#when will you return from war wifi

[averageallogene]

Resubmitting because my WiFi weirded out when I was posting.

Jean convinces Diluc to dump you for her, because you are, in her own words, 'Not noble enough'.

With nothing holding you back in Mondstadt, you return to Inazuma to take up your Clan duties.

Less than a year later, you receive Diluc and Jean's wedding invite and you attend with Ayato as your plus-one.

At the reception, Eula instantly recognizes your Clan crest on your obi belt.

Jean proceeds to mock you as she makes her rounds to greet her wedding guest and Eula defends you, stating that your Clan is the overseer of the Tri-Commission *and* the First Clan of Inazuma, out-ranked only by the Raidan Shogun and Yae Miko. And you are its Clan Head.

Diluc ♡⊹˚ Not Enough (SFW)

fem. reader (3rd person) ; angst. cw for jealousy, heartbreak. Implied Ayato x reader.

4k words.

notes. Alright I am back with a bag of piping hot telenovela drama! I had a lot of fun writing this, even if I fear my Jean and my Diluc turned out a little ooc? Oh and Ayato is a petty menace. Well, suffice to say I took some liberty with this one- I hope we can just slide past through it and I’ll get better at their portrayals  eventually <3. Enjoy!✧˖°

The tranquility of Mondstadt, accompanied by the welcomed breezes it brought daily, was enough for anyone to fall in love with the country. The land of the Anemo Archon was blessed with peace, as well as a beauty to behold as its people were one of the most welcoming [F/N] had ever come across. It had been enough to compel her to stay a little longer when she’d begun traveling around Teyvat, with it bringing something more that urged her to remain there.

Diluc Ragnvindr, an otherwise very well known bachelor of Mondstadt, had certainly caught her eye. The feeling seemed to have been mutual, for [F/N]’s appearance and Inazuman style of clothing definitely stood out amongst the usual crowd. It had begun friendly enough, the winery tycoon seeking information regarding the Inazuman palette when it came to alcoholic beverages. Of course, as a businessman Diluc had plans of expanding to other nations, with  or without vision hunt decrees meddling in the middle. During that time, [F/N] had remained in Mondstadt, visibly stressed with the fate of her country. Thankfully, she had a friendly shoulder to rely on on the same wealthy bachelor. It turned out Diluc wasn’t all appearances, his very being burning with a gentleness that was enough to swoon the young woman off her feet. 

[F/N] was far from her family during said time, and exchanging letters was difficult. She’d never been exactly too open when it came to them, yet no one wished to pry. With the borders closed, she had next to no possibility of returning without possibly being detained, regardless of status. War reeked with personal vendettas after all, and to someone of high status as herself, many would indeed covet to take what was hers amidst the chaos. Unbeknownst to her, it had been these early signs of trouble that had helped her in convincing her father of letting her seek out the world whilst she could, sending his only daughter off to the land of the free before she too were to be caged down by duties and unfortunate circumstances.

Homesickness was terrible, but thankfully she had Diluc to aid her. Together they’d spend time together, whether that was in Angel’s Share as the bustling tavern closed its doors for the night, or whenever he offered her to have a tranquil walk through the Dawn Winery. His estate had quickly become one of her favorites, the scenery and the sound of the rustling leaves bringing an inner peace strong enough to temporarily wash away her worries. With the more time they spent together, they found more in common that they had, including dreams, plans for the future, even hobbies. It wouldn’t be difficult to find the pair reading by the fireplace, or even discussing various topics while enjoying a game of chess, hence many murmurs of Diluc’s sweetheart beginning to circle throughout Mondstadt. 

Still, he was a traditional man when it came to such affairs. Diluc was one to take things slowly, yet it was more than noticeable the way he held her hand gently, the way he’d open doors whenever they arrived somewhere, the way his hand would linger on her lower back as they walked through the streets. It wasn’t as though they were official yet, but to [F/N], it was more than apparent she was being courted. And truth be told, her heart couldn’t leap any higher.  Sadly, her expectations would come crashing to the ground, coincidentally just as the climax of the vision hunt decree took place miles away in Inazuma. 

Diluc had grown hesitant, a little distant even. He was a man to remain firm in his beliefs, yet with the right approach and from the right people, even the most determined man could falter. He’d told [F/N] of stories of his childhood, of happier times when his father was around, of times he and Kaeya got along well. Of times he had friends over at the winery, when his mind would only be preoccupied with fantasies he’d construct with his friends at the height of their innocence. [F/N] had listened to him happily, content with the idea of him having a good childhood, of having good friends. Good friends such as Jean Gunnhildr. [F/N] had noticed the way her glance would sparkle at him, yet they were only friends he’d reassured her, and it would’ve definitely seemed as such before it no longer did. The young lady wasn’t ignorant; the way Jean eyed Diluc paralleled the way she did as well, yet she had confidence in the chance she had with him until he’d taken the first step backwards.

He’d been calm, gentle with her upon shooting her down. His heart was murky, he had too many responsibilities. He had a lot to take care of between his tavern and his winery, as well as other responsibilities she wasn’t aware of. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to commit, and he was most sorry for leading her on. [F/N]’s heart broke with the way she was shot down, yet she gracefully smiled still, thanking him for his honesty. Even though she was the one being rejected, the woman placed a friendly hand on his arm, ensuring there were no harsh feelings, as well as wishing him the very best. Wishing that he soon find himself, reassuring that she would always support him. The urge to cry was strong, more so with the way his often gentle gaze shifted away from her. Yet, [F/N] persevered, pushing back any theories her mind crafted as the man she’d grown to love was swept away from her fingers. 

A gut feeling whispered to her that Jean had been the instigator, yet with no concrete proof, [F/N] was left out in the rain as Mondstadt grew less and less picturesque. The winery didn’t feel welcoming anymore, the once bustling streets of the main city were now noisy instead of charming. The mere sight of the crest of the knights of Favonius irked her, for it reminded her of the woman she knew was the reason Diluc had grown distant. In all her years of education back in Inazuma, [F/N] had grown to know when a rival struck through the shadows. She’d grown to realize the subtle signs, yet she’d held on faith for her beloved’s friend. It had proved futile, and now, bitterness replaced the fondness she’d held for the city of freedom. 

[F/N] held a letter that had finally reached her from her home country, bags being packed by the few escorts that had arrived to retrieve her. She’d arranged for them to only move at night, lest she wished to have unwanted attention on her as well as the Inazuman samurai her bedridden father had sent for her. Her duties ripped her out of her wishes to remain in Mondstadt, reality beckoning her back as her dreams were left behind with a broken heart, swept by the breeze. 

Ironically enough, Kaeya, of all people, had been the only one to notice her that night. There was the faint scent of wine on him, yet he was still sober enough to have a coherent speech. He’d waited for her by the city walls, a small expression of regret as he inquired if she really had to go. The relationship between the brothers was brittle to say the least, yet Kaeya would’ve been a fool to deny how Diluc seemed happy with her. How he liked seeing his brother happy. The Cavalry Captain voiced his wish for her to stay, explaining how he enjoyed her company, how Mondstadt did. It stung [F/N], yet with a sad smile, she told him she couldn’t stay even if she wished to. And without explaining further as to why she had to leave, Kaeya suddenly let out with a bitter chuckle.

“Is it because Jean sees you as not noble enough? I can assure you [F/N], no one here really cares for such superficial reasoning.”

It had struck a chord in her, for her suspicions were confirmed. All of this heartbreak had stemmed because [F/N], no matter how hard she tried, would never be one of them, the children of the wind. She was from the land of lightning, and apparently to some, appreciating and learning of their history wasn’t as good enough as being directly related to it. Her hands grasped her coat tightly, and with a curt response of how it was due to other things, she’d thanked Kaeya for everything before leaving the city in the middle of the darkness.

The voyage back to Inazuma had been long, but even more so bittersweet. She’d just arrived in time to say a final goodbye to her father, too sick to even get up from his bed as he held her hand one last time. He could see the heartbreak in her eyes, yet he was too weak to inquire on who was the monster to hurt his beloved daughter. All he could say was that the future of their clan lay now on her hands, the pressure nearly suffocating her. Amidst the conflict with the vision hunt decree, her eldest brother, who’d sided with the rebellion in secret, had been murdered, his drink poisoned. And even as justice had been served, life needed to move on, leaving the seat of Clan Head now to her. 

Days in Inazuma were vinegary. Her homecoming had been filled with heartache, having lost her brother, and soon after her father as well. Days, weeks, months, they all passed in a blur, [F/N] focusing on the heavy task of overseeing the tri-commissions as she donned her clan’s crest with pride. 

Not noble enough, it kept repeating inside her head every day, every time she put her obi on. The young woman hated to admit it, but the pettiness of it all had become her drive, fueling her as she surpassed her father in more aspects than one. In a short amount of time, she’d proved herself as a worthy ruler of her clan, an iron fist masked with elegance and grace as her name grew more and more respected by all the other clans. 

Despite her secluded life filled with responsibility, as well as her still distrusting heart, [F/N] allowed very few people in. She could count her friendly acquaintances with solely one hand, but amongst them were the Kamisato siblings. Businesses aside, they were able to lay down their crests for an afternoon every once in a while, enjoying each other’s company over finely brewed tea as they watched the sunset together, recounting stories to one another as time flew by during such leisure moments.

It had been during one such rare occasion, that [F/N] found herself enjoying tea with Kamisato Ayato, his sister busy with her own set of duties whilst the Commissioner took a much needed break. His trained eye could see how she was tense, eyes lowered as they remained narrowed with a bitterness he’d known all too well. Gently, he’d inquired if all was well, and with a quick glance, [F/N] debated if she should burden the already busy head of the Yashiro Commission with her petty bickering.

“You should know by now that I’m not one to ask things out of courtesy, [F/N].” Ayato had calmly stated, an enigmatic smile dancing on his lips as she took a sip of her tea. “I’m genuinely inquiring about your well-being, for I do in fact care. So please, if something is troubling you, do not hesitate to say.” 

And with a heavy sigh, the woman placed her cup down, before finally coming clean. From her large sleeve she revealed to him a sealed letter, one with a wax stamp of nothing more than the Ragnvindr clan displayed on it.

“It seems one of my acquaintances back in Mondstadt is about to get married, and has decided to invite me to his wedding.” Ayato hid his grin of amusement with the way she spat the word acquaintance with such distaste. It was enough for him to have an inkling of what could’ve transpired during her stay in the land of the Anemo Archon. “I suppose it’s his way of voicing his wish of letting bygones be bygones, but I cannot help but taste the sweet irony of it all.”

“Oh? Has he, perchance, hurt you deeply?” He’d inquired, watching as she lowly nodded her head.

“I was under the assumption he’d been courting me,” [F/N] revealed to her friend, remembering the way her heart clenched upon first reading its contents. The fact he was marrying after such little time apart, and to Jean no less, still filled her broken heart with such indescribable bitterness. “But then… Nevermind. I was needed to return, regardless. One way or another, it would’ve ended in tragedy.”

“My deepest condolences.” Ayato spoke softly, his hand gently resting atop hers before holding it cordially. “Do you intend on skipping the wedding? Just know there is no shame in doing what’s best for you.”

“I’ve thought about it.” She sighed, holding his hand back with a thankful squeeze. “Yet, I can’t bring myself to shut him off entirely either. He was, after all, someone who had helped me a lot during my stay in Mondstadt.”

“Ah yes, the heart is a most complex little thing…” Ayato breathed out, a faint smile on his face as he offered her an understanding glance. “When is it taking place?”

“In about three months.” [F/N] had nearly sulked, still glaring at the letter as if her sheer glance could burn the whole thing. Ayato had simply nodded, before insisting she take a little longer to reflect on what would be best for her.

In truth, Ayato decided to free up his schedule for three months into the future. Not only could he be a little petty when it came to his own allies, he truly did care for the well-being of his friend. In all honesty, perhaps it was best he didn’t know the full details of how she’d been shot down, lest he make an even bigger, yet still elegant, ruckus. In the end, he’d offered his company were she to decide on going to the celebration, and against all odds, [F/N] had accepted. With Ayato by her side, the young woman felt a sudden surge of confidence. Perhaps it was the idea of her being accompanied by a kind, and well accomplished man, that had her feeling that way.

