stop this?”

Geralt had barely finished speaking before Jaskier was launching himself into Geralt’s arms. Bless witcher reflexes, honestly, because anyone else would have dropped Jaskier. Jaskier hugged Geralt tightly, pressing his face into Geralt’s shoulder. Half of him believed that if he didn’t throw his entire strength into it, then Geralt would still extract himself from Jaskier and leave the room. No matter how much a self-hating part of him had wanted that before, he desperately didn’t want that now.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re acting like this, then?” Geralt asked minutes later, climbing onto the bed when Jaskier showed no sign of letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier almost sobbed into Geralt’s shirt. Another reason why it was good Geralt was a witcher, with strengthened witcher hearing. Jaskier was barely understandable. Even if he had extracted himself from Geralt’s shoulder, he was weepy from the drink. “Last time-last time you went to her over me every time. And you sent me away. And you didn’t tell me she would be here. And I didn’t want you to go. But. But if you did, I wanted it to be my fault.”

Geralt sighed, his grip tightening on Jaskier’s back as he slowly rocked them back and forth, like Jaskier really was a child. He felt like it, now, just barely holding back tears from his tantrum. He wished he had stopped two tankards ago, so he could have had this conversation like an adult. There was little he could do about it now, though.

“I’m not going anywhere, you drunk fool,” Geralt said. “I should have told you. And you should have talked to me. What, you get a little insecure, and all of your bardic talents for endless speech fly out the window?”

He was teasing him, and Jaskier huffed out a relieved laugh. He hadn’t ruined things, no matter how much he had tried to. 

They stayed there for a long time, just holding each other as Jaskier calmed down. His face remained flush the whole time, though at this point, Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was from the drink or from the shame of his actions. The door to the room beside them opened and closed, and the footsteps must have been familiar, because he felt Geralt relax just slightly against him.

It was a slow process, but eventually they ended up laying in the bed, Jaskier’s body draped over Geralt’s, his arms looped under Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt’s arms drawing idly on Jaskier’s back. Jaskier was slowly drifting off to sleep when he finally spoke again.

“Why don’t I have a nickname?” Jaskier mumbled, but the words held no bite.

Geralt gave him a breathy laugh. “Jaskier is a nickname.”

“That doesn’t count, darling, you know it doesn’t.”

Geralt hummed, but if he replied, Jaskier didn’t hear him, because he was already asleep.

--

After Jaskier had ruined their stay in a town, it took a lot of needling to convince Geralt to make another stop before their ascent to Kaer Morhen.

“Please, Geralt? It will be so nice and cozy in a bed. And you’ll be able to have a bath. In something other than a frigid river. I could wash your hair.”

Geralt hummed. “We could have had a bath in Gelibol.”

Jaskier sighed. “I apologized a hundred times, Geralt. When will you stop punishing me for what I did?”

Geralt smirked, leaning in close to Jaskier’s ear to whisper, “It’s too bad. I had planned to have you on your hands and knees. I would have used my mouth to open you up until you begged me to fuck you. We had a whole night without contracts. Just you, and me, and complete privacy.”

Jaskier shuddered, then glowered at Geralt. “You punish me, Geralt.”

“Maybe in Yspaden,” Geralt answered, shrugging as he pulled away. “If you’re good.”

Jaskier recognized the offering for what it was--a chance for Jaskier to truly make up for his behavior in Gelibol. Though Geralt had insisted he wasn’t mad, Jaskier knew his witcher was as disappointed as Jaskier was that Jaskier had squandered a perfectly good night in an inn. And for all Geralt grumbled, he knew as well as Ciri and Jaskier did that they would need a final night in comfort before they stumbled their way in the frigid cold to Kaer Morhen. Yspaden was their last stop before facing the other witchers, assuming they also returned. 

The relief was evident on Ciri’s face, too. Surely she had dealt with quite enough of Geralt and Jaskier’s bickering after leaving Gelibol. Having such a disappointing, largely unresolved night had set both men on edge, and as such most things set them off into petty squabbles these days. Really, it was for the good of all of them that they stop in Yspaden for a night.

When they entered the town, it was like a spell had been cast over all three of them. Everyone’s shoulders relaxed and they found themselves drawn to an inn as if it was calling to them. They didn’t have much coin left, but there was enough for two rooms for two nights--the unspoken agreement being that they’d spend the following day replenishing their purse--and hot meals all around. They ate their food in silence, just barely managing to nod at each other before they retired to their rooms for the night.

The bath was still hot and steamy when Geralt and Jaskier entered the room, and Jaskier took Geralt’s belongings from his hands, urgently casting his eyes toward the tub before Jaskier set about staging the room exactly as Geralt always did. Swords close and easily accessible, but everything more or less hidden away.

By the time Jaskier turned back, Geralt had shed himself of his clothes and had climbed into the bath, and Jaskier lept to join him. Geralt’s clothes had been discarded in a somewhat organized fashion--they were at least all in one pile--but Jaskier’s garments trailed their way to the bath.

Geralt breathed out a laugh as Jaskier slid into the tub, straddling Geralt’s thighs.

“Who invited you?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with mirth.

“You did. It was written across your face,” Jaskier answered. 

He began washing Geralt, but in a lazy, slow way. Really, his attention was more on feeling Geralt’s body than strictly getting him clean, but judging by the way Geralt sighed and leaned into Jaskier’s hands, he didn’t seem to mind. Jaskier had only just barely started to move on to actual soap when Geralt’s hands started to roam.

“I’m meant to be washing you, Geralt,” Jaskier admonished as Geralt’s fingers trailed intently up Jaskier’s thighs. He gasped as, in response, Geralt pressed his thumbs into Jaskier’s inner thighs, dragging them deliciously toward Jaskier’s groin, only to pull away at the last second.

“So wash me,” Geralt answered, his grin so big his sharp canines showed.

It was difficult to wash Geralt when he was so insistent on being a menace but, somehow, Jaskier prevailed with as little stuttering as he could. It became more difficult, though, as Geralt’s insistent hands looped around Jaskier’s body, rubbing determined circles into the swell of Jaskier’s ass until he finally moved close enough to spread him open. 

Jaskier groaned, his hands stilling over Geralt’s chest as he doused Geralt’s flesh with water, trying to dispel the soap. Geralt’s eyebrow raised, and Jaskier had to resist hard not to kiss that smug look off his face.

“Problem?” Geralt asked, just as a finger began rubbing light circles over Jaskier’s hole.

Jaskier moaned, but shook his head. “N-no, no problem here,” he answered, though his lips remained parted and his breath grew more ragged. He was determined to finish his task, however, no matter how much Geralt wanted to tease him. And if he spilled a little too much water over Geralt’s face as he attempted to wet the witcher’s hair, well, that was only an occupational hazard.

“Dick,” Geralt growled, though the sound held considerably less bite as Jaskier heard a bottle of oil open behind him. 

Jaskier’s thighs tensed in anticipation as he massaged Geralt’s scalp. Geralt’s first finger was insistent upon him, pressing inside with very little resistance, as Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s hair, spreading the lather. As Geralt continued to fuck Jaskier slowly, thoroughly, every drag of his finger against him pressing deeper, Jaskier leaned forward, until he was supporting himself by his forearms pressed against Geralt’s shoulders. Still he washed Geralt’s hair, being perhaps a bit more exhaustive to the task than strictly necessary, but if it bothered Geralt, he did not speak it, only added more fingers, opening Jaskier up more for him.

Jaskier’s breath was coming out in noisy little puffs, just barely more substantial than whimpers, and he pressed his open mouth against Geralt’s shoulder.

“I thought you were washing my hair?” the smug bastard chided, and Jaskier could hear his smile.

Jaskier’s hands went back to work, now he carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair in the water. “I’m trying. You need to--ah--t-tilt your head back.”