And with her confirmation letter being sent with the intent on bringing a plus one, time was the only thing between [F/N] and her return to Mondstadt. Diluc was surprised she’d accepted, but he couldn’t deny he was happy. In all honesty, he truly wished for them to start over, for her friendship was deeply valued to the man. Jean on the other hand, was a little flabbergasted she’d accepted. To her, it had solely been a courtesy to send an invite, yet she’d be lying if she hadn’t predicted her decline of attending their wedding. Despite the slight disappointment, the Lionfang Knight was already stressed as it was; perhaps it would be best to just ignore it, and prepare for their big day as best as she could. 

The day for their voyage had arrived, and true to his word, Ayato accompanied her on their ship. Everything had been prepared, their duties being fulfilled by others for the duration of their trip. It was a much needed breath of fresh air, a small vacation he’d joked, smiling with eloquence even when he wasn’t one to enjoy large group gatherings. He’d insisted that he and [F/N] both dress in their finest clothing, for they were representing their Clans on foreign lands, and by extension, representing Her Excellency as well. Their crests displayed proudly on their clothing, made of the finest silks and brightest tones, arms linking together as [F/N] held her fan to her lips as they finally disembarked at the docks. 

Ayato had surely made a statement with the entire entourage he’d organized for the two of them, it almost seemed as though he indeed knew of what had been the reason given for their breakup. Then again, [F/N] thought, perhaps he did know. Ayato was a man of many means after all, who was to say he hadn’t read her bitterness like an open book? The way [F/N] looked at him smiling in that knowing way of his didn’t help her case, either… Well, it was too late to go back, anyway.

The way they’d arrived on Mondstadt had certainly caused an uproar, citizens watching in curiosity as the samurai escorted them to the hotel where they would stay until the day of the festivities. Most of the Knights of Favonius were busy as per usual, away from their arrival save for the guards stationed at the city gates who had warmly welcomed them upon confirming their identities and the purpose of their visit. Gossip was quick to follow, yet Ayato paid no mind, calmly chatting away with [F/N] as they were led to their rooms.

News of wealthy guests from the east reached the couple’s ears, yet neither Diluc nor Jean paid much mind. After all, Diluc had many wealthy acquaintances, most of them stemming from his businesses within the wine industry. All he cared for was to ensure all their confirmed guests had indeed arrived, including [F/N]. And upon being told she had in fact, he only nodded his head, not inquiring any further. Him and his bride were much too busy making the final preparations after all, and unbeknownst to him, Kaeya only watched in the background, an amused grin on his face as he patiently waited for the big show.

The bells rang with vigor on the big day, [F/N] jolting inside her room as she wasn’t exactly used to the way their Church would announce anything so loudly. Ayato had already finished preparing, smiling her way before offering his help in adjusting her obi. 

“You look positively beautiful.” He’d stated in a matter-of-fact tone, watching as she smiled at him with an honest, thankful gleam. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” She had sighed, nodding her head as she inwardly psyched herself up to go forth with the day. And without much issue, the pair left their hotel and made haste for the sight of the ceremony. 

Amidst the sea of guests, their presence had gone mostly unnoticed. It was best as such, [F/N] gazing ahead as she watched the man who she’d once thought would be the one marry another woman. Her heart still clenched slightly at the reality, yet Ayato’s presence helped her in grounding herself as she took a deeper breath. Her arm remained around his, admiring how beautiful they looked, how happy they gazed at one another. Even if Jean forever held a deep stain in her eyes, she couldn’t deny how radiant and gorgeous she looked in her wedding gown. The warm glow of the church veiled around them in a romantic manner, the union finally being tied as the main ceremony came to a close. For the first time in a while, [F/N] found herself smiling at the sight of Diluc with another. Perhaps, she thought, she would eventually get through this. Even if it still hurt, even if she still thought back on how she hadn’t been enough. 

Customs between Mondstadt’s weddings and Inazuma’s weddings differed, yet she and Ayato found themselves easily following along as everyone moved on to the reception. It was during this time that the guests began conversing more freely with one another, finally having a look around as they noted who had come to support the happy couple, who had come with whom. It was during this time that [F/N] could feel eyes on her, glances of surprise to herself and her partner being shared as she commented on how the food was delightful with Ayato. 

“Is that… [F/N]?” Eula had commented with Kaeya, who had nodded his head with an amused grin on his face. Despite the elaborate way she dressed when in comparison with the way she did when she had stayed in Mondstadt, nothing could escape her eye as a noble herself. “She looks radiant. And the man beside her…”

[F/N]’s voice could be heard not far, Ayato relishing in the way his comment had brought a laugh out of her. He patted himself on his back for having gotten the willpower to deal with such a packed event, for the way his friend seemed more relaxed had been more than worth it in his eyes. They kept on chatting together, a select few female acquaintances of [F/N]’s joining them as they soon found more company to converse with.

“[F/N]! It’s been so long… How have you been?” 

“You look amazing, [F/N]! I heard you’ve returned to Inazuma suddenly, is everything alright?”

“Who’s your friend there, [F/N]?” Followed with a knowing wink, causing the woman to blush before denying their accusations any further. 

Despite everything, the attention directed to a corner of their reception definitely wasn’t unnoticed by the happy couple, more so by the bride as her violet eyes gazed around. Jean found herself surprised upon landing her eyes on [F/N]’s face, recognizing her rather quickly despite the intricate ornaments she wore on her hair and the delicate makeup. She looked stunning, she thought, before stopping herself and clearing her throat. 

Her wandering gaze hadn’t gone unnoticed by Diluc, whose eyes followed before landing on [F/N] as well. It took him a moment to register who it was, and when it did, his shifting expression caused a stir of emotions deep within his bride.

“[F/N]?...” He’d muttered, Jean squeezing his hand lightly to return his attention to her.

“Come Diluc, we have to thank everyone for coming.” She’d hastily led him to the table where the rest of the Knights dined, all raising glasses of champagne and wine as the couple approached them. 

“Ah, Diluc, Jean! The ceremony was wonderful,” Lisa had smiled their way, a giggle following. “I nearly teared up at the vows. Goodness, weddings always make me so emotional.”

“The food is also delectable.” Kaeya grinned, his glass rising slightly above the others as he gave his brother a nod. “Congratulations to the both of you.”

“Congratulations! May your years be blessed with happiness and good fortune!” Amber smiled brightly.

“Yes, congratulations.” Eula complemented, smiling softly as Diluc held Jean close.

“Thank you everyone for coming. It is an honor to share such an important day with you all.” Diluc said with the utmost sincerity, smiling softly as Jean rested her hand on his chest.

“It’s a great pleasure.” Eula’s gaze narrowed as she could sense an unnecessary comment bubbling within Kaeya’s chest. The way he grinned spelled trouble, and just as she predicted so, the man swirled his glass of wine before he continued. “Of course, we wouldn’t miss your wedding for nothing! But perhaps it’s to those who’ve come from the furthest you should extend your greatest gratitudes.”

“Of course, we intend on thanking everyone as we go around every table.” Jean huffed with a small smile, still not following where he was headed. She rested a hand on her hip as she raised an eyebrow softly, Diluc too eyeing his brother as if expecting more.

“Oh, that’s great! I was beginning to think you were rounding around [F/N]’s table on purpose. But then again, you must still be thinking about how to properly thank her, no?”

“Kaeya!” Amber sighed, shaking her head as the mood slightly shifted around the table. The man simply shrugged, sipping on his wine before sighing with content over the wonderful undertones, as he explained. 

“Ah, Diluc! Congratulations, you lucky bastard!” Varka’s voice roared across the reception hall, hands plopping down on his shoulders as he laughed loudly. Diluc could only remain awkward as he quietly thanked him, the Grand Master practically whisking him away as he further congratulated him and gave him lessons on how to ensure his wife’s happiness.

“Honestly, I was surprised to know she’d be coming.” Jean watched her husband not stray too far, finally letting out a small sigh and folding her arms across her chest. “I’m still not quite sure how we’re going to address this, as her presence seems… Rather ill-intended.”

“Oh?” Kaeya’s gaze turned to her from the corner of his eyes, finding her choice of words amusing as he let her ramble on. 

“Diluc had voiced his wish of inviting her, and thinking it was just a formality I decided to agree with it. But for her to actually accept and show up seems bitter.” It was clear the stress was racing to her head, the table listening awkwardly as she rambled on. “While I understand it still must hurt given the circumstances, we would’ve hoped she would’ve let bygones be bygones. I simply find her actions to lack in-”

“Nobility?” Eula scoffed quietly, eyebrow raising quietly before watching Jean hesitate if she agreed with her or not. It was her turn to cross her arms, speaking directly to her. “I find it quite the opposite. I think that accepting and coming by to show her support shows just how noble she is. After all, for the head of her clan to not show up would’ve been scandalous. Do you know what kind of rumors that would start up, Jean?”

“Wait- Did you just say head of her clan?” Amber repeated, her eyes widening as Eula nodded her head.

“Yes. Haven’t you all realized? Look, notice [F/N]’s obi.” The group found themselves rather indiscreetly gazing towards [F/N]’s table, the crest displayed with pride as she enjoyed Ayato’s company. “It’s the crest of the first clan of Inazuma, otherwise known as the overseer of the Tri-Commissions of the nation. Basically, it’s the oldest still standing clan of the nation, only surpassed by the Archon herself and their Guji.” 

The table slowly digested the information, Eula proving yet again just how well educated she was not only to what concerned Mondstadt, but aristocracy of other nations as well. Her legs remained crossed as she finished explaining herself, leg bouncing lightly as she battled with herself to remain cordial despite not having quite liked her friend’s statement. Even if Jean was overly stressed, or their situation with [F/N] hadn’t been ideal, it had most definitely been an unnecessary comment. 

“Besides, the man next to her is none other than the head of the Yashiro Commission. Their Commission has many duties, including overseeing ceremonies and rituals that do include weddings. So, her choice of companion can most definitely be seen as yet another layer to her virtuous acceptance of your invitation.”

Kaeya found himself grinning unabashedly at the way Jean glanced away, clearly embarrassed with the outcome of the situation. She still held her arms crossed around her chest in a defensive manner, the Cavalry Captain thinking it would just be best if she left to avoid any further hits to her pride. For the first time in a while, he found himself agreeing fully with Eula, letting her take the reins of the situation as Jean’s ego was put in place. Sure, Kaeya liked Jean. Yet still, he couldn’t deny he thought [F/N] would’ve been a better match for Diluc. Call him petty, but he was enjoying the situation. 

“Sorry about that,” Diluc sighed as he returned to their side, his hand resting on Jean’s waist as he gazed around the table. “Erhm, everything alright? You all look, how should I put it…”

“Nothing to worry about.” His brother grinned, waving his hand dismissively as everyone began eating their food. “You go and thank everyone for coming by, yeah? Enjoy yourselves, after all it’s your wedding day!”

Despite the confusion with his sudden upbeat tone, Diluc simply nodded, leading his bride to continue on going through table to table. Needless to say, now that it was he who took the lead, they soon found themselves at [F/N]’s table, the man surprised to see her so intricately dressed and in the presence of someone of such stature.

Nonetheless, and despite the sudden lump of awkwardness that lodged itself in his throat, Diluc took his time to properly thank them for coming, [F/N] simply gazing at them and replying it was their pleasure. Ayato was the one to take charge in their response, smiling cordially as he basked in the way his bride seemed to avert her gaze from them. If looks could diminish someone’s presence, Jean would’ve been long gone, reduced to atoms. And Ayato would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying it, holding [F/N]’s hand with such delicacy as if they were more than friends.

And as they left, he carefully leaned over her ear, watching as she met him halfway to hear what he had to say.

“Well, that was amusing. Perhaps next year we should invite them to our wedding. A fun retaliation, no?”

“W-What?”

[0averysillygoose0]

I can still make the whole place shimmer (withe the skin of a killer, Bella)- Chapter six

Prologue and previous chapters are in my master list♡

Summary

Angelica Cullen was supposed to have died over 300 years ago, but now she gets to watch as her adoptive brother stalks some girl from Arizona.

Born in the 1600s to one Carlisle Cullen and his first wife- a woman whose name has since faded into obscurity, Angelica was never supposed to amount to much more than marriage and children. Now a perpetual sixteen-year-old who wants nothing more than to be able to paint her nails in peace to the Mama Mia soundtrack, she finds herself with little to occupy her time.