Geralt obeyed him, and Jaskier set to work. He whined as Geralt removed his fingers from inside him, but then Geralt was pressing him forward with firm hands behind his thighs, and the way their hard cocks slid together briefly had Jaskier’s head falling forward, a moan wracking through his body. His job was forgotten, momentarily, as Geralt’s cock pressed against his entrance, and Jaskier pressed into it before the hand Geralt had kept on his thigh pressed him back up.

“You have a task, lark,” Geralt said, and Jaskier’s answering whine was breathy and weak.

Geralt didn’t move until Jaskier lifted his hands and returned to washing the soap out of Geralt’s hair. Even then, the pace he set was torturously slow, almost as if he wanted Jaskier to feel every inch, filling him up. And, Gods, wasn’t that a thought that had his breaths punching out of him.

By the time Jaskier was fully seated on Geralt’s cock, Geralt’s hair was clean. Still, he carded his fingers through Geralt’s hair, but now it was appreciative, loving, rather than filled with purpose. He pressed his mouth into Geralt’s shoulder, babbling at him, talking too fast for either one of them to really understand it, but likely some recognition would make its way through his hazy brain hours later.

When Geralt finally started to move, to fuck up into Jaskier, Jaskier was already overwhelmed in the best of ways. He lifted his head to speak into Geralt’s ear, though most of what came out of his mouth was “Geralt” and “please” and “more” and “yes” rather than actual coherent sentences. If Geralt minded, he didn’t say anything, only let his breath warm Jaskier’s shoulder as he sunk his teeth just over the bone.

His climax came to him slowly, and then all at once. Jaskier jumped straight from digging his nails into Geralt’s chest to desperately grabbing at Geralt’s hair just to have something to hold onto. Jaskier lifted his hips and pressed down in tandem with Geralt’s thrusts, taking him deeper each time, until Geralt was fucking hard against that spot inside Jaskier every time. He went from breathy whimpers and soft begging to loud, passionate moans, begging Geralt, though what he was begging for, neither one of them truly knew.

Geralt’s fingers dug into the back of Jaskier’s thigh, helping Jaskier keep the pace, and his free hand tugged on Jaskier’s cock, pulling him once, twice, three times, until Jaskier finished with Geralt’s name on his tongue and Geralt, biting hard enough to leave a bruise, came inside him only a few thrusts later.

Geralt’s hips slowed, but he didn’t stop fucking into Jaskier until Jaskier’s body fell limp against Geralt’s. Jaskier’s fingers threaded their way through Geralt’s hair again, reveling in the soft, silky locks just as much as he was reveling in his witcher.

They didn’t move again until the water had gone cold, and even then, it was only because Jaskier started shivering. Geralt tried to bundle Jaskier up, concern knitting his eyebrows, but Jaskier waved him off, instead toweling off the witcher, much to Geralt’s chagrin. Jaskier would not be fussed over, not now, not when it was so clearly Geralt’s turn. Jaskier didn’t let Geralt bundle Jaskier into his arms until they were warmly tucked into bed, the fire in the hearth letting off a faint light that illuminated Geralt beautifully.

“Lark?” Jaskier questioned, a playful smile at his lips.

Geralt laughed into Jaskier’s neck, his shoulders lifting abashedly. “You wanted a nickname, didn’t you?”

Jaskier hummed, considering this. “Technically, I believe it’s more like a pet name, darling.” Geralt let out a breath and Jaskier held back a laugh. “I love it.”

Geralt pulled away from Jaskier, lifting himself up on one arm and considering Jaskier. “It suits you,” he said, trailing the back of his fingers along Jaskier’s cheekbone. “My lark.”

Jaskier let his eyes flutter closed as Geralt caressed him. “My heart,” he mumbled in return.

And it was only fitting, only fair. Because Jaskier had given Geralt his own a long, long time ago.

[royalcordelia]

i found my voice (in her sweet melodies)

Summary: Christmas with Gilbert has never been traditional, but it always manages to steal Anne’s breath away. (A S3 + Married Shirbert Christmas Story).

This story is for @mariamancini who was one of three winners of my fic giveaway. I do hope you like it, dear!! ♥

***

December 1898.

For once in his life, Gilbert Blythe was blissfully unaware of the winter chill. It might have been the scarf Mary had just finished knitting for him with soft midnight blue yarn, or his father’s old sweater that he was finally beginning to fit into. Each breeze brought faint scents with it - the flowery perfume of Mary’s soap, the lingering essence of his father. 

Yet, Gilbert was only half aware of these comforts as he marched through the snow. Perhaps what really was warming him was the trail of footprints leading from his back door directly to the Green Gables homestead. The small boot tracks, without a doubt, belonged to the youngest member of the Shirley-Cuthbert household. Gilbert’s eyes glazed over as he walked, following the footprints, though his mind was off elsewhere. As it was, he couldn’t help but notice hints of Anne in everything he saw - the white-tipped tree branches, the cardinals on their high perches, the unique stellar shape of each snowflake that flurried before him. 

His thoughts were consumed by her up until the moment he saw her through her window. Anne - as lovely as she ever was, floury apron tied around her waist and her braids tumbling down her back. With movements somehow laced with affection, she kneaded a sugary dough on her kitchen table. Her lips moved in a song Gilbert couldn’t hear until he nudged the side door open. The melody from her lips was her favorite Christmas tune, “The Holly and the Ivy,” but the words were entirely of her making. 

“My footprints fall behind me, across this crystal field. It’s you I’ve come to see, my love. It’s you that brings me here.” Her voice echoed through the peace of the house like a hymn loose in a cathedral. “So come and stand beside me. And hold me in your arms. I long to lay close with you, beside our warm hearthfire.”

Already rosy from his trek through the cold, Gilbert felt his cheeks tingle. How tempting it was to pretend that this kitchen belonged to him and Anne, that the pastries she crafted with her loving hands were for their very own Christmas dinner. Just the two of them. She’s keep singing her song, and he’d heed its lyrics to reap all of its marvelous benefits...

With a shake of his head, Gilbert rapped his knuckles against the door before letting himself in. He’d been subject to too many of Marilla’s “Gilbert Blythe, you know you’re welcome anytime. Please let yourself in!” lectures to wait for Anne to get the door herself. Her head rose from her baking, and the sight of Gilbert made her face split into a grin. 

“Hello Anne,” Gilbert greeted warmly, unwrapping his scarf from his neck so that he could speak. If he’d been looking, he might have seen Anne’s eyes linger on his chin and neck as they became exposed, and if he’d been looking even closer, he might’ve noticed her bite her lip. But instead, he smiled and took a few steps into the room, tracking some melting snow in behind him.

“You look like a mountain man just now returning to society,” she teased, crossing over to him. With a captivating softness, she brushed a flurry of white flakes from his hair. Gilbert’s eyes watched her face with tenderness.  She was so close that he could smell the vanilla on her hands. Seeming to notice the boldness of her action, Anne gave a friendly sweep of her hands across his shoulders and then patted it firmly. “Ah, there’s the Gilbert Blythe I know. Next time wear a hat!” 

“It’s only a short walk across the field,” he argued.

“The field and the orchard,” she corrected.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. 

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” 

Anne moved back to the table and began to roll out her dough until it was as smooth as ice. 

“Do you ever need a reason to visit?” She peeled off a tiny bit of the dough and held it out to him. “Try this.” 

Gilbert smelled the sweetness of the biscuit dough seconds before he tossed it into his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for how divine it tasted. His expression must’ve betrayed his thoughts immediately because Anne smiled in victory and began to press a circle shaped cutter into the dough. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, Anne. What are you baking for?” 

With a gasp, Anne slammed her hand down the table. The various bottles and containers of flavorings and flours rattled at the impact, but thankfully, nothing capsized onto the floor. 

“I nearly forgot! These biscuits were going to accompany me as my persuasive gift when I went to invite you and your family to Christmas dinner. I was going to leave as soon as they were out of the oven so they’d still be hot.” She paused, realizing she’d confessed her surprise plan. “I’d still like to make a formal invitation, if you don’t mind.” 

“I do mind, in fact,” Gilbert countered. Anne dropped her shoulders incredulously. “I’m afraid I’m here to make the same exact formal invitation, only I hope you will still accept even with my lack of baked goods.” 

“Gilbert Blythe, you mean you came here to-” 

“-to invite  you and your parents to Christmas dinner at our house, yes. You were kind enough to invite Bash and I last year. It’s only right that we return the invitation.” 

For a moment, Anne hesitated. She’d had been planning the Christmas dinner decorations for over a week, collecting the necessary stray ribbon and pinecones in her room. Anne felt it was far more comfortable to play hostess to your loved ones than be the guest, however perhaps that was merely her proclivity to hospitality rearing its head. 

But then she remembered the sweet laughter of baby Delphine and the fact that it likely had been many years since Mary had the chance to host a Christmas dinner for a full sized family. 

“Well?” Gilbert asked. Anne crossed her arms across her chest and pursed her lips.

“I tentatively accept on a few conditions,” she stated firmly. Gilbert cocked a brow but nodded for her to continue. “My first is that Matthew and Marilla must agree.”

“That’s a given.” 

“My next is that Mary absolutely let us bring a dish or two.”

“Alri-” Anne cut him off.

“ And I’d like to help Mary cook and decorate,” she concluded. Then remembering her manners, quickly added, “Only if it isn’t an imposition on her. I think it would be so lovely to spend time with her that way, especially since she’ll need an extra pair of hands to cook and take care of Delphine.” 

“You act like Bash and I don’t know how to take care of the baby,” Gilbert bristled, though not genuinely offended. Anne couldn’t help but smile warmly as she slid her tray of sugar cookies into the oven. 

“Oh, I’d never. Between the three of you and my family, that little girl will grow up with more love than she’ll know what to do with.” 

An unreadable expression crossed Anne’s face, but Gilbert noticed it before she could hide it completely. Maybe she was remembering the childhood of another little girl who never knew such an abundance. A sigh slipped through his lips. Things were different for Anne now, but if he could go back and provide all the love she’d been lacking, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Lost in his thoughts, Gilbert did not notice Anne dip her finger into the flour and walk up to him. With a dramatic flourish, she tapped his nose with the powdery substance.

“Do you accept my conditions or not, Mr. Blythe?” she asked playfully. Any hints of her past haunting her were gone now, but the ache in his chest that urged him to merely love her was still overwhelming. Gilbert rubbed his sleeve across his nose and smirked at her.

“I accept your conditions and offer one last offering of my own.” 

Anne nodded, eagerly awaiting whatever he had in store. She was too busy staring into his forest hued eyes that she didn’t flinch when he took a step closer. With the stealth of a storybook hero, Gilbert reached behind her into a small pile of flour and swiped it across her cheek. The white streak made it that much more endearing when she beamed up at him, but her smile turned heavy when his fingers lingered on her skin. For half a second, she felt his fingers move ever-so-slightly against her cheek to hold it, then-

“Why! Gilbert Blythe is here!” 

Anne and Gilbert jolted back a few steps, the latter wiping excess flour onto the sleeve of his coat with heated cheeks. Marilla took no notice of the tension she’d walked into, or if she did, she was kind enough to spare Anne any indication.

“Gilbert invited us to Christmas dinner with his family. Isn’t that positively grand?” Anne said, enthusiasm barely masking her distress. Surprise lit up Marilla’s countenance. 

“That’s awful kind of you, we’d be delighted!” Marilla said. 

“Wonderful! Bash and Mary will be thrilled to hear it,” Gilbert replied. He pulled his scarf from the hook and began to wrap himself back up, as neat as a Christmas package. “I ought to be heading back. I promised Mary I’d collect a few things for her in town so she can get a headstart. Anne, I’ll speak with her about you assisting her with the cooking.” 

Anne’s face was still the same color as her hair, but she nodded with a tight smile. He was halfway out the door when he turned back, sending her a look so intense with adoration that she shivered down to the soles of her feet.

“Until then,” he said softly. Then he was off back into the flurry of Avonlea snowfall, a figure of warmth amongst the blanketed crystal field. 

~*~

December 1907.

Initially, Gilbert thought it might be interesting to see what it was like to have the house entirely to himself, but all he felt was a dull loneliness in the background of his mind. Without work or Anne to distract him, he found himself keenly aware of a thousand oddities he’d never noticed before. There was a spot on his collar that was oddly itchy. A weird stain looked like a shadow of a spider above the kitchen stove. The tiny apron tied around his waist, which he borrowed from his ever-generous wife, constricted him like a snake skin, but was resolved to keep flour off of his pants and waistcoat.

Gilbert peered down at the countertop before him, analyzing the sticky dough he had just mixed together. Anne’s never looked quite like that. Maybe if he kneaded it more, it would take a more familiar shape? Clapping his floury hands together resolutely, a tiny cloud of flour exploded into his face. He coughed, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand and began to fold the dough over on itself. 

That was how Anne found him ten minutes later, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, kneading biscuit dough with all of his manly strength. Under his breath, he sang a song that was too quiet for her to hear. Icing sugar was smeared across his cheek and his forehead, making Anne bite her lip. 

When the door closed behind her, his gaze shot up to hers. In all of her glory, Anne S. C. Blythe stared upon her husband with appreciative eyes, a bundle of firewood in her arms and dirt on the knees of her trousers. The sight of her broad shouldered and confident made Gilbert swallow, but his face was contorted in confliction. 

“Welcome home, my love,” he said, with controlled evenness.

“Thank you, darling,” she replied sweetly, wiping her snowy feet on the doormat. She made no move to rid herself of the logs tucked in her bicep. Gilbert’s brows knit together at the sight. “Charlottetown was positively rife with christmas spirit! Usually those townspeople are so dreadfully-”

Anne paused, noticing the somewhat pained look on her husband’s face. 

“Alright, out with it, Gilbert Blythe,” she ordered. Gilbert set down his dough and tried to look nonchalant, but only succeeded in appearing hesitant. Slowly he began to explain himself. 

“As your doctor, I logically know without a doubt that you are more than capable of lifting a few fire logs without any sort of danger to your health,” he began.

“Uh huh,” Anne drawled, amused. It wasn’t often Gilbert was so bunched up.

“And you know I respect your desire for us to do equal parts of all the work in the house, and return that desire.   I recognize that you specifically asked not to be coddled.” 

“But…?” 

Gilbert’s resolve melted away as he unburdened himself.

“But as your doting husband - who, by the way, loves you more than anything and anyone - it positively kills me to see you doing heavy lifting. What are husbands for if not to wait on you hand and foot so that you don’t need to lift a finger?” he exasperated.

With a patient sigh, Anne dropped the logs next to the stove and came to stand by her husband’s side, arms wrapping comfortably around his neck. Gilbert’s hands immediately cradled the bump on her stomach, rubbing the tiny spot where a growing baby could just barely be noticed. A print of his strong hands was left on the soft fabric of her dress in white flour, sending a chuckle through Anne’s throat. 

“Oh Gilbert Blythe, you have no idea how much I appreciate that you care for me to such extremes,” she murmured, pressing her lips to the spot on his cheek where the icing sugar was smeared. “I’d be lying if I pretended to be completely unaware that my, as you say, heavy lifting would bother you. But I’m just so anxious to get everything ready in time for when our families arrive, that when I saw the logs at the side of the house, I figured I’d knock one more thing off our to-do list.” 

“That’s what I’m here for!” Gilbert argued gently. “I’m baking your favorite cookies from Mary’s recipe, I cut down that tree you said you liked, set it up in the living room, and brought down the candles and ornaments. I’ve even started decorating the house.” 

With a hand running through his hair, Anne scanned over the house. Gilbert’s heart lifted in relief when an impressed smile filled her face. There were candelabras in the windows with sprigs of winter flowers underneath them and a garland of pine was placed on the mantle. Gilbert had channeled Anne’s artistic soul as he adorned it with pinecones, ribbon, and holly. 