Her relationship with her family is growing more strained by the day. The cycle of high school has long since become dull and draining, and despite her desperation for something else, she's forced to stay stagnant for 'the good of the family'.

A family who's wearing her patience thin.

Then Bella Swan moves to Forks and Angelica's pressure is suddenly raised as the Cullen family is thrown into a potentially life-ending challenge every five business days. The Quillute are watching closely, as are the Volturi for any slip-ups, and in the world of the supernatural, Angelica has the grace of a baby deer.

♡ ♡ ♡

Chapter Six: Edward enters his deranged muppet era

“Oh my god, I totally forgot to ask, you met my cousin this weekend?” Lillian asked as they walked through the hall. They’d have to separate when they reached the end, Angelica for Biology and Lillian for Chemistry. It had snowed that day and muddy boots left bits of frozen sludge scattered around the floor.

Angelica was thankful that math was behind her now, but unfortunately that meant that history laid at the end of her day. Normally, she enjoyed the subject, however she shared it with Jasper and they were in the middle of recounting the civil war. He didn’t say anything, he never did in any of his classes, but seeing his brows purse in disagreement whenever the teacher stated a blatant fact made Angelica more than just a little concerned.

“In the woods?” Lilly added, confusion crinkling up her nose.

“Yeah.” Angelica said. “She was nice.”

Talking about Hailee felt odd, as the girl had been on her mind quite a bit since their meeting. Flashes of her understanding nods, easy smile and left dimpled smile kept darting through her head. “I thought you were sick though?” “I went out to get some fresh air and we just sorta  ran into each other.” She shrugged. Her eyes were trained on the ground as she passed by Jasper and Alice. She felt their eyes linger on her 

“Hm.” Lillian hummed, her curiosity satiated. “I gave her your number by the way, she said she’d text you sometime this week, but the reservation’s wifi can be pretty spotty.” Angelica nodded absentmindedly, offering a soft smile as Alice and Emmett passed by in the hall. Her brother offered her a friendly wave but Alice looked far too lost in her own mind to return any gesture.

They’d all crammed into Emmett’s white jeep that morning, sat sandwiched between Alice and Edward who kept sending each other flickering gazes over her head.. Edward’s Volvo was in the shop, Rosalie’s cars were off limits to anyone but herself, and after their unresolved disagreement, Angelica hadn’t been eager to catch a ride with her father. Not that Carlisle seemed to be aware of her lingering frustration, and if he was, he hadn’t acknowledged it. Once Edward had returned, her father had acted as though nothing was ever wrong, as he always did whenever an argument between them arose. 

She often wondered if he’d adopted the strategy in the hopes that she’d miraculously forget whatever they’d fought about. Angelica couldn’t even blame him, because it had worked before. More often than not, it was simply easier to go along with it and let bygones be bygones. She didn’t enjoy arguing with her father and it was unfortunately becoming more of a common occurrence as the years went on. She was starting to wonder if this fight in particular had even been worth it. 

She couldn’t deny that it had felt good when Carlisle had smiled at her that morning and asked if she was ready for school, as though everything was normal and their argument, her running off and subsequent grounding had never happened.  It would’ve been so easy to fall back into their daily routine and the familiar flow of conversation. She’d almost returned the grin, but instead she’d shrugged and pretended not to notice when his expression faltered and the look he’d shared with Esme from across the room. 

The only thing that assured Angelica that he did, in fact remember, was being told she was grounded for yet another week. Even then, she found it hard to feel that same surge of anger that had overcome her the week before, because he’d said it with a sympathetic smile that tugged at the guilty knot in her stomach. 

She wondered how long her resolve would last. 

“Girl, are you good?” “What?” Angelica shook her head, glancing at her friend. Lillian sighed and shook her head. “You’ve been quiet all day.” Concern flooded her warm eyes, and Angelica couldn’t help but be reminded of Hailee’s thoughtful gaze reflected in her friend. “Are you still feeling sick?” Lillian continued softly and Angelica almost asked the girl what she was talking about before she’d remembered the family’s cover story for their lack of attendance the week before. “No, I’m fine.” Angelica shook her head. “I just had a fight with my dad and I’m a bit stressed about it is all.” She shrugged. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” “What happened?” Angelica hesitated for just a moment. “He just like wouldn’t let me go back to school right away even after I was fine because ‘what if it gets worse and no one knows what to do’.” She lied, “It’s not like anything big, he can just be a bit overprotective or whatever.”

“Oh, yeah, like how he doesn’t let you do sleepovers or parties and stuff?”

Angelica sighed, wishing it was that simple. “Yeah, like that.” 

“My mom is the same.” Lilly nodded. “Like anytime I go out, she needs to know where I am and when I’ll be back and then if I don’t call back she like freaks out.”

“Yeah.” 

Now imagine that being your life for three hundred years. 

“Do you think you’d be allowed to come over today though? We never watched Mama Mia…” Her voice trailed off invitingly. “It might be nice, help take your mind off it. We can paint our nails.” She added. 

Angelica adjusted the shoulder strap of her bag. “I can next week. My dad wants me home this week so I can recover.” She lied, fighting off the bitterness that threatened to seep into her voice. It wasn’t like Carlisle to stretch out a punishment, but then again, it wasn’t like Angelica to run off. 

“Okay, but next week?”

If I beg.  “Next week for sure.” She promised as she stepped into the open door  on her left. Lilly waved a quick goodbye. Angelica had been the first to arrive in Biology class. She walked into an empty classroom, save for Mr Banner, who was busy distributing microscopes and slides to each table. He spared her a quick hello before returning diligently to his work. 

She crossed the room, choosing a table in the back, setting her bag on the chair next to hers, saving it for Edward. 

She opened her backpack, rifling through until her fingers eventually curled around her worn Biology notebook, which she set aside on the desk. Inside were summaries of Mr Banner’s lectures, with key points highlighted in blue. Color coded diagrams with corresponding penned in notes dotted the pages, as well as the occasional doodle in the margin. When she’d retrieved her writing utensils as well, Angelica zipped the bag back up and took to sketching out a small duck wearing rain boots on an empty page.

She barely registered when Bella Swan walked into class. She was a blur of brown hair and faded blue jeans, sitting a few aisles ahead. She’d given Angelica a clear sightline of her, which would make the Cullen girl’s job of keeping Edward in line much easier. (Not that anyone had told her to, but she figured someone needed to reign in the boy.) 

It would be easy for her, considering that Carlisle had asked all of her siblings to keep an eye on her for the week. She knew that Edward had no choice but to listen, and therefore had no choice but to sit by her. A nudge here, a distracting train of thought there, would surely keep him from doing anything too stupid. And, she acknowledged, a bit bitterly, if he did attempt to hurt the girl in any way, Angelica would be within an arm's length to hold him back. 

At the moment, she felt as though the boy was the largest threat to the life she had carefully curated in Forks. One slip up on his part, and they would be gone. Angelica loved having a plan and knowing what was coming next offered her comfort. The past two weeks had been filled with unpleasant surprises and twists, and she felt eased knowing that she had curated a system to prevent anything from slipping out of her control.

So when her brother walked into class, not a minute later,  Angelica watched patiently as his lumbering tall and slender frame cleared the doorway. She had begun to pull her backpack from the seat she’d set aside when she heard the sound of his footsteps fall short several feet away.

Shit. 

“Hello.”

Bella looked up and Angelica felt her chest grow heavy. 

“I’m Edward Cullen.” He began, sliding down easily into the free seat beside the girl. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan.”

Angelica’s fingers gripped around her pencil so tightly the wood began to split. She felt a rush of red hot rage flood her.

What the fuck are you doing? She stared at Edward, trying to force her thoughts to be as loud as possible as her internal monologue was overtaken by frustration.  Why are you sitting beside her? You idiot- what the fuck was the point of you running off to Alaska if you’re just gonna pull this shit? What happened to your ‘monster within’?  

She ignored her, focusing intently on Bella.

Oh my god -s top looking at her like that, you look like a deranged muppet!  

“H-how do you know my name?” The girl stuttered.

You’re freaking her out, jackass! 

“Oh I think everyone knows your name. The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”

Oh my god, shut the fuck up, shut the fuck up! You sound like a serial killer! 

Angelica wanted to scream, but she forced herself to stay silent, her lips pressing together thinly. She recalled how on the girl’s first day, Carlisle had told her to stay clear of Bella, that getting close to the daughter of a police chief was a risk they couldn’t afford, even if anything happening was unlikely. Angelica wondered if Edward had received a similar speech, trying to determine if he was acting out of some unearned rebellion or mere stupidity. 

“No, I meant why did you call me Bella?”

Bella was petite, and based on what Angelica had witnessed in their gym class, athleticism wasn’t a strong suit of hers. It wouldn’t take Edward long to be done with her, if he wanted. The thought lingered for a second too long, turning unpleasantly in Angelica’ stomach. She felt something akin to nausea brewing as she watched her brother’s intent gaze, focussed solely on Bella.

A flash of a girl with long brown hair being pinned against a leaf scattered forest floor, her blood seeping through the layer of discarded foliage and into the dirt below darted through Angelica’s head and she steeled herself to retain her composure as she set the memory far away from herself. Her chest ached in wake of the thought but she pretended not to notice.

That wasn’t it. That wasn’t what was happening.

“Do you prefer Isabella?” Edward inquired. 

You Ted Bundy ass bitch! 

Angelica could see the boxes now. Her walls left bare, with all her posters and lights, everything that had made her room into a warm and alive space, packed away. The photobooth strips and polaroids dotted with her and her friends would be set away carefully in an album for her to stumble upon years later. 

Anger seared through her and the more she saw, the more indignant and irritated she felt. 

A week of sitting alone in her room, a week of isolation and boredom, a week of nothingness all because Edward claimed being near the very same girl he was now cozying up beside had been ‘too dangerous’. 

The buzz of electricity that coursed through the building seemed to get louder and the clinically white light of the fluorescents above seemed to burn when her gaze flickered upwards.

She stared in her brother’s direction, and below her desk, her finger flicked and his textbook fell off the table. His hand darted out quickly and he managed to catch it. Edward turned on her and she met his gaze evenly.

Stop being a little freak and use your brain for a fucking second.  She thought.

He pursed his lips and looked away, ignoring his sister as Bella continued with their idle conversation. 

She wanted to throw her textbook at the boy’s thick skull.

Angelica stood up, gathering her belongings in her arms. She crossed the floor of the class as she approached her teacher. She glared as she passed Edward, although he seemed too absorbed in the girl beside him to care. 

There was a swarm of guilt that overtook her and a newfound frustration, directed at herself this time as she drew closer to Mr Banner. She didn’t want to feel this angry, she wanted to be cool and collected, to be uncaring. A part of her wanted to turn back, to let the feelings stew and simmer. But it wouldn’t do any good. She could feel her emotions rising in the back of her throat but she swallowed them back down. 

“Can I help you, Angelica?” The biology teacher inquired.

The girl cast a final disdainful look at her brother, before quickly returning to her conversation.

“Mr Banner, I don’t feel well.” She mumbled. 

***

  Angelica felt defeated as she sat in the passenger seat of Carlisle’s car. He’d come within only ten minutes of the nurse calling, and she hadn’t been able to meet his gaze as they’d left the school. 

The firm sound of the driver’s side door slamming shut was quickly followed up with a sharp click as her father pulled his seatbelt into place. Without saying a word, Angelica did the same and soon after, the engine came to life, purring warmly as it cut through the cold January afternoon. 

Wordlessly, Carlisle shifted the car into reverse, pulling out of their parking stall.He spared a quick darting glance up at the rearview mirror and over his shoulder, before changing the gear to drive and turning out onto the main road.

“I’m sorry.” Angelica said finally. She shook her head. If she still had blood running through her veins, her cheeks would have been bright red with embarrassment. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“Because I called you to come get me just because I felt angry.” She muttered. 

“Is that it?” He hummed. 

She nodded shamefully. “I wasn’t gonna do anything but like, I just felt shitty and I didn’t feel like I could be there anymore.”

“Don’t apologize.” Carlisle told her firmly, glancing in the rearview mirror. There was no one behind them. “I’d rather you call me than risk anything.”

“I wasn’t gonna do anything.” She repeated, frowning. Her doubts in his trust in her resurfaced once more. He seemed to sense her sudden reproach, because his tone had shifted when he spoke next. 