“I left the table centerpiece and the wreath untouched so you could decorate them. I know how you love it so,” he explained. “I thought we could do the tree together, just like last year.” 

Anne held his face lovingly, nuzzling his nose with with hers before planting a soft kiss on his lips. The second she pulled back, something caught her eye. Above the fireplace,  Gilbert had hung not two, but three stockings - two adult sized, and one tiny one. Stepping away, she neared the stocking with a growing lump in her throat. With the stocking completely in sight, she noticed one word embroidered across the red fabric with an unskilled hand: Jem. 

“Gilbert…” she muttered with a bittersweet heart. “You don’t even know if the baby will be a boy, yet.” 

Anne relaxed when she felt her husband’s strong arms wrap around her waist, his  lips in her hair. 

“That’s why I put Jem instead of James. Even if the baby is a girl, she’ll still be our little gem. Joyce’s stocking is on the tree, up near the star.” 

Anne’s throat was too thick to say anything. She held Gilbert’s arms close to her and leaned her head back on his chest. It would be her first Christmas since she’d lost her first baby, but her and Gilbert had decided it wasn’t going to be a sad time. They’d make sure it was bright, peaceful, hopeful. That was why had invited the Lacroixs and the Cuthberts to their home this Christmas - to bring family near, to prove that they were alright. 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Anne said quietly, spinning in his arms until there was hardly any room between their lips. “Since you’ve respected my wishes, I’ll respect yours and resolve to be slightly more relaxed.”  

Gilbert pressed his lips to the spot underneath her ear that made her shiver, and nodded against her skin. When he pulled back, he glanced at the clock. 

“Our families will be here in a few hours. Will you please help me salvage the gingerbread cookies? I fear I missed a step.”  

With a burst of laughter, Anne caressed Gilbert’s cheek. How wonderfully dependable he was, this husband of hers. She couldn’t remember what Christmas looked like without him by her side, and cherished the future of many, many more holidays spent together. In a few hours, they’d reveal the impending arrival of their family’s newest addition, but for now, Anne was quite content to bake biscuits with the man she loved and smear icing sugar along his lips for her to kiss. 

[trash-muse]

Ask Meme: What Would You Know About Love?

WHO: John Constantine, Zatanna and Asmodel @dark-musngs - with special guests Adam Constantine and Lyla Rose WHAT: Ask Meme - [forehead touch] your muse rests their forehead against my muse’s WHERE: Various places WHEN: Various WARNINGS: None. Trying something a little different - with time jumps.

2040 - Star City

“What would you know about love, Constantine?”

The bar was full of rowdy patrons, all drinking their fill and creating a constant hum of noise so loud that one could barely hear themselves think. But Adam Constantine heard the woman sitting across from him just fine. She eyeballed him impatiently, lips pursed ready to demand an answer.

Lyla Rose was one of Adam’s nearest and dearest friends. She was also quite possibly the bane of his existence. Well, maybe her and his boyfriend were tied for that title. Sorry... ex-boyfriend.

Every time Adam thought things would finally work out, his ex would find some other reason why they couldn’t be together. However, like fools they would fall back into one another again. It was like they were stuck on the old carousel horses. Up, down. Round and round.

But then, it was like his Dad said...

“Love is complicated.”

2020 - Central City

The morning sun streamed through the point where the curtains met, sending a warm beam of light across the bed. Adam stirred, shifting and freeing a hand to try and rub the offending light out of his eyes. It took a few moments, but after opening his bright blue eyes, Adam realised it was morning.

Hopping out of bed, Adam shuffled over to his bedroom door, yawning as he opened it and exited out into the hallway. He could hear voices in the kitchen - the accented baritone of his Daddy’s voice and the slightly lower octave of Azzie’s were easily recognisable. They sounded soft as they chatted away, making breakfast, and Adam knew they hadn’t realised he was awake yet.

He didn’t know what made him stop and watch them for a moment. Why he didn’t just join them with a good morning hug. But with head tilted slightly, Adam paused at the end of the hallway and just watched the private moment between John and Azzie.

“... Zatanna would have stayed if you asked her to.” Azzie seemed to continue an earlier conversation as he brought three plates over to the stove. His Daddy was making bacon and eggs. Adam could smell the delicious smell filling the apartment.

“She has her own place, Az.” John replied, using the spatula to turn the food. He was such a good cook, especially breakfast foods. “And they’ve fixed it up real nice too after what happened. Don’t blame her for going back. It makes this place look utter rubbish.”

“John...” Azzie sounded like he didn’t agree. He put the plates down and moved closer to John, hugging him from behind and resting a chin on his shoulder. Adam had seen them cuddle like that a number of times. He liked to imagine that is wasn’t just Azzie’s arms wrapping around his Daddy but his wings too. Of course, Azzie didn’t have wings in that moment. But if they were there, Adam was sure his imagination was right.

His dad put down the spatula and turned toward Azzie, which Azzie responded to with dropping his head forward and resting his forehead against John’s. It was a tender moment Adam thought nothing of at the time but would later no doubt recall the love between them.

“You love her.” Azzie so low that if Adam hadn’t of crept closer he wouldn’t have been able to hear it.

John sighed and didn’t deny it. But he didn’t exactly admit it either. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?” Azzie didn’t sound like he was going to be convinced. A bit like the time Adam tried to lie and say he had brushed his teeth and he hadn’t. Azzie was very good at picking up on lies.

“Because love is complicated.”

“It’s not with us.” Azzie moved closer still, hands moving over John’s back. In turn, John hooked his arms over Azzie’s shoulders and the food sizzled away in the silent pauses.

“Not now. Hasn’t always been this easy.” His Daddy must have smiled because Azzie smiled back. They kissed gently and hugged tighter, not a gap between them. “Besides, Z doesn’t feel the same.” John jumped back to talking about Zatanna. Adam loved her too and wished she had stayed, but he guessed she wanted to go home. He was allow to visit but it wasn’t the same. “There’s too much that’s happened.”

“What happened?” Adam piped up before he could stop himself. Seeing no point in remaining hidden, he moved out into the kitchen, casting a curious looking in his dad’s direction.

Two sets of eyes shot toward him but Azzie was quicker to recover. “Don’t worry about it, kid.” He said, peeling away from his dad and coming over and picking him up. Adam giggled, he always loved being scooped up and hugged by Azzie. Maybe that’s why his Daddy loved him. Azzie gave the best hugs.

2040 - Star City

“Love is complicated. Love hurts. Blah, blah, you’ve said this all before, Constantine. Still doesn’t explain why you’re holding out for a bloke that won’t commit. That won’t share all his secrets until they show up and punch you in the gut.” Lyla wasn’t giving up and certainly wasn’t taking his answer without further explanation. Adam knew a certain white clad canary that had treated his dad with that same brash demand for less bullshit and more answers.

Adam rubbed a spot just below his ribs, right where his ex’s secret little half sister had punched him and winded him before he could ask her what she was doing in his apartment. His ex’s apartment. Adam didn’t blame her for the reaction. She had thought she was coming to an empty safe house. Adam thought he was surprising his boyfriend by coming home early. It was all a misunderstanding. Still it hurt that his ex had kept a secret sister and hid his involvement in the Canaries movement from him.

But, despite the hurt and the lies, Adam loved him. There would never be a moment he wouldn’t love him. The secrets hurt but Adam understood the reason for them. It was for protection. Still didn’t stop the words he lashed out with in anger. Didn’t stop him from walking out and seeking his best friend to go drown his stupidity and sorrows at the pub.

Maybe it was like what his Mum said...

“Love is forgiveness.”

2021 - Central City

The Van Geld Opera House in Central City wasn’t just host to the opera but a many number of stage performances. It was here the great magician, Zatanna Zatara, wooed her audiences with dazzling illusions and mesmerizing tricks. All eyes were captivated by her performance but none more so than the little blonde boy waiting in the wings.

As the red velvet curtains dropped and the crowd cheered, Zatanna rose from her bow and smiled at the little boy, giving him a wink that sent him scampering off backstage with a giggle. She waved off any stage hands and assistants that approached her with polite gratitude, and followed the sounds of childlike joy back to her dressing room.

“If I had known you wanted to bring Adam to see a show, I would have given you tickets.” Zatanna half scolded the man lounging on the dressing room sofa.

John took the mild chastisement with a smirk and a shrug, not put off that he might have been in trouble. “It was a last minute decision, love. You were all sold out.” He replied, watching Zatanna as she made her way to the vanity and placed her hat on the table.

“Mumma, are you mad?” Adam turned his bright blue eyes toward her, looking like he was ready to apologise for doing something wrong.

Zatanna laughed and shook her head, taking the few short steps back across the room to Adam and crouching to his level. “No, my little one, I could never be mad at you.” She offered a hug which Adam accepted eagerly. He really was a mumma’s boy. “I was just surprised by your visit, that’s all.” She rested her forehead against Adam’s, like she was sharing a secret with him. “Even if I was mad, I’d forgive you. Because love is forgiveness. And I love you so much.”

Adam giggled at the extra squeeze in the hug he was given, completely unaware of the look exchanged between his parents. The one that knew that message of forgiveness ran so much deeper. That if they hadn’t sorted out the complicated between them and forgiven their mistakes - mostly John’s mistakes, but who’s keeping score - then this family moment wouldn’t exist.

John watched the pair with unrestrained love in his eyes. Those before him plus the angel waiting for them back home - it was the family he had been missing and secretly craving all his life. “Besides, you still got a good view of Z pulling a rabbit out of a hat, right kid?” He asked with a chuckle.

“No Daddy!” Adam spoke up, excited once more and speaking a hundred mile a minute. “It was elephants. They were floating then PFFFT... they disappeared.”

“Wow, elephants, really?” John asked his son with the slightly false amazement a parent takes on to share in their wonder.

“Alright, boys. Home time.” Zatanna interrupted before the pair would go off on another tangent. She loved seeing their interactions - fatherhood really suited John - but she didn’t think they’d want to spend all night chatting. It was after Adam’s bedtime, after all.

2040 - Star City

“Love is forgiveness?” There was the ever present scoff in that question. The one that said Lyla thought he was off his rocker. “So what? He lied to you and you’re just going to forgive him?”

“I hope so.” A new voice approached the table.

“Will.” Adam looked up, noting the fact his ex looked more insecure and awkward in that moment then he had ever been in Adam’s presence. And Adam had bared witness to his poor attempts at flirting.

William Clayton stood rocking onto his toes with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, looking extremely out of place and uncomfortable in the seedy bar. “Can we talk? ... In private.”

Adam nodded and rose from his seat, leading Will outside and into the side alley. They stood there, watching each other for a few moments before suddenly both speaking at the same time.

“I shouldn’t have gone off at you like that.”

“I should have told you from the start.”

Both men chuckled before Adam made a gesture for Will to say his bit first. Will nodded in thanks, wanting to get what he had to say off his chest.

“Adam, I should have told you from the start.” Will repeated, sounding utterly sorry. “I only just found out about Mia recently and thought it was safer to keep as many people in the dark about her as possible. I should have told you about her. I should have told her about you. I just... I was scared. I’ve already lost my family once. I didn’t want to lose it again.” He paused with a sigh, still standing out of arm’s reach. “But all I’ve managed to do is tear it apart anyway."

Adam looked at Will with a somewhat dumbfounded expression. Will, in his roundabout way had just admitted he thought they were family. That level of commitment was light years beyond what Will had expressed before. Maybe Mia had knocked some sense into him as well.

“I really hope you meant what you said about love being forgiveness.” Will continued, finally stepping closer and taking his hand out of his pockets. He reached out, hesitating to take hold of Adam’s hand. “I forgive you. And I love you so much.”

Adam drew in a long breath, unaware he was holding it until he heard those words. It was the first time Will admitted that he loved him. “I forgive you. And I love you too, Will.“ Adam replied, closing the gap between them and pulling Will into a kiss. “Love is complicated. But, I think we can work it out together.”

[harrystuff]

Alive - Harry Styles AU

In which Harry has it all in life but he can’t find a meaning for life.

Warnings: slight use of drugs and alcohol.

///

Harry has no reason to complain, he honestly thought so himself. He got a beautiful and supportive girlfriend, group of good and close friends, successful parents and without being too narcissistic he was quite sure he looked better than the average twenty year old, but still somehow something was missing in his life.

For a while he couldn’t put his finger on it, he kept searching for a meaning, for a purpose to wake up in the morning, and he felt like such an ungrateful son of a bitch for not being satisfied with what he’s got.

Well he wouldn’t exactly describe it as ungrateful, because he is feeling blessed every morning to wake up to this world he got and to the people that surrounds him, but Harry doesn’t settle for feeling blessed, he wishes to feel alive.

Y/N was pretty much the opposite from Harry but at the same time all alike him, maybe that’s why Harry liked her so much.

She didn’t got it all figured out, she never were in a serious relationship so the concept of love to her is only something she loves to read about, she only got two friends which one of them is Harry so she doesn’t really know if that counts, and her parents are supporting but quite disappointed at what they and her brother like to call “the edgy-trying to find my place in the world act”, but Y/N wasn’t acting, she just truly tries to understand the meaning of life for her.

It was only days ago she and Harry were sitting at the balcony of his old fashioned London flat and talking about those deep thoughts while sharing a bottle of red wine,

“I don’t want to sound like an ass, but I feel like I’m bigger than this shit” Harry spoke truthfully, Y/N was the only person who he felt safe enough to talk like this, she was his blanket, hugging him every time he felt cold and he really wished he could carry her anywhere.

“Always had a feeling you’re big H but it’s inappropriate” Y/N said with a smirk on her face locking eyes with Harry and he immediately laughed at her stupid mind,

“Oh so you’ve thought about my size before huh?” Harry really wanted to keep it serious but he couldn’t do so and flashed Y/N with his captivating dimples.

“But now seriously, I’m learning Econ because my parents insisted so damn much that one day I will be the CEO of my dad’s company but that’s not me Y/N, I want to travel the world, I want to see art, I want to explore” Harry talked with passion in his eyes, only Y/N knew this stuff about him and she is the only one who notices the shine in his eyes when he does or talks about something he truly loves, that made her feel special to him. and the thought of Y/N being special to Harry made her feel all warm inside,despite the fact that they were sitting on a balcony on a London’s cold autumn night.

“You should wake up in the morning and feel alive, and if Econ doesn’t make you feel alive, then fuck Econ” Y/N said so simply, Harry almost believed her that it was that easy to her, but then he remembered that Y/N didn’t got that figured out herself as well, and instead of feeling comforted by that he felt kind of sad, turns out he just really wanted Y/N to feel alive herself.

It was three days ago, maybe two, Harry can’t quite tell, his mind been working nonstop ever since.

He tries to look back, he honestly tries to figure out the moments that made him feel most alive and that made him remember the first day he met Y/N.

Y/N wasn’t sure what she saw was real, I mean she must be delusional right?

The notorious Harry Styles sitting in the university library reading “The Great Gatsby”, that can’t be true.

So Y/N decided to approach him, moving her feet against the dark wooden floor slowly until she reaches to the corner of his desk.

“Yes?” Harry raised his head from the book he got lost in, pretty annoyed that someone interrupted him.

Y/N realized she probably looked stupid standing there and staring at him.

“Are you reading “The Great Gatsby” ?” She asked and felt even dumber after that, of course he does it’s says so on the cover!, she thought to herself.

“Reading this for the hundredth time probably” Harry muttered to the girl he doesn’t know, and with that Y/N gives herself an invitation, so she sat on the wooden chair, hearing it squeak against the wooden floor and stars rambling.