“I know,” He began carefully, “But knowing when to pull yourself out of a situation is a good skill to have and I’d rather you overuse it than underuse it.” 

They’d pulled out onto the highway that led home. Trees surrounded both sides of the road, the forest dark and damp, highlighted by the dustings of snow that clung to pine branches. Angelica kept her eyes focused intently on the yellow line that cut through the center of the pavement, separating the two sides of the road. 

“Yeah but, normally, I could have handled it. I just felt really overwhelmed for some reason.” Angelica fiddled with the sleeves of her sweater. 

“Well, what happened exactly?” “Edward sat beside Bella after everything he pulled last week.” She looked over, waiting for the disbelief to dawn on his face. “He was chatting her up like nothing ever happened.”

“So, he did sit beside her then.” Carlisle hummed. “Sorry,” Angelica paused, “Did you know this was going to happen?” “Yes, Alice told me.” Angelica stared in disbelief for a moment, her mouth opening and closing twice before she finally spoke. Carlisle cranked the wheel, turning them onto the small off shooting road that led back to their home.

“Why would you let that happen then- What happened to risk mitigation?” She demanded brazenly. “Why are we all just letting him chill out beside her when he had to run away to Alaska after being near her for two minutes?” “I understand that you’re worried-” “I’m more than worried, actually.” She snapped. “Has everyone lost their mind?”

“Angelica, take a deep breath.”

“No, cause that’s actually an insane choice.” Angelica continued. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “Like just wild.” 

“I think you don’t understand the specifics of the situation.”

“I understand that it’s common sense not to seek out people who invoke a murderous urge in you- or to let people with murderous urges be around murderable people!” She continued, his words falling on deaf ears. 

Carlisle sighed. “He won’t hurt her. Alice assured me of that.” “And that wasn’t information that you guys thought we should all know?” Angelica asked incredulously.

“We’re planning on discussing what’s going on later tonight with everyone present.” 

She shook her head and fell quiet. Angelica often felt as though Alice's 'gift' was often just used to fuck with her. Of course, it was always indirect, and logically she knew that it was simply how the girl was, but she couldn't stop herself from wondering why her sister's visions always seemed to either, hinge on something that wasn't at all notable, but something potentially lifechanging would go unnoticed. Her current theory was that Alice's real power wasn't foresight at all, but really just the gift of "brain fuckery" with the goal of leaving everyone around the pixie esque girl confused or frusrtated. It didn't help that the actual relevent 'prophecies' (if you could call them that), were often kept from Angelica, for seemingly no reason. 

“I know these last few weeks have been frustrating,” Carlisle began, “But if there’s anything I can do to make it better-”

Angelica didn’t hesitate, seeing opportunity in her father’s words.  

“Can I go to Lily's house with Anna next week?” She asked quickly. “Just to watch Mama Mia. I’ll be done at six.” “My shifts all end at 5:00 next week. I could get you at 5:30.” Carlisle contemplated watching as her anger melted into an eager, dimpled smile. He studied her thoughtfully. “Alice told me there’s a party coming up in a month you’ll want to go to.” Angelica’s mind raced through the possible events that she’d penciled into her calender for the next few months. “Lilly’s birthday?” Her father nodded and the modern slats that made up the latest Cullen home came into view as they turned the final corner. 

“It’s on the beach, apparently. Your friend Anna is bringing drinks, and it’ll go for most of the night.”

They pulled into the driveway and Carlisle’s hand reached out to hit a button secured to the dashboard and the garage door groaned as it pulled upwards. 

Angelica frowned. He’d never talked to her about social events before, unless he was telling her she couldn’t attend or how she was to behave at a (supervised) gathering. “Where are you going with this?” She asked suspiciously.

“If you can compromise on a few things, I’ll let you go.” “Wait, really?” “Yes, really.” He nodded, shifting the gear into park as they pulled into the garage beside one of Rosalie’s projects. 

 “But, if I let you, I need you to allow what’s happening with Edward to play out, and promise me you won’t let it get under your skin.” 

"Do you promise we won't move because of this?"

Carlisle nodded. "I asked Alice about exactly that." 

Angelica wanted to be the type of person who asked for all the details before she agreed to something. But the downside of having an undeveloped frontal lobe was a lack of impulsivity control. And although the deal sounded too good to be true, and she couldn’t deny she was a bit wary, the offer was far too inviting to turn down.

“Yes! Deal!” She exclaimed eagerly.

“But,” Carlisle continued, “This all really depends on how you handle the car accident.”

Angelica blinked.

“How I handle the what?” 

♡ ♡ ♡

A/N

I've been rereading the from the OG Twilight book to lift some dialogue for Bella and Edward, alongside Midnight Sun because lore accurate Bella and Edward is probably more whack than anything I could come up with and I forgot how fucking weird Edward canonically is in Midnight Sun because OH MY GOD??? My brother in christ oils miss swan's window so when he opens it to watch her sleep it won't creak??? Insane. Love it so much, it's fucking wild. Stephanie Meyer really was like "I can do whatever I want with these characters" and then had them cutely comitting felonies in the name of unrequited love.

Anyway, but we're FINALLY moving the plot along and I'm very excited for Bella to almost get hit by a car and for Angelica to do her best to hold it together.

It's the first week of uni classes so I'm trying to get more chapters prepped ahead of time so when all my homework starts piling up I can still have some time to write. However, that does mean updates are probs gonna be a bit spotty because I'm in five courses and like four of them have a writing component and the other one has a lab (#livelaughlovepsychmajor).

[spider-gets-artsy]

I Can't Call You Home Again

A Herack & Anenja story

You can also find me here

It was stuffy inside the van. The air conditioner was running at full blast, but it couldn't quite disperse the heat that had the leather seat sticking to her thighs.

The holoscreen in front of Anenja flickered with static, the loading symbol unmoving. She sighed, wishing for better reception. The desert was barren of many crucial things; shade, water, grubburgers, and good wifi.

If it was anyone's fault, it was her own, she thought bitterly. She had somehow surrounded herself with tech wizards throughout her childhood and left every single one of them behind to travel with Sadane. She didn't regret it, she didn't have it in her to feel homesick over a cage. But still. Maybe it'd be worth it to take the trip back to Elysian, get an Eos worker to… do whatever needed to be done to the van in order to get a clearer signal. Stars, she grew up in a tech manufacturing company, she should know the basics of wifi.

The holoscreen blipped, and suddenly he was face to face with her.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Hello, Herack."

She carefully took him in, noted his normally coiffed hair hanging limp, and wondered how dark his eye bags would be if he took off his mask. She'd only been gone a few weeks, was that all it took to make such a powerful man fall into despair?

Tactfully, she asked, "Are you well?"

He snorted. "Just peachy."

An awkward silence stretched between them, until Herack's eyes began to dart to the side, looking off screen. Probably at Rhoren. Disappointed, Aneja said dejectedly, "If you want to stay in my life, Herack, you have to act like it. We both know we don't do these calls for my benefit."

His features pinched, scowl starting to form, until a bright green sock with purple stars nailed him in the face. Anenja had to hold back a giggle, mentally thanking Rhoren for having her back when it came to her temperamental dancestor. Herack swiped it away, flipping the bird in what she assumed was Rhoren's direction.

Returning his gaze to the camera, Herack ran both hands through his hair, leaning down to hide his face momentarily. After a beat he straightened, his lips quirked in a half smile.

"I'm not used to you being away. To you being able to", he gestured vaguely at her. "You know. Act like an adult."

"You only ever treated me as a child," Anenja replied coolly, her ears pinned back in anger. "But I never truly was. Even if you hadn't shoved me into a meat suit, if I'd been hatched properly, I would have been raised in a war. I wouldn't have had a chance to be a child."

His expression turned solemn, watching her as he might a stranger. Warily.

And maybe she was a stranger to him now. She was growing, she could feel it in her bones, becoming someone she never got to be in the depths of Eos. Someone free, someone with loved ones and friends. Stars, she never loved being alive more than these past few weeks on the road.

Herack quickly changed the subject. Typical.

"You still have money? I can wire more to you, anytime. And what about food? Have you been eating crap? If you need a chef I can spare one from the kitchens, send him out to-"

"Are these calls just another way for you to try to control my life?!" Anenja cried out in exasperation. "All you want to do is find ways to insert yourself back into my life. I left you! I had to get away, do you understand that? You suffocate me, I couldn't breathe in Eos, Herack. I need space."

Herack opened his mouth to say something, then shut it promptly, looking strained.

"Actually… I just miss you."

It wasn't an apology. But she knew it was as close as it got for him. Herack couldn't talk about his feelings for shit, so it was actually a pretty impressive statement, coming from him.

"Part of me misses you too. But I can't come back, not yet."

He nodded, sinking into his chair in defeat.

On the other side of the van, Sadane poked her head through the door, a stick of jerky poking out of the corner of her mouth. She tapped her wrist with a meaningful look and disappeared again.

"We're headed out soon. Is Rhoren there?"

The gold blood ducked into frame, grinning. "Hi An, having fun out there?"

"Oodles of it," she said with a teasing smile. "I found a patch of lumenrose out near the canyon. I pressed one for you."

"I can't wait to see it," he said warmly.

Herack was staring daggers at his matesprit for hogging her attention, so she asked, gently, "You'll take care of Herack, won't you Rhoren? Make sure he's eating well, you know how he is."

For all his talk over her eating habits, he was by far, worse. He thought a can of beans for dinner was an appropriate meal.

Herack's scowl softened as Rhoren gave her a jaunty little salute. The gold blood then dove out of screen, with a panicked, "My pasta-"

She laughed as Herack rolled his eyes, calling out goodbye to him. And then it was just the two of them again.

"Take care, kiddo. I'll see you next week."

"Bye Herack, I-"

She couldn't bring herself to say I love you. She probably wouldn't be able to for a long time. But she did, stars help her she did. Even if he was a shit guardian. Even if it was hard to look him in the face still sometimes.

"I'll see you next week," she parroted with a wry smile.

And she would. Family was important.

[builder051]

No black cats allowed

(Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise)

This is the We fit like an Enfit ‘verse (tube ‘verse)—HOWEVER, it is completely removed from the currently published timeline. I always mean to fill in the cracks, but I never get to it, so here’s what you should know. The story runs like this: Steve and Bucky were high school sweethearts, then Bucky went overseas with the Army, had terrible experiences, got hurt, and got shipped back home. He tried getting back with Steve when he first made it stateside, but things were a little rocky, and eventually they broke up. It’s then, post-break up, that Steve starts having his own health problems and winds up getting tubed. He tries relying on coworkers to help him, but his issues continue, and he desperately needs a caretaker, or at least someone who can spend time with him and drive him to appointments. He reaches out to Bucky again, and after a little getting used to each other again, they move in together (and with Bucky’s cat), and they’re back to their previous relationship situation.

This story takes place in the “right back home” period, when Bucky has returned from Iraq and is still dating Steve. It’ll make sense as a stand-alone story, but placing it in context might be tricky.

This fic has a lot of stuff regarding war, mental health, PTSD, panic, therapy, hospitals, gore al la blood and vomit, some truly disgusting food talk, superstition, a nod to the existence of sex. It’s the usual mixed bag; there’s a huge amount of backstory, then story, then a tiny wrap-up with an open ending.

_____________________________

He probably shouldn’t have stacked the appointments. Looking back through the lense of hindsight, that’s exactly when things went wrong. It lies some three weeks previously, when he’d taken the return call from scheduling and neglected to note the dates and times in his planner. Bucky should’ve known the system would bite him in the ass. Again.

As much as Bucky hates to admit it, he’s probably the one responsible for the ass-biting. He shouldn’t take calls during his lunch hour. He tries, since that’s the only time he can slip outside the echoing warehouse. The stacks of cardboard and wood pallets do nothing to absorb the noise of crashing boxes and the temperamental swamp cooler. Signal’s always shitty, too, even on the outdoor loading deck. The building’s sad excuse for WiFi lies beyond possibility for the connection necessary for web calls. Regardless of means, the voice on the other end is crunchy and segmented. Bucky’s lucky to hear every third word or so. There’s just enough static to blur words out of meaning. Bucky isn’t quick enough to pack potential consonant blends into their respective gaps, and that’s his fault. His lapse in speech therapy practice. It’s his anxiety getting in the way of fulfilling every carefully noted point on his daily schedule.

Bucky didn’t used to have anxiety. Sure, he’d grown up with all the ups and downs of adolescence. He doesn’t like to think about the shameful day he’d ditched two final exams and barricaded himself in a janitor’s closet, puking up the previous night’s samplings of whiskey, edibles, and potato chips. But that happened to everyone, right? Through the rest of his time spent in secondary school, community college, basic training, Bucky remembers others laughing through self deprecating stories of the same.

It was just a universal thing, he’d thought. It had to be. Stress, probably. He’d had a lot going on during his seventeenth and eighteenth years. Football had him in two grueling practices a day, and the gods of senior year must’ve found his list of trespasses. Whether they were punishing him for his academic faults or general life choices, Bucky knew not. He had a feeling it was both; and he’s still sent reeling from time to time when a bad memory strikes. He leaves the room if anybody pops a bag of anything sour cream and onion.

Bucky had wanted to rush to the nearest exit when his VA appointed counselor gifted him the distastefully pink and quote-filled planner book. The dumpster out back would be a good place to stash it. Then he could hide out with an angry cigarette or two until he was calm enough to drive home. Therapy wasn’t for him, he’d decided, all in the same flustered moment. He’d just stop coming to his regularly scheduled appointments.

Halfway to the nearest gas station, though, Bucky had remembered his driver’s license was over a year out of date. The only valid ID on him was his base pass. It sometimes invited awkward conversations where people thanked him for his service. Truth be told, he’d rather have his arm back than any 20% discount. And the more he’d thought about it, the more he was sure that smoking tobacco would be a bad idea. It would probably have him honking up his breakfast before he could even inhale. He’d been forced to quit cold turkey somewhere in the Afghan desert. Taliban guards hadn’t been generous with their stashes of candy and drugs and diet soda. The same had been true for the nurses in any hospital he’s visited since. He should stick with weed. Edibles could certainly be obtained online these days.

That brought up the question of his ID again, though. Would some text bot in central Colorado rat on him for buying gum drops laced with delta 9? It would have to, if there was a subpoena. That’s stupid, Bucky told himself. It didn’t help much. When he arrived at his apartment, he was just keyed up enough to have the shakes and visual sparks that so often heralded migraines and bad memories. Once he shut the front door, Bucky grabbed an oxytocin from the bathroom cabinet and collapsed onto his bed. His jeans and boots didn’t matter. With any luck, he’d soon be having solely out-of-body experiences.

Bucky gets four hours of relief, no matter what he tries. Chemically negotiated sleep, alcohol-induced giddiness, a couple of chess games with Steve— his outlets, healthy and non, never bring him completely down. He’s never felt satisfied, never fully charged. His year in the desert stole more than just his body and mind; Bucky feels eternally depleted, like he can’t breathe in enough oxygen or drink enough water, despite his esophagus and lungs taking only minimal damage. The blisters from caustic smoke inhalation were completely healed, medical staff in Kandahar had informed him. Apparently mouths and throats and other wet, mucousy areas of the body have superior healing powers. None of it has convinced him to make an appointment with an ENT, an allergist, or a dentist, but Bucky makes a concerted effort not to discount the experts. At least not too much.

Bucky usually catches himself before he does anything too rash. Sometimes his excuses aren’t great, such as the time he used a hammer to smash open a jar of tomato sauce after an hour of fruitless one-handed twisting. The wrist ache and stubborn desire to put a cooked dinner on the table pushed him a little far, he’ll admit. But as far as he knows, Steve is still oblivious to the fact that he’d eaten pasta that was carefully strained to remove bits of shattered glass.

Bucky’s dissected the entire experience with his counselor over multiple sessions, and they’ve pretty much organized his breakdowns into different categorical reactions preceded by similar warning signs. Those urges to run, hide, throw rocks at the pigeons on his balcony— they should cue him to do something grounding. Looking at his planner would be an optimal choice. Breathing deeply and focusing on the pastel watercolors that border each page’s scheduling block. That might encourage him to reap more benefits of the fat spiral-bound book. If he wanted, Bucky could schedule his life from 6AM to midnight every day of every month of every year. Apparently the planner comes from a curated luxury brand, and a trip to its website could enable him to order complementary stickers and expander pages. The counselor cheerfully joked that he could go broke, the array of pastel and neon and vegan leather office supplies were so tempting. Bucky supposes it’s a success, then, that he’s never pulled up the site, let alone sit and browse with his wallet open.

Bucky likes planning his days more organically. He wakes up a solid four hours before he leaves for work, so there’s plenty of time to dress and shovel down some breakfast and call Steve’s office phone and plant an endearing message in voice mail box. They don’t live together anymore, technically, but their pair bond hasn’t completely disappeared. Bucky would lose his subsidized apartment if he put his name on a lease somewhere else. The rule runs the other way too, preventing anyone but Bucky’s solitary disabled veteran of a self occupied the blank-walled studio. It doesn’t keep them from meeting up from time to time. The times do seem to be falling a little less frequently as time stretches on, but thinks he knows why.

It’s Bucky’s fault, again. This time for falling into the greedy trap of bonus pay for work hours outside his regular shifts. He doesn’t want to buy anything with the extra cash, but the rotating schedule does give him something to jot down in his planner. Maybe he’ll get some outrageous stickers after all. Something loud and especially obnoxious, like glittery rainbows. He’d use them to mark special occasions. A dinner date with Steve, perhaps. At one of those nice-but-not-fancy places, like the diner that lights up the end of the block with its 24-hour incandescent window lights and perpetually flashing ‘fresh coffee’ sign. That could easily pin them down together for the four-hour stretch between the end of work and the beginning of Jack Hanna’s Wild Countdown at 11pm. Bucky has begun to recognize the reruns of the reruns, but he’s not in it for the fun facts. It’s the camaraderie he likes. His friend Jack keeping him from other, less savory companions like Jack and Coke.

The VA’s phone tree and call waiting systems haven't changed in the five years Bucky’s been subjected to them. The whole communication setup seems stuck in Windows 98. Bucky’s seen the telltale screensaver bouncing around on his rehabilitation doctor’s desktop. He’s fairly sure the hospital could afford to upgrade, though the staff probably hadn’t realized that patients glimpsing a monitor here and there could trigger memories of young recruits sitting in a sweltering tent and logging into the heavily filtered .gov email system on an ancient Macintosh. Sometimes a loved one sent a sweet message and a picture of a cat, which was always appreciated, even though the hard coded regulations reset the text to all caps interspersed with phrases like ‘censored’ and ‘jpeg not displayed.’ Just as often, though, a buddy with a satellite connection would dash off a succinct report of lives recently lost in the latest (redacted) mission. Harsh as they were, Bucky appreciated those notes just as much. His higher-ups rarely passed down accurate weather reports, let alone information about their brothers in other companies. Demoralizing content was cut more and more as the conflict in the desert stretched on. They said it would detract from the bravery of the young, impressionable troops. Bucky laughs now to keep himself from grinding his teeth. The policy won’t fall out of fashion any time soon, no matter where the army continues to send him.

If Bucky uses his morning free time to call any of the hospital’s departments, the nurse at the desk invariably tells him that they’ll take a note and pass it onto the next in the chain of command. An MA, an intern, some kid doing work study to earn his mess hall rations… As responsible as any of them may be, the note never makes it further than the trash can behind the reception desk. That’s what Bucky assumes, since he hasn’t received any communication back.

The same is true for his evenings; Bucky gets off work around 4:00 most days, and he’s lucky to be put on hold while the desk person searches down for someone with authority. The system shuts down promptly at 5:00, and the tinny classical medley of the hold music dies and gives him a dial tone instead. Some days Bucky steels himself and leaves his name and predicament with the voicemail, trying hard not to sound too angry or annoyed. He’s pondered on the idea of letting his emotions seep into his speech along with some heavy sighs, but he doesn’t want to risk it. The last thing he needs is for his counselor to find out and refer him to anger management.

What he’d needed, badly, was a follow up with audiology. The kind practitioner in plainclothes carefully helped him through the process of a complete ear health and hearing examination. The tiny booth for the beep and button test had given him pause, but, as with everything else so far, he’d survived. After the audiologist collected her data, she’d tried to interest him in filling out the form for his hearing aid order. The diagnosis of partial deafness had come as no surprise, but Bucky had declined to participate. “Whatever brand, whatever color. I don’t care,” he’d told her. Stress had been mounting, and the audiologist had let him escape the office with a fleeting, “See you later. We’ll call when you can come pick them up.”

The call had come, much to Bucky’s surprise. He’d felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket as he was pushing a refrigerator box across the warehouse. A quick glance at the screen had shown an unknown number with a local prefix, and he’d figured he should pick up. Maybe it was the front desk at Steve’s office. The community college puzzling over his student loan and GI bill. The local police, perhaps, trying to cite him for abuse of pigeons.

Surprisingly, though, it was the VA. “Hold on, hold on, I have to get somewhere I can hear you,” he’d barked over the rest of the caller’s sentence. Bucky had quickly ducked into the windowless closet they used as a break room before saying, “Ok, go.”

The quality of the call had been especially terrible. “Hearing aids”, Bucky was able to decipher. Then, “Schedule pickup.”

“In the morning,” he’d replied. “I work weird hours.”

“The thirteenth?” The caller had offered.

“What, like, tomorrow?”

“Next month.”

Bucky’d pushed his hair back off his forehead, wondering if he could pin down his work times that far in advance. “I’ll try to make it work.” That was the best he could offer.

“And PT?”

“What was that now?”

“Physical therapy,” the caller had clarified.

Bucky could’ve sworn he’d already graduated from the program. He’d been relieved when he’d stopped going. The humiliation of pedaling an arm bike with only one arm regularly took a chunk of his self esteem.

“No-show last session,” Bucky had managed to understand. “Reschedule.”

“Um…” He could’ve explained his understanding of the situation, but he’d already been eager to get off the phone. If anything, he could pretend to go to PT and really just use it as an opportunity to tell his therapist face-to-face that he was quitting. “Sure,” Bucky had sighed. The rush of air had reverberated through the call and caught him back like a waterpik to his eardrum. Hard of hearing, he was. Not hard of feeling. “Ugh, sorry.”

The caller had paid it no mind. “Nine o’clock for audiology and 9:30 for PT?’”

“Sure.” Now Bucky was cringing at the sound of his own voice. “Thanks.” Then he’d hung up, not waiting to hear a goodbye.

He’d meant to jot the appointments down in his planner. He’d amused himself with the thought that the thing might finally serve a helpful purpose. Bucky’s good mood had carried on through the afternoon. He was even inspired to pick up a box of donuts and drive over to Steve’s office, where he’d sat on the hood of Steve’s car and helped himself to a chocolate glazed. Steve had come out the door shouting at Bucky for defacing his vehicle. But then he’d eaten a sugar dusted lemon creme and inticed Bucky to lick the sweet powder from his fingers. The trip back to Steve’s place was a given. It wasn't the first time he’d given Bucky a lift to pick up his car in the morning.

The next few weeks had passed uneventfully. It was back to the mundane work/rest/tv cycle that drove Bucky’s life. He and Steve were a little tense again. He was living on cereal again. Bucky figured he’d work it out with his counselor at the next appointment. Until then, he’d cope. He hadn’t counted, but he knew there weren’t that many days left in the week.

Friday dawns grey and cloudy. Bucky’s scheduled to work a swing shift, so he doesn’t have to leave his apartment until the afternoon. He gathers the box of cornflakes and the milk carton, then sits at the kitchen table in his bathrobe. He intends to let his cereal marinate for a moment while he browses social media, but he doesn’t get that far. Bucky feels a jolt in his gut as squints at the expiration date stamped on the side of the milk. The thirteenth. Today, he realizes. Friday the fucking thirteenth. He should just go back to bed now.

But no, he has work later, and he rarely sleeps during daylight hours without the help of some chemical or other. Getting high would be nice, though. He could call in sick. The thought of the dishonesty hardens into a lump in Bucky’s stomach, though. On the other hand, he does feel a little sick. He doesn’t particularly want to slog his balding car tires through slick streets and mud puddles. No, he can’t do that. He’d run the risk of becoming the butt of somebody’s joke about being scarce on the unlucky day. Anxiety pits itself against anxiety, and the discomfort moves upward into Bucky’s chest.