“Well Harry Styles you and I have more in common then i thought” she started talking but Harry cuts her, not understanding who is this odd, random girl who suddenly started talking to him,

“Who are you?” Y/N saw Harry’s eyebrows lifting up and his whole face changed an expression from how confused he has been, and again she felt silly,

“Oh sorry, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m a literature major”

They talked for hours, about one book and the other, and suddenly Harry caught himself opening up to this girl he just met at the library. Sharing his dreams, passions , hopes and disappointments. Y/N was everything he wished to be, she was free while he was locked down, but he was kind of sure she was the key to his prison.

“I’m starving let’s get something to eat” Y/N moaned while she felt her stomach becoming one with her back, and Harry was craving something to eat as well so he really couldn’t say no.

As soon as they opened the door to the small delicatessen, the wonderful smell reached their noses, it was so good their mouths were starting to water.

A sound of moan was leaving Y/N’s mouth once again.

“I swear to god I can eat this whole place”, Y/N said and Harry laughs at her words.

“choose whatever you like love” Y/N’s body felt warm with the pet name Harry gave her she could definitely get used to it, but for now she was ready to eat all of the delicious pastries in front of her. In the meanwhile Harry looked at Y/N’s face and smiled at her sight, she looked like a little girl at a candy shop and he adores it.

“Allow me to pay” he said as they reached the cashier, “oh you’re so formal Mr. Styles” Y/N says with a little bit of flirtation, she already likes messing with him.

“C’mon I’m serious” he smiled at her, the name Mr. styles sounded nice coming out of her lips.

“Didn’t you understand already that I hate all these social norms” Harry knew that, even after knowing her for a few hours, but it wasn’t like that, he just truly thought he owned her for sharing with him her beautiful soul.

Y/N was determined so eventually Harry gave up and let her pay her half.

Y/N convinced him to take their ‘lunch’ to the park, she told him that it would be so nice to eat on the grass with the fresh air, but she soon learned she was wrong.

It wasn’t a day to go to the park and Harry knew that, but Y/N was so insistent and at this point Harry realized that he can’t say no to her.

The sky were gray and clouds were everywhere,

“Y/N I think it’s going to rain” Harry told her while they lied on the grass after they finished eating,

“Stop worrying it will be fine” she said peacefully and continued to talk to him about every little thing that pops in her mind.

Harry thinks Y/N has the most amazing mind a person could probably have, she thought about everything so deeply, she expressed humans feelings and desires in the most beautiful way possible, she excepted people who were different from her even if she couldn’t understand them. To Harry Y/N was an angel in the shape of a human.

Small drops of rain cut Y/N’s and Harry’s thoughts,

“Okay you might be right” Y/N sat and laughed a bit while Harry told her “you think so?”. And before they know it the small drops went to a fully hard rain that got them running for a shelter without any umbrellas.

Harry will never forget this day, when he met Y/N he felt so complete.

He wasn’t certain what was it about Y/N that made him feel this way, but he adored her for it.

The memories of their moments won’t stop, since Harry now remembering a funny day the two of them had.

Once again they were sitting on Harry’s balcony, it was probably their favorite place.

Y/N was passing Harry the joint she just smoked from, and Harry gladly took it from her delicate fingers.

He inhaled the weeds mixed with tobacco, feeling it fills his lungs, and exhale the smoke.

“It’s nice, smoking with you” Y/N looked at Harry with a smile on her face. She truly loved seeing him like this, all she ever wished was for him to be relaxed and free, and on a rare occasions like this one, he might actually be calm.

“Why’s that?” Harry’s face turns to her, returning a smile back to her face.

“It’s just nice seeing you free, I wish you could be like that all the time” Harry glanced at the way Y/N looked at him and he noticed something in her eyes. He decided to ignore that, she just cares for him since he’s her friend, there is no need to make this a big of a deal.

“Well I really wish that too, but I guess I only feel this free with you” Harry truly meant this, and he knew Y/N wouldn’t judge him for saying that, she understood him deeper than he understands himself. But when he started to hear Y/N’s lovely laugh, his heart almost fell to his pants.

“What are you laughing at?” He looks at her with frightened look, terrified from her answer.

“It sounds like a rhyme” Y/N says while laughing and Harry’s heart went back to beating normal. As much as normal as it could be around Y/N.

After they finished their smoke Y/N insisted on shopping, but Harry really didn’t thought it was a good idea.

“Y/N we’re stoned” Harry looked at her while laughing, he really couldn’t help himself, she was giving him the pappy eyes.

“C’monnnn” Y/N dragged the ‘n’ laughing along with Harry, ״it will be so much fun H”

Y/N looks at him like a little girl who hates not getting what she wants, and in fact she probably was.

Before he knew it Harry was with Y/N in Some vintage store trying funny hats and getting nasty glances from people, but he didn’t mind it, because he was with Y/N laughing like there is no tomorrow, and he couldn’t be happier.

“You have to get this!” Y/N jumped laughing at the sight in front of her, Harry was wearing a fur Russian hat and Y/N looked like at him this is the most amusing thing she ever saw.

“I’ll buy this for you on Christmas” he smirked at her silly face, but then a buzz on his pocket interrupted him and he is pulled out his phone from his pocket to be received with the name of his girlfriend on his lock screen.

“Hey” Harry answered the call, part of him was disappointed that she interrupted his time with Y/N, but he couldn’t feel this way it’s not how it’s supposed to be.

“Baby where are you? We need to go to Nicole’s birthday, don’t tell me you forgot” he heard the voice of his lovely girlfriend but still thinking it’s not as lovely as Y/N’s.

What was wrong with him?

He was having such a great time with Y/N he forgot about making plans with his girlfriend, that makes him feel like an asshole, especially because he would rather stay with Y/N than being with his girlfriend right now.

“I’m on my way” he tells her and ends the call.

//

It was a week later that Harry kissed Y/N.

He couldn’t explain the desire that burned inside of him. He never felt that way before, he felt wild and free along with lost and pathetic.

Y/N’s lips felt like reading a new book, exciting yet familiar.

In the few moments he had before she pushed him from her body he exploded as much as he could. With his tongue he tasted the bitterness from the beer she just drank, and even like that she was sweeter than anything he ever known.

With his hands he learned the angles of her body, he learned her shape and he wished he could dedicate his entire life to study her.

She was everything and nothing to him all along.

Y/N would lie if she told herself she didn’t enjoy from this moment.

Harry’s lips on her felt like just another one of her daydreams. She could feel he waited for this moment, he was burning with passion for her that could’ve came out roughly but he made sure it was gentle enough so she could notice his feelings while their lips moved.

As much as she like to continue this pleasure she knew better than that, and so does Harry he just was intoxicated with her lips so he didn’t realized.

“H” Y/N mumbled through the kiss, pushing Harry from her own figure so she could look into his eyes.

“You have a girlfriend”

Harry didn’t expect that this will be the words that will come out from Y/N’s mouth. If anything he expected her to tell him this is weird, wrong, that he is her best friend and she never looked at him this way.

So you can only imagine his surprise when he found out that Y/N wasn’t concerned about the fact that his lips were on hers, he dared to think she might even like it and that thought sent Harry to the moon.

Harry knew it was wrong kissing her while he has a girlfriend, but it is the more real and right thing he ever felt his his life, and as much as the guilt knocks on his door, the passion won’t let it in.

“I’ll worry about it’s tomorrow, tonight I just want to feel alive”

And with these words Harry lips were once again on Y/N’s, only this time she didn’t push him away.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Nightmares (Nate/Danny)

I ended up having a sick day from work today, so I had time to write up the second of these... after this I’m going to need some time before the next! But it’s coming, I promise!