Something else isn’t right. Bucky stands and grabs his planner from the top of a stack of phone books in the kitchen corner. The poorly bound yellow and white pages usually serve the purpose of sound damper when he has to resort to a screwdriver or hammer to bust open packaging. Otherwise, they’re a convenient shelf for stuff he likes to keep handy, which is really just a flimsy excuse for not tidying up.

Bucky flips the leaves of the planner. He’d left it open to some date last week, and, though he hasn’t written anything in the schedule blocks, he’s starting to feel positive that he’s missed something important.

Important. Bucky whispers the word under his breath until it slurs into something unintelligible. Appointment, Bucky realizes as he lands on the page for today. “Don’t let the rain spoil the sunshine” the inscription reads. It’s in a curly novelty font, and Bucky can swear he feels the eye strain crystallizing into a headache. Friday the fucking thirteenth indeed.

Bucky can’t remember the time he’s scheduled to arrive at the VA, so he books it, just in case. If he’s late, someone will cancel the appointments. Usually some front desk person, a scheduler or a receptionist, who seems to lavish in other people’s distress. If he’s early, well, he’ll sit and suffer in the waiting area, listening to the front desk person ruin other people’s day.

Bucky leaves his pajama top and hustles into jeans, then grabs his wallet and phone. He stuffs his feet into some clogs. Even slip-ons that require a manual heel adjustment are too much for him today. He’s almost out the door when he spots the milk and dry cereal still sitting on the kitchen table. Bucky falters in an anxious pause, then decides it’s not worth the effort to put them away. The milk is scheduled to expire today anyway.

Bucky pauses again outside the front door when he remembers that he needs keys. They live on a hook next to the door, so he only needs to open it as wide as his arm. He scrabbles at the wall with his fingernails, and the keys fall on the floor. “Fuck,” Bucky mumbles as he bends to retrieve them. The change in position kicks up a wave of vertigo, and he has to lean on the wall for a moment to stop his visual field from spinning.

Now flustered, Bucky races across the parking lot and jumps into his car. He backs up without turning his head, hoping Friday the thirteenth doesn’t bless him with a dent in his bumper. Luck wins, and he speeds toward the main road. He breathes deeply before turning at the stop sign. Getting out of his parking space must’ve been a false positive. He steels himself for whatever terror the hospital has for him today.

When he slides into the hospital lot, Bucky knows he’s pulled in crooked. He cracks the door, and once he sees that his tires are only a centimeter or so across the line, he calls it good enough. He slams the door, but when he goes to lock it, he realizes he’s left the keys in the ignition. Bucky begs the car not to auto lock, but it does anyway. The beep is barely within his range of hearing, but the high, tinny sound makes him squeeze his eyes shut. He has his phone on his body, so he can at least call roadside assistance when it’s time to leave.

“Fuck.” Bucky curses himself again before starting to hold his breath in preparation for the VA’s revolving door. If he’ll ever get stuck in it, it will be today. The door grinds and scrapes over waterproof carpet, but Bucky manages to shove it into working order. It spits him out in the middle of the overly lit entrance hall. Blast fluorescent lightbulbs. Bucky’s head gives a good throb, and he remembers to exhale. His heart’s going a mile a minute. He needs to calm down before some staff member sees him and decides to give him a piss test to make sure he isn’t misusing his amphetamines.

Lo and behold, a woman in scrubs crosses the hall right in front of him. She has her head down and her thumbs moving madly as she types on her phone. She pays him no mind, and Bucky’s glad for it. He hopes she doesn’t run into something, it being Friday the thirteenth and all. After a glance in both directions, Bucky heads to the audiology clinic. With the lights above reflecting in shiny puddles across the floor, he hopes he doesn’t run into something either.

When Bucky reaches the front desk, the elderly man behind the counter glares. “You’re a few minutes late,” he announces.

“Sorry,” Bucky gasps. He swallows and tries to get his diaphragm and lungs back into alignment. “I’m sorry. Uh, traffic, you know…”

The man nods. He knows. He probably thinks he knows everything. He might be a retired general or something; Bucky’s only seen this degree of hatred coming from the eyes of a higher ranking officer who’s dead set on stomping anthills.

“You’re late,” the man repeats. “I’ll have to call your practitioner.”

Bucky averts his eyes as the man picks up a landline and peruses the list of extensions on an index card taped to the side of a computer monitor.

“I can just go,” Bucky offers. Better to leave on his own volition rather than take the demerit and perseverate on it on the drive back to his apartment. No, rather when he loiters back in the parking lot waiting on a tow truck.

“It’s fine.” The doctor in plainclothes appears in the doorway adjacent to the reception desk. Today she wears a t-shirt bearing a stylized painting of a cochlear implant. “You’re picking up, right?” She glances at the back of the desk man’s head. “Appointments like that don’t take much time. You’re good to come back.”

Bucky’s relieved to avoid the tense session of waiting room sitting; he steps quickly through the door the audiologist holds open for him. Her office is the first door down the hall. Blessedly it’s carpeted, and the chairs for patients have real cushions on their seats. Bucky starts to sit, but the audiologist stops him.

“Here.” She grabs a small box off her desk and hands it over. “Just pop them in.”

Bucky takes it and does as he’s told. The box hinges open, and there are the aids. His aids, now. The part that sits behind his ear is metallic grey with a few bright, silver, and overly technical looking buttons. Dark red tubes secure to the slim side of the aids to navy blue molds, which Bucky assumes are custom cut and fabricated from the uncomfortable gel impressions he’d suffered through at his first appointment.

“Alright…” Bucky takes one and pushes the earmold deeply in his left canal. The soft silicone squishes slightly, but maintains its shape. It feels as if he’s shoving a bouncy ball into his ear. Once the aid is positioned, it completely blocks his sense of hearing. He’s reminded uncomfortably of the compressed foam earplugs he’d worn when he was training on the firing range. “Is it supposed to be quiet?” Bucky asks. He points at his ear, and, unable to hear his own voice, hopes he isn’t shouting.

“I’ll turn them on and tweak the programming once you have both in.” The audiologist speaks at what Bucky assumes is a regular volume, but she moves her lips in an exaggerated fashion. God, will he be happy to get rid of that problem. He isn’t good at lip reading. He can if he has to, but just looking someone in the face spikes his anxiety.

Bucky puts in the other aid. He’s disconcerted by the further silence, even though he’d known it was coming. He gives the audiologist a thumbs up. He’s willing to do anything to speed up the process.

The audiologist returns the gesture, then turns to her computer and clicks through multiple drop down menus. The aids suddenly spring to life, making Bucky cringe. The change from silence to sound is more abrupt than he’d expected. It’s as if he’s in the middle of the ocean, but without crashing waves to see and feel to ground him in the experience. Bucky wonders if the walls are moving, the painted cinderblocks rumbling against each other as the room closes in from all sides. The discomfort of his headache moves down to his sinuses and his jawline. No, not now. The last thing he needs is creeping nausea.

“How do they sound?” The audiologist’s voice rings out loud and clear.

Bucky can’t quite reason whether the aids are doing their job or if she’s still just speaking loudly. “Um.” Bucky swallows. “I hear you.”

“Good.” The audiologist moves her mouse and clicks a few more buttons, then presses a few keys.

Bucky hears the sound of her typing. Is it normal for typing to make such a clatter? The whole computer setup is as ancient as anything else in the hospital with a towering processor and large cube-shaped monitor. Old keyboards make a lot of noise, Bucky knows. And the audiologist has long fingernails.

She looks up at him, eyes full of pleasurable excitement. “How do they sound?”

“How am I supposed to know?” The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he realizes he’s probably sounding rude. “I mean,” he tries to backtrack. “I think they’re ok?”

The audiologist nods, unperturbed. “Both sides sounding the same?

“Um.” Bucky tries focusing his attention to only hid sense of hearing. It’s a difficult feat, though. Nausea flares again, and his head gives an almighty throb. “I…yeah? I guess?”

“It’s challenging at first.”

Bucky wishes the audiologist had led with that. It gives him a granule of comfort, though his discomfort stays at the same level.

“The volume buttons are there.” She turns her head and points midway down her ear. “Definitely play with that. And if something feels off with the sound or the fit of the ear molds, just swing by. I do walk-ins.”

Bucky forces a smile. He knows he won’t visit again. He doesn’t want to know what the desk sergeant would say if he came into the clinic unscheduled.

“Yeah, ok.” Bucky nods, then regrets it. He becomes all the more aware of the tension in the back of his neck.

“Alright.” The audiologist stands and walks toward the door.

Bucky follows, highly aware of his clogs scraping the aged fuzzy carpet. “Bye,” Bucky says as he steps over the threshold into the hallway.

“Yeah, see you. Come in any time.”

Bucky makes no response. He hears her voice; the words come in clearly and sound clipped with precision, even though he’s already turned his back. It’s definitely an improvement, but he’s anticipating a learning curve.

With this potentially difficult done with, Bucky should feel encouraged. He’s done a thing; it was successful. His counselor and DBT workbook would want him to evaluate, then non-judgementally file it for safekeeping. He did something hard. Therefore, the next hard thing should be easier. He can’t quite feel the vibe, though. It might be the headache spreading its domination over more and more territory in his brain. He imagines double-masted ships bumping into the coastlines of North America and Africa, then spitting out little red-coated troops to run inland and raise the British flag. It could just as easily be a C-130 dropping off a fleet of Army-colored Jeeps in the desert, Bucky and his buddies lined up to sprint into the cargo bay and jump in the drivers’ seats to back them down the incline.

Great, that’s just great. Bucky grits his teeth. The stupid war that cost him his stupid arm and grounded him out of a career. And now he’s meant to live out the rest of his stupid life, full of stupid appointments and therapy, which keep jumping onto the stupid calendar whether he wants them or not. The sound of moving air in his ears is replaced with a cringe-worthy grind. Bucky stops in the middle of the hallway and looks around before realizing it’s his own clenching jaw. He brings his hand up to massage his mastoids. The pressure in his head and face rearranges itself again. Maybe he could just go home and leave a message with PT. He’d apologize for the last minute cancellation and say he got sick. It wouldn’t even be that much of a lie. Doubt raises its voice in dissent, though. Someone would probably recognize his car… For which he’ll have to call roadside before he can go anywhere.

For a moment, Bucky entertains calling Steve. He hates to look weak and dependent. He hates asking for things. Steve’s boyfriend had gone to Iraq, and this idiot with long hair and one arm came back. Bucky wants to slide back into place as the protective one, not the one needing protection. He can’t make up for the deficit with boxes of donuts, at least not all the time. Bothering Steve during work, for which he’s savagely underpaid and actually seems to enjoy… Bucky slogs on toward the therapy office. He’ll be a lone wolf today. Hopefully his position as the lame one far behind the pack won’t get him eaten by a polar bear or something. The PTs and their wall posters of bisected humans made of red muscle would be bad enough. They probably knew very well how to butcher him and roast his meat on a spit.

Bucky searches in his head for a thought that isn’t nauseating. His stomach feels knotted and lifted into his rib cage. Had he eaten this morning? Had coffee? Bucky doesn’t remember, nor can he figure which situation is worse.

The moment he reaches the waiting area in front of PT, the woman behind the desk tells him to go ahead into the exercise room. Bucky nods. Ordinarily he’d feel a little wary of the familiarity; he doesn’t care for situations when someone he barely knows has all his information. Some days he can’t recite his own social security number. On a day like Friday the thirteenth, he hopes he doesn’t have to sign any forms. He isn’t sure he’d be able to spell or even remember his full name.

Those thoughts disperse immediately when he walks through the door to the exercise room. He’s used to it smelling like rubber gloves and past its prime gym equipment. Today, though, the scent of potato chips is overwhelming. Just plain, salted, greasy chips. Bucky tells himself he actually likes regular chips. It’s kitschy flavors and toppings that set him off. He has to try willing away his disgust. It has to be the headache. Bucky likes food, at least better than the reflux of tube feeding formula. Even military hospital food outweighed the NG. Other people eat. He isn’t offended. He just doesn’t feel well. It’s completely his own problem.

Bucky looks around from the threshold of the exercise room, expecting to see his usual therapist. Natasha is unmistakable with her high red ponytail and chiseled musculature. She makes black scrubs look high fashion. Bucky hasn’t dated a girl since 8th grade, but he’s open minded. About friendships and things. He’s a little jealous of Natasha, when he gets down to it. Had he not been injured, he too might’ve maintained his shape and strength and social life. She’s alluring, but also intimidating. It seems as if every time Bucky comes in, he’s forced to remember how different things could’ve been. She’s successful and he isn’t, and that’s the way things will stay. He’s very set on his decision to quit. Then he might improve at talk therapy with the removal of Natasha as a trigger.