For @badthingshappenbingo​, @my-whumpy-little-heart​ requested: For BTHB, could you do nightmares with Danny and/or Nate? It would be interesting if they were still with Abraham, but you can do whatever you want with the prompt. Thank you :) 

That ended up being… a hell of a prompt. I actually got a second request for nightmares with Ryan, so I’m going to do that one twice! It will get a second sticker. (Chronology: within the first year of captivity, but I’m not sure exactly where in that timeline)

Requested: blood stain Completed: puppy sticker

Tagging: @bleeding-demon-teeth​, @spiffythespook​, @special-spicy-chicken​

CW: Implied/referenced/pretty obviously noncon, noncon touching, noncon kissing, referenced evidence of violence/torture. NSFW implications, although nothing outright, as always. As always, keep in mind that Abraham Denner is a bad, bad man. Well, not man… he’s a bad something.

“Psssst. Wake up.”

Nate’s used to this, so when he feels the fingertips, cold as ice, against his forehead, softly brushing the black hair back and away, he doesn’t even tense up. He floats back to wakefulness slowly, trying to cling on to the dream he’d been having. 

It had been a warm and hazy thing, one of those bizarre dreams that means nothing but neurons firing at random inside the brain, the dreams he liked because they were so much better than all the ones about the living hell he’d never been able to fully escape.

He’d been dreaming about the doorbell ringing. The cabin doesn’t have a doorbell, but it doesn’t really matter, it rang anyway. Bram sent him to answer it, and when he opened the door he discovered fifteen cats in a trench coat and black film noir detective’s hat waiting when it opened. 

Can I help you? He’d asked, baffled not so much by the sight of fifteen cats in a trench coat or even that they had somehow managed to find them this deep into the woods, but mostly by the fact that they were coming by so late at night.

Fifteen pairs of night-reflective eyes had turned to look at him all at once, and he’d heard Danny behind him shout, let them in, Nate, let them in!

He’d stepped back and opened the door wider, gesturing inside in that foggy ghost way you sometimes do things in dreams. As soon as he did, they simply collapsed back down into cats, leaving the trenchcoat and hat in a cartoon puddle on the doorstep and racing through the cabin.

They climbed onto the fireplace, knocked books off the shelves, meowed happily and loudly, scratched up Bram’s couch and pulled threads from the woven-rag rug.

A brightly-colored calico, vibrant with red and brown and black and white, settled herself into Danny’s lap where he sat on the floor looking around at the chaos with delight. Do you think the cats could save us? Danny asked him, smiling, as the whip-skinny calico had put her paws on his shoulder, licked a rough tongue up the side of Danny’s face, batted at his hair. Do the cats know the way out?

Nate had jumped when he realized one of them had climbed straight up him and settled around his shoulders without him realizing, a black cat with cold blue eyes that swiped gently at his hair. Baby, wake up, you have to see this, the black cat purred, rough in his ear, in Bram’s sleep-slurred, loving voice.

“Nate. Wake up, sweetheart.” The voice is low, and soft, a breath of cold air against his ear, and he shivers a little, pleasantly, at the feeling. 

“Mmmmn, is Ashley up already?” He asks, and he doesn’t know why - she’s dead, she’s been dead for a year now at least, why is he asking that? But for a half-second, with Bram’s voice in his ear, he forgets.

There’s a hesitation, and then Bram says softly, sadly, “Not yet. That takes time. But look, Nate, look at him.”

He opens his eyes... and looks right into Danny’s face, baffled for a second before he remembers that Danny had slept in the bed last night.

Danny had cooked Bram’s favorite dinner without being asked, had remembered all the rules all day without even one slipup, had made their drinks with dinner perfectly and faster than ever before, served their food and waited to be given permission to get his own, waited for Bram to tell him if he could use fork and spoon to eat with without having to be reminded.

He’d even dropped to the floor to eat sitting right next to Bram’s chair like he wanted him to, with Bram’s hand petting through his hair, Danny’s eyes on the ground and the red flush of humiliation in his face. 

He’s been so good today, baby, and the King always says you have to include positive reinforcement, too. Do you not think he’s earned some positive reinforcement? 

Th-that’s not what I m-m-meant-

No, that’s definitely what you’re saying, that you think he shouldn’t be given good things when he’s good, Nate. That seems mean, don’t you think? Cruel to make me hurt him when he’s been so good.

I’m n-not telling y-y-you to hurt him, I’m s-s-saying leave him al, alone!

No, our pups has two choices tonight: get his reward or I’ll open all the wounds from last time up on his back again. I’ll let you choose.

Bram, pl-please-

I said choose, baby.

… the r-reward.

While Nate doesn’t particularly want to think about last night ever the fuck again (and neither, he is certain, does Danny), he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret seeing Danny actually warm for once, this morning.

He’s curled up in the center of the bed under the layers of heavy blankets, rather than the thin and threadbare things he’s normally allowed on his little mat in the living room. If it hadn’t been for the wrists bound together above his head, nearly palm-to-palm, and tied hard to the headboard, he might have even looked comfortable.

Bram had been on the other side of Danny when they fell asleep but that side of the bed was empty, now. Instead, Bram was behind him - the cold at his back where he leaned over from where he stood, fingers curled just slightly to shift back his hair, gentle and loving. Nate felt himself split like he always did into two people - the version of him that wanted to snarl and push the hand away, and the version of him that wanted to melt into the touch.

He settled for somewhere in the middle and just whispered, without really moving at all, “Is it m-morning already, Bram?”

Sometimes he stammers less when he first wakes up, when his voice is still mostly the voice from his dreams, where he never stammers at all. His dreams never seemed to catch up with whatever had happened to the connection between his brain and his mouth.

“No, baby, it’s like four.. But look at Red.” Bram’s fingers slide down, slide along his cheekbone to his jaw, take hold of his chin, tilting it up a little bit. Nate can feel the bed shift, as Bram leans his weight on it by one knee, the pressure of it along his back. 

“B-Bram, I-”

“I said look. Our little puppy is dreaming.”

Nate blinks the last of the sleep from his eyes, the final hints of the cabin full of cats, the calico climbing up on Danny’s shoulder to look at him with the same bright hopefulness Danny wore, sometimes, before the darkness took it over again. 

Bram settles down behind him, his cold breath on the back of Nate’s neck as the two of them look over at Danny.

Nate hadn’t really noticed it at first - he’d still been too lost in trying to find his way to consciousness, honestly - but Danny’s eyebrows are furrowed together beneath the healing bruise on the side of his forehead, and his already-rubbed-raw wrists jerk a little at the ropes, fingers twitching like he’s trying to grab at something. Nate watches his mouth moving, breaths of air that weren’t quite sentences escaping in occasional snatches of words Nate can almost, almost hear if he listens hard enough, the healing cut on his lip.

The red marks around his neck from the last round of barbed-wire are nearly faded completely, but underneath the thin sleep shirt Nate knows there are more bruises, more cuts. Danny’s back is still bandaged from the drinks incident, and Nate couldn’t forget the way he’d screamed when Bram punished him for that moment of rebellion, couldn’t ever forget the look on his face.

The top part of the bandage, the adhesive holding the giant swaths of gauze over it, is sticking up out of the neck of his shirt, nearly up to his hairline. 

Danny whimpers, softly, in his sleep, and Nate winces at the sound. It’s too much like the dog Bram keeps insisting he is now.

“I think he’s having a nightmare,” Bram breathes with unabashed delight into Nate’s ear, rubbing at his shoulder with one hand in excitement. “Like a midnight snack to feel all that coming off of him. I wish you were already like us, so you could feel this, this is so… does anyone still say ‘jacked’? Or is that out of style now?”

“H-how would I know?” Nate mutters. “I didn’t know what people said before all of this.”

“I guess you wouldn’t. Still... I wish I could read thoughts, I’d love to know what he’s seeing in that head of his…”

“I al-always kind of th-th-thought you c-could read minds,” Nate whispers back, keeping himself still and relaxed under Bram’s touch, refusing to react one way or the other to the hand that runs back down his arm and curves over one hip through the blankets, rests there, like a block of ice that won’t melt holding his body down. 

Danny’s little breaths are faster, now, his eyes moving rapidly under his closed eyelids, Nate struck again by the odd copper-bright eyelashes he’d never really seen on anyone else before, how pretty they are. He jerks a little harder at the ropes, whispers something, and Nate feels Bram leaning even closer from behind him, sees the sweep of white-blonde hair from the corner of his eyes.

If he doesn’t look, doesn’t see the cold ice-blue, he won’t fall in, and he can hold onto the hatred that he feels, hold on to wishing he was somewhere else. Hold on to his sense that someday, someway, he is going to get himself and Danny out of this.

I got myself out once, I can do it again.

Can’t I?

“No, baby, I can’t get into anyone’s head unless I do it the old-fashioned way, like I got into yours.” Bram’s fingers dance up the side of Nate’s head, over his ear, ‘walking’ over his hair, and Nate grinds his teeth together and keeps his eyes firmly fixed forward.

“St-... stop,” Danny whispers in his sleep. Bram chuckles behind Nate and he’s trapped - he’s stuck between Bram’s happiness and Danny’s unconscious misery and he can’t get out of this moment. All he can do is lay still, wait for Bram to move, wait to see if Danny wakes himself up. “D-don’t, st… b’good… be…”

“Oh, he’s dreaming about me, fuck yes.” Nate can hear the smile in Bram’s voice as he presses an excited kiss to the back of Nate’s neck, then pushes himself back up to get a better look. “I love when they dream about me.”

“Wh-who’s ‘they’?” Nate blinks, twisting back to look up at him without thinking. Bram looks back down and their eyes meet. Nate smiles, a little, at the man he loves and hates and cannot resist, and Bram smiles back.

“All of them,” Bram answers, as though that says all he needs to say. “All my boys.” 

How many boys are there inside your head? Nate wants to ask. How many people like us have you destroyed? Also, do you actually understand that I am a grown man? 

Somewhere in him, there is still a man who can think, I wish someone would bury a knife if your goddamn heart and I wish it could be me.

Stronger than that man, though, is the one who thinks, I love you.

“Stop… st, stop, ‘braham, I c’n, I’ll be good, want to be good, I… pl-... I, I don’t... stop… stop!” Danny’s whole body shudders all at once and his eyes fly open, wide open without quite being fully awake, unseeing. He pulls hard at the ropes and hisses in pain as they only tighten even more, dig in deeper. Nate sees the first smear of red just below one of his palms. “Oh god, I just, I… where-...” 

“What did I do to you, Red?” Bram asks, in a low voice nearly thick with an awful happiness. He looks like wolves covered in blood on nature shows, licking their chops after eating a kill. 

Danny looks slowly up where Bram looms over he and Nate, Danny’s warm blue eyes dark with Bram’s shadow as he tries to shrink back, stopped by the ropes, kept right where he is in the center of the bed. “I… I don’t… Abraham? N-Nate, why am I…”

“Don’t you remember yesterday, little Red? You were so good for me and we gave you your reward?”

Danny swallows, hard, and then slowly nods, his fingers wrapping around the ropes like he can find some comfort in holding onto them. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I remember… I remember now.” His face turns bright red, nearly fading the scars out completely, all the way red to the end of his nose with embarrassment, with shame. “Ah, um… thank you for my re-reward-” His voice cracks a little on the word, barely forcing it out, and Nate has to keep his eyes open until they burn to avoid seeing behind his eyelids what Danny’s reward had been. “-and letting me sleep, Abraham… I’m s-sorry, I woke up, I woke you up… I’m sorry, can I go back to my mat now?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Bram laughs, sliding back and off the bed, giving Nate a few precious seconds of space and the ability to breathe and warm air at his back, before he gets back in on the other side, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, looking avidly down at Danny like a child on the library floor at storytime. “Oh, no no no no. Nate, baby, go make us some coffee.”

Danny gives Nate a pleading please don’t leave me here look, then turns back to Bram, searching his face for any sign of gentleness, finding none - just that terrible good cheer. “Coffee’s my j-job, if you just, if you just untie me, I can go make, um, make the coffee, Bram-”

“No, puppy. Nate will make the coffee today. Do what you’re told, baby, I gave you an order.”

“Y-Yes, Bram,” Nate says, standing up himself, guilty as he all but flees the room with Danny’s eyes burning into his back… but not guilty enough to go back in before the coffee’s good and ready.

Yesterday he found something in the back of the closet and had an idea, but he doesn’t have enough courage yet to use it, and he doesn’t know how much time there is left before Bram is done with Danny, before he wants to find someone new to break. 

He can’t kill him. I can’t lose him, I can’t lose Danny, I can’t. 

Do you want to save him, Nate, or do you just want to have him instead?

Does it matter which, if I would never ever hurt him?

As he steps into the living room and heads for the kitchen, he hears Bram’s voice behind him, the slippery-smooth snake charmer voice, soft and vaguely hypnotic.

“I want you to tell me all about that dream you were just having… because I want to make sure we recreate it in the most excruciatingly accurate detail. If you don’t tell me, then I’ll just have to come up with something fun to do to you all on my own, hm?”

Nate hears the rattle of Danny’s ankle chain as he tries to move again. “I don’t, um, I don’t want to…”

“Since when have I given a single flying fuck about what you wanted, puppy? I told you to tell me about your dream. If you won’t - or if you try to lie, you know I can always tell when you’re lying - we’ll just have to see if maybe some time down in the dark will help convince you.”

“N-no! No, I don’t need, um, I don’t need the cellar. I swear I don’t. I’ll be good, I’ll try harder, Abraham, I want to be good for you!”

“Then prove it.”

“Just, um. Give me a sec. Will you - will you please untie my hands, then I can, I can tell you…”

There’s a silence as Nate pulls down the coffee beans and the little electric grinder Danny asked Bram to pick up on his last supply run (whole bean coffee is, um, it’s better, Abraham, this would let me make better coffee for, for you - can I please make better coffee for you, Abraham? please?) , the pressure like the air just before a storm.

“... you’ve got a deal, little Red.” There’s a pause, far longer than the time needed simply to untie the knots, long enough that Nate feels bile rising in his throat at the thought of what might be going on behind him. Finally, he hears Bram laughing, the high-pitched hyena bark he only makes when he’s truly, genuinely happy. “Oh, you’re good at that now, huh? Who says I’m not nice to you when I want to be, hm? Now what do we say when someone does us a favor?”

Danny’s voice, when he speaks, is low and soft, nervous and eager-to-please. “Th-thank you for untying me, Abraham. I can… I can tell you the dream now.”

“Don’t try to lie, puppy, you’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met.”

“I… I know, Abraham. I won’t. I was just-... I did something bad, so you said, you said I had to learn my lesson...”

The defeat and fear, the submission in Danny’s voice is too much. He can’t take it. He can’t, or he’s going to start screaming and never fucking stop. This is his fault, for meeting Danny, for talking to him when he caught the younger man looking at him, for agreeing to see a movie together. This is his fault for thinking he’d gotten away, that maybe Bram would let him be, think he was too much trouble to go after.

He’d made a mistake, leaving Bram, and Danny is suffering for it.

And he’s about to suffer more.

“What lesson am I going to teach you today, Red? What did you forget in your pretty little head while you slept?”

“I-I… um, I, I-” Danny’s voice cuts off, and there’s another pause that lasts too long, that Nate knows too well from long experience. His skin crawls, but it’s his fault, isn’t it, that Danny knows the rules? “-forgot the rule not to pull away from you…”

Bram begins to laugh again. “Oh, that’s my favorite rule… What do we say when we break a rule, Red?”

“You say you’re sorry and then you get hurt so you don’t break the rule again,” Danny says all at once, memorized, pushing the words out so quickly they’re barely even separated sounds. “I, I know, Abraham, but it was just a dream-”

“Breaking rules still counts in dreams, little one. Come here and let’s talk about how you can fix that mistake you made in your sleep so you won’t even dream about breaking my rules again…”

 Nate jams the coffee grinder on and tells himself he’s not complicit if he can’t hear a thing over the sound.