There seems to be no Natasha today, though. Two male therapists sit facing each other, one sitting on a desk and the other perched backward on the seat of a stationary bike. The one on the desk has the crinkling, yellow bag of Lay’s.

“Hey, sorry.” The man on the desk chews and swallows quickly before crunching the bag into a ball and shooting it into a trash bin. “My kids have me hooked on snack time.”

“Hm.” Bucky inclines his head and makes a sound of acknowledgment, trying not to react to the angry sound of the chip bag hitting the rim of the bin.

“Yeah, well.” The man on the bike stands up in one fluid motion. “Client’s here. Gotta pretend to go back to work.”

“M, yeah, I guess.” The one on the desk wipes his hands on his knees, chip crumbs and grease prints now adhering to his pants. He hefts a file folder. “Data entry. Super fun.”

The man now off the bike gives Bucky a wave. “I know you belong to Nat,” he says. “But they’ve got her running a training in Baltimore today.” He pauses a second, then asks, “I’m Sam. You mind working with me?”

“Um,” Bucky wavers. “I was, er, going to turn in my papers?” He’s met with silence, so Bucky goes on. “Like, telling you all I don’t want any more appointments?”

“Oh, sure.” Sam nods. “Yeah, we don’t have to reschedule you. I think you’re on the list of recurring clients.” Then he addresses the man at the desk. “Hey, Clint, while you’re entering data, can you put his name on call-to-schedule?” Sam looks to Bucky. “It’s James, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. There’s no need to explain how he goes by his middle name, but also not really.

“Sure…” Clint squints at his monitor and scrolls slowly. “Yep, there you are. And done.”

“Thanks.” Bucky shuffles his feet. He wants to turn and run, but adding any kind of bounce to his gait will surely stir up his gut in the worst of ways. Maybe he can inch backward first to initiate a smoother exit.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Sam offers. “Legs or abs or soft tissue?”

“Uh.” Bucky feels called out. He still has every right to leave, but now there’s pressure. He hates not delivering. He hates giving up a challenge, knowing it contributes to his air of disability. Statistically, a lot of vets get caught up in PTSD and alcohol and drugs and wind up hibernating until they’re arrested or dead. Shirking commitments is a primary sign, and with Bucky’s awareness of his want to ingest substances and get horizontal… He has to remind himself that even trained therapists can’t read his thoughts. “I don’t know…” Maybe he should offer an excuse? “I really have a headache and I have to call to get my car towed…” he trails off, feeling much more lame than he had when he’d started.

“You’ve done soft tissue work with Natasha, right?” Sam points to the door of one of the small private rooms coming off the main. Bucky knows there are massage tables and rolling stools inside. He has done soft tissue work with Natasha, and it has alleviated his back and neck aches before. It’s overly personal, though, and awkward. Bucky’s never sure if he’s supposed to keep his eyes open or closed.

Honesty takes control, and Bucky answers with “Yeah, I have.”

“Might bring down the headache. I’m no magician, but I do know pressure points.” Sam grins at him. “I went through all this when I came back, too. PT saved my basketball game.”

Bucky knows he’s being kind, but he can’t help thinking of his unbalanced body trying to dribble and shoot lay-ups. He’d look worse than the last kid in gym class.

“Or you can just lie down for a while.” Sam laughs. “I don’t disclose what happens in there. HIPPA, and all that.”

And there, without even trying, they’ve formed such a close friendship that now they’re in the territory of dirty jokes. It’s stranger intrusion, one thousand percent, and even though it makes the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up, he no longer has the choice to leave. Bucky wonders if this guy’s a master of manipulation, whether he knows he’s contorting the inner threads of Bucky’s brain and removing all traces of his own volition.

“Um, I guess.” Bucky’s voice is so loud in his own ears that it makes his head throb. Once the pain has reverberated to his stomach and back, he continues, “I guess we can try.”

“Cool.” Sam reaches for a clipboard and pen, but stops before picking them up. “No notes today, right? It’s your sunset session.”

“Right.” Maybe lying down would do Bucky some good. The sickness that’s been building in him is edging toward physical sensation. It’s no longer confined to his mentality, and any hope of thinking it away is far gone. Bucky walks toward the private room. He’d better not look as terrible as he feels. He doesn’t think he can take any comments of sympathy.

“Face up, ok?” Sam closes the door behind them and plants on a stool.

Bucky obliges and sits on the edge of the massage table. One of his shoes falls off as he’s lifting up his legs. He jumps at the sound of the clunk and quickly apologizes. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s cool. Probably more comfortable to take them off.” The wheels on the bottom of the stool squeak slightly. Bucky both hears and feels Sam coming closer. His spine tingles and an ache starts up between his shoulder blades. There’s nothing like anxiety throwing spears at his body. Wholistic approach to medicine aside, Bucky swears his brain and body are egging each other on.

Once Bucky’s flat on his back, he combs his fingers through his bangs to keep the hair from sticking to clammy sweat. Sam will probably be grossed out before even touching him. He’s infinitesimally glad to see the therapist putting on exam gloves.

“Alright.” The stool squeaks again, and Bucky feels Sam slide his fingers beneath the arch of his neck. “We’ll start right here at the top of the spine.”

Two thumbs plant on either side, just below Bucky’s occipital lobe. The pressure brings with it a feeling of pain that’s just short of pleasure. If he didn’t have vertigo, Bucky might’ve thanked Sam for spotting a problematic area on his first go.

“Ok. And here…” Sam’s fingers rest lightly on the jaw muscles stretching under his chin and down his neck. He adds force to the pressure points behind Bucky’s head. His touch is light, and his fingertips stay still and professional. Natasha’s work on his tense muscles had been just fine. Maybe Sam had more advanced training? Or was he pushing a fallacious invitation of intimacy that comes when people mistake shared backgrounds for real empathy. The first and last time Bucky had tried attending a support group, someone who’d last fought in Vietnam had tried to give him a hug.

Sam slides his touch outward toward Bucky’s ears, and a horrific scraping noise resounds in the hearing aids, which seem to have barely escaped disturbance. “Turn your head to the side.”

Sam hasn’t stated a direction, so Bucky falters, and the weight of his head wavers to the right before he commits to turning left. Vertigo swells over all other sensation, and Bucky holds his eyes wide open, looking for a substitute horizon. There are subtle lines between the painted white painted cinder blocks of the wall. Bucky tries to choose one to lock his vision upon. He daren’t blink. The overhead light sears into his peripheral vision, though, and dark and light spots start to gather on both sides.

“Alright.” Sam puts his palm against Bucky’s jawline and directs his fingers to the tight muscle running lengthwise from his ear to his shoulder. “You comfortable?”

“Um.” Bucky can only stutter before he has to gulp down something horrible and sour. His thoughts run frantically. He hadn’t consumed the spoiled milk this morning; he remembers that for sure. It was probably treating his tiny apartment to dank odor of curdling dairy. The first day of his deployment, Bucky had learned not to leave a cup of yogurt outside in the sun. He’d opened it when he sat down at the outdoor table, then obviously misjudged how long it would take him to finish the rest of his meal. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before it had developed a thick skin and gave off a smell of sweet rot.

“James?” Sam lifts his hand. The imprints of where his fingers had been develop a sensation of negative pressure. Bucky can’t remember which line he’d chosen on the wall. He blinks, and he’s disoriented even more. Bucky’s stomach races upward ahead of his heartbeat and turns liquid somewhere inside his esophagus.

“You ok?”

“I—actually—uh—“ Bucky’s entire body trembles, and it seems gravity has loosened its hold on him. He can barely feel the floor under his stocking feet when he pushes himself up on his arm and turns. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Sure, man.” Sam pulls his stool backward with the shove of one sneaker, then turns back to Bucky and proffers a small trash bin. “Here.”

Bucky holds down a retch long enough to get the bottom of the bin between his knees. The next heave is huge and convulsive. Bucky instinctively breathes in, then chokes when the air hits liquid resistance in his mouth and nose. He coughs hard to clear his airway. His vision swims and brings on another wave of sickness. Bucky doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward until his sternum aches from pressing against the bin’s hard metal rim.

It’s all Sam’s work keeping him stable, Bucky realizes. His mind would fall into weakness and stupidity if his body wasn’t already robbing every bit of his attention. It’s just his luck, just his Friday the thirteenth, pushing him into such a compromising position. What had he been doing, thinking about spoiled milk? Bucky’s mental image quickly replaces the milk with a rumpled chip bag. He’s never eating a potato again, whether it’s a chip or a fry or a baked potato with sour cream and chives…

“Ugh.” Bucky hacks again, feeling ropes of mucous and saliva sticking to his lip. He squeezes his eyes shut, and unintended tears roll down his face. They get caught in the scruff of his beard before passing his cheeks. Bucky wonders how soiled his mustache will be. And the hair on his chin. But those are small potatoes compared to his rushing thoughts of food. Fuck potatoes. Fuck cereal. Fuck donuts and starches and sugar.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam’s voice is uncomfortably close. Bucky assumes Sam’s leaning forward too, trying to bump their heads together or something. When he peels his eyes open, though, Sam’s still at a reasonable distance. His hands and knees hold the bin while his back remains straight and tall.

“I’m—fuck.” Bile runs down his tongue, and Bucky’s unsure whether he wants to spit or swallow. He tries the swallow, but his epiglottis refuses to close, and he winds up letting more liquid sick flow into the bin. “Sorry,” Bucky gasps. He wants to rake his hair back again, but he’s afraid he’ll fall over if he doesn’t keep his hand grounded on the massage table beside his hip.

“Hey, no big.” Bucky isn’t sure how Sam’s able to maintain such composure. Maybe he has kids? A loved one with cancer? Steve takes good care of Bucky when he’s exceptionally down, but there’s always a nervous jumpiness weighing in on the situation. It’s just Steve, Bucky thinks, who has a nervous jumpiness about everything. He stresses over other people’s stress, constantly puttering and hovering. It’s probably why he still looks like a skinny teenager; he burns so many calories with his perpetual motion.

“It’s ok,” Sam says. “Humans are messy sometimes.” He must’ve absorbed the entire DBT book, Bucky decides. Wise and observant and unemotional. He could be one of those kids unnaturally excited for Anatomy and Physiology Lab. Blood and guts might turn him on. He could be a CSI on the side. Or maybe a serial killer.

“I’m—god, I’m sorry,” Bucky apologizes again. He lifts his head an inch and catches a glimpse of Sam’s face, trying to reset his flighty sense of judgement. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, Bucky says inside his head. Calm. Observe. Bucky shakes his head a little from side to side, but the world shifts on him again, and he wraps his arm around his abdomen. It does nothing to help steady him; his organs are still shoved up in his chest.

Bucky dry heaves. A rancid tasting belch pops in the back of his throat, but it brings nothing up with it. Good, maybe? He’s done? Bucky’s sure he’s empty now, at least.

“No, you’re good.” Sam pauses a moment. “I mean, I can’t imagine you feel good, but don’t rush. Try not to stress. It’ll make you tense up. Then you’ll have to come back to visit PT.”

Bucky’s never stepping foot in this office again. Not into the VA at all, if he can help it. He can push his meetings with his counselor back to Telehealth. He’ll figure out his hearing aids by himself. There has to be a website or something.

Now that he’s thinking about them, Bucky recognizes the swirling water sound coming in. It’s amplified enough to shake his eardrums. Bucky presses the balls of his feet into the floor and lets his arm free to pull the aids out of his ears. They make a high-pitched squeal as he holds them together in his palm, but Bucky depresses the off button on one, then the other. Bucky enjoys the blessed silence, but then Sam says something again, and Bucky’s right back with his original deficit.

“Those new?” Sam nods toward the aids in Bucky’s hand.

“These?” Bucky checks. “Yeah. This morning, actually.” He swallows a couple of times, hoping to kick the chafing and hoarseness out of his throat.

“Ah.” Sam gives a half smile. “I wouldn’t advise ophthalmology right after breakfast, either. Or load up on Zofran. You got a script for that?”

“One of the boxes on the bathroom counter, I think.” Bucky thinks he has a pack of the foil-coated pills. Or was that Xanax? No, Xanax comes in a regular prescription bottle. Either way, Bucky should probably carry both on his person at all times. He’s turning into a stereotypical civilian. Though jeans and shirts are severely lacking in pockets when compared to Army duds.

“If I had any, I’d give you a hit.” Sam’s smile turns mysterious. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. No secret chat with someone at the pharmacy counter.”

“Naw, I’m good.” Bucky waits a tick, then says, “You’re not going to tell on me for this, are you?” He glances into the bin, then lifts his gaze quickly. “I don’t want to be called in for a flu test or anything.”

“No worries.” Sam looks toward the bin as well. “Done with this?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms. “Definitely done.”

“How’s the headache?” Sam asks before setting the bin on the floor out of Bucky’s line of sight.

Bucky wonders if Sam’s reading his mind again. But Bucky had fed him that intel, he remembers. And he’d spilled the beans about his car. He really couldn’t be caught any worse. “Eh.” Bucky shrugs. “It’s a pretty constant thing. On and off, I mean.” Everyone who’s read his chart notes knows everything about his TBI and its physical symptoms it causes. Most of the world could probably guess, too. The scar along his hairline is as good as poof. The crabby looking guy with a battle mark— his look is enough to turn people away.

Sam remains quietly engaged. He really could be a sociopath. No, Sam’s probably the normal person. Bucky might be the sociopath. He hasn’t really come to terms with the man who came home from the desert, despite Bucky’s inability to retain the identity he had before shipping out.

Normal people ask questions back when chatting with others, Bucky remembers. He should do that. “You, uh, you said you’d served?” Bucky thinks he remembers that too.

“Yeah. Air Force. Two tours,” Sam says with little emotion. “I thought being a PJ was all about jumping out of airplanes.” He averts his eyes momentarily before looking Bucky in the face again. “But it’s way more putting in IVs in the back of an H-60. Talk about turbulence. Had to grow an iron stomach for that.”

So that’s where he gets it. He got to load the wounded and dying into the bright yellow cage lift. Bucky hadn’t been conscious through his own medevac, so he has no triggers regarding bungee cords and helicopters, thank god. He wonders how Sam had managed to make it back stateside, but Bucky knows he isn’t allowed to ask. Bucky tries looking at things from Sam’s end, dredging through red blood and orange sand, looking for skin sticking out of singed uniforms. He probably hates Army green now. And maybe bright yellow bags of chips.

Bucky’s pondering has allowed the conversation to trail off again. Another fail on his part.

Sam seems not to mind, though, and as soon as Bucky’s mentally checked in again, he asks, “You ever been in a helicopter? In the seat, I mean?”

“Uh…” Bucky struggles to recall. “I think we did an aerial tour of the map once before I got assigned to a camp.” The memory comes back as he verbalises it. “I had the jump seat, and they didn’t give me any headphones. I think I looked at a bunch of piles of sand.”

“I wish I’d had a pleasure tour,” Sam replies. “I usually didn’t know where we were going until we were ready to repel. I guess it didn’t matter so much. Helped keep us focused, maybe? I honestly couldn’t point to all the places I’ve been if you gave me a map. I was just along for the ride, you know?”

“Every ride in a tank is just as long and bumpy,” Bucky tells him. “And hoping I didn’t draw the short straw and have to sit backwards.”

“Oh, yeah. Flight school, it’s a big thing.” Sam laughs. “Tank school, though? Drivers’ ed?”

“I never went.” Bucky puts up his hand to mark his innocence. “I can only speak for myself, though.”

“I feel you.” Sam takes the pause to switch subjects. “You said your car wasn’t working, right? Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, well.” Bucky bites his lip. “I locked the keys inside,” he admits. “It’s Friday the thirteenth. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Friday the thirteenth,” Sam repeats. “I actually had no idea. You’ve had a day, though, man. And it’s only…” He glances at his watch. “9:37 in the morning.”

“I better call the insurance. Can I come back in here if it’s raining?”

“Sure. Or we can walk together across the parking lot. I have an umbrella. And leather seats.” Sam rises to his feet.

“I should just bite it.” Bucky picks up his hearing aids and stands as well. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and slips the aids inside. “I mean, I should call someone. My boyfriend has a car…” As soon as he says it, Bucky knows he’s slipped. He’s stuck in non action again. It won’t be a big deal unless he makes it a big deal, and then there will be full-on tension.

“Can he come get you?” Sam asks, nonplussed.

“He works for a travel blog, actually,” Bucky says, hoping he isn’t disgracing Steve by talking about him and his work. “They’re in this old newspaper office. It’s kind of a cool place.”

“Sounds neat. Old places are nice. Unless they’re here,” Sam says with a laugh. “I’ll probably be old and grey before they give this place a facelift.”

“Oh, I agree.” Bucky laughs too, then averts his attention back to his phone.

“You still have more than twenty minutes of appointment time,” Sam says. “And I have a break before I’ll be needed here again. You sure you couldn’t use a lift? I don’t want you getting tripped up over a sidewalk crack and fall into a mirror or anything. Step in front of a black cat, probably get all hissed and scratched at.”

“I’ve been thinking of getting a cat,”Bucky says, somewhat seriously. Then, “It really won’t be a bother? I’d hate to give you and your car any of my bad luck.”

“Seriously,” Sam assures. “I’ve got to go do a weather check. Take out the trash, all that stuff.” He’s already bending to remove the trash bag from the bin. As he speaks.

“Oh, I can—“ Bucky starts.

“No, I’m good.” Sam twists the top of the bag and ties it off. The bag is a frosted clear color, so its contents are not immediately apparent. It has a liquid sag visually, though. Bucky feels an edge of sick guilt, so he engages in putting his phone into his pocket. It bunches up on top of his hearing aids, but he’s determined not to be caught picking at his ass and losing his last shred of dignity.

Bucky and Sam exit the private PT room side by side. “Here, we’ll go out the back door,” Sam says, pointing.

“You bringing back Starbucks?” Clint, still at his computer, raises his eyebrows.

“No,” Sam says blankly.

“Where you going, then?”

“Going to take out the trash and take this brother for a drive.” Everything Sam says is plain and glib, and his tone could’nt be mistaken for anything but the honest truth.

“Can you take my trash out?” Clint points to the bin behind the desk, which is overflowing with wadded balls of paper.

“No,” Sam tells him again.

“Come on.”

“I’m not catching the blame for putting sensitive material in the dumpster.”

“It’s not sensitive. It’s trash,” Clint tries to explain.

“I don’t make the rules.” Sam waves him off. “Check your calendar, though, I think you’re scheduled to have a bad day.”

“What?” Clint shoves a pile of folders to the side so he can scrutinize the desk blotter. He squints and looks closer, and the top folder slides onto the floor, absenting itself of all the paper within. “Fuck. Really?” Clint gives the mess a dirty look. “You really should pick me up a Starbucks.”

“It’s probably raining and the drive through’s closed.” Bucky laughs as Sam blatantly bull shits.

“Huh?” Clint seems to know he’s been insulted, but can’t see exactly where. “You haven’t done a weather check.”

“I’ll text you,” Sam offers. He turns the knob of the exit door and ushers Bucky to follow. “There’s an emoji for that, right? Happy cat for sun and crying cat for rain?”

“Yeah, text me.” Clint gives Sam a final unsure glance before returning to his calendar.”

“Roger,” Sam says as he steps out the door. As soon as Bucky is out as well, he says, “The dumpster’s just behind this wall, and my car is there.” He points to a shiny red BMW. A fine layer of miniature raindrops coat the hood and windshield. The air itself feels cold, yet muggy. Bucky feels slightly choked, and he’s glad he’s already emptied his stomach. With the weather and the remaining headache, it’d just be his luck to ruin some new friend’s upholstery.

Sam clicks the remote to unlock his car. Bucky doesn’t hear the beep, but the solid click of the two front doors alerts do the job to alert him that it’s time to open the passenger door. There are indeed leather seats. And it still smells like new car.

“One second.” Sam picks up his pace and disappears behind the edge of a grey and weather stained wall. There’s a moment of silence, but them Bucky hears Sam’s voice again, shouting, “Oh, shit, man, you’ve got to come see this.”

Bucky shuts the car door, wondering if he should be concerned. He follows Sam’s route around the wall, then laughs at what he sees. Two green dumpsters sit side by side, accumulated rain dripping down to the pavement. Sam must’ve already thrown the trash, and he’s pointing at an old wooden ladder leaned against the face of the far dumpster. Its bottom step is busted, missing a good amount of wood between the jagged ends.

“I’m not touching that,” Sam cackles.

“I can see why they left it,” Bucky offers, pushing down his own mirth. “You’d have to hold it over your head to toss it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be leaving that right there.” Sam walks toward Bucky, and they return to his parking space. “I’ll make Clint take his trash out later. I wonder, is there a ladder emoji?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky opens the front passenger door again. “But which cat are you going to use for cloudy as fuck?”

“I don’t know that either.” Sam slams his door and puts his key into the ignition. “Maybe somewhere there’s a black cat? Past the smiley faces and in the animal section?”

“That makes good sense.” Bucky takes his phone from his pocket again. He recalls his aids being in the pocket as well, and he takes the opportunity to get ahold of them before he winds up throwing them into the washing machine. The car is quiet, so Bucky cautiously turns them on and snugs the earmolds into his ears.

“Testing the waters again?” Sam asks, glancing Bucky’s way.

“Yeah.” Bucky ruminates on the sound of his own voice for a second. “No harsh lights. And your engine runs really quiet.”

“I really hope they run better for you.” Sam comes to a smooth stop and turns out of the parking lot.

“Yeah, I hear a difference already. Bucky catches his phone as it’s about to slide off his knee. “I would look up an emoji for you,” he offers, “But I don’t want to risk any consequences.”

“I trust your judgement.” Sam laughs and slowly brings the car up to speed.

“I—“ Bucky goes to say something else, but his breath catches in his throat. There’s something in the road several feet in front of them. It looks to be moving across the lane. “There’s a—“ Bucky hopes it’s not a cat.

“It’s a plastic bag,” Sam assures him. The object moves again and turns in a 180 as it enters the next lane. The huge, red Target logo stands out boldly on the other side.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, relieved. “Those damn sneaky plastic bags…”

They stop at a light, and Sam says, “Just tell me where to turn.”

Bucky realizes he hasn’t given him a hit of a direction. He supposes he’d thought Sam already knew, with the ease of their bond and all.

“It’s up a little ways. On Sandersville.” Bucky pronounces the street name a little awkwardly. He finds it displeasing, since it doesn’t lead to a village or a sand pit.

“Oh, yeah, I know what’s around there. I’ve had a few buddies who’ve lived in the buildings.” Sam nods. “I’ll get you home nice and safe. And, here—“ Sam pops the center console and pulls out a business card. “It’s probably too formal, but it’s got my number. The work line and my cell.” He points out the bottom line as he hands the card to Bucky.

“Thanks,” Bucky replies. “I’ll text you when I’m all settled? Then you’ll have my number, too.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Sam offers him a smile. “Call me if you get on the wrong side of any more plastic bags.”

“Steve works till six, so I guess I do have a lot of bad day left.” Bucky recalls his former plan to get toasted and lie on the couch. It still appeals, but maybe he’ll do something a little productive first. He’ll download a user guide for his hearing aids. Maybe see what the cable channels play Jack Hanna during the daytime. And he’ll call for his car, when he’s up for it.

“You take it easy, now.” Sam looks at him again. “It’s good to get to know you, James.”

“I, um. I go by Bucky,” Bucky says, embarrassed. It’s a perfectly natural thing to tell a new friend, he reminds himself. Sam hasn’t had a reason to call him by his name yet, anyway. “It’s short for my middle name,” he says, hoping it’s a good enough explanation.

“Well, good to know you then, Bucky,” Sam replies without missing a beat. “Let me know when you’re all good. What do you think, the grinning cat with its eyes closed? To sound the all-clear?”

“Perfect.” It may be the worst possible day, but now that Bucky’s sealed the deal with a new friend and a secret handshake. “I’ll have to explain the cat thing to Steve, though. I don’t want him getting jealous or anything. I don’t think he’s a great fan of cats.”

“No worries,” Sam says. “Maybe you can introduce us later. Something casual, you know. Like at Starbucks. I do like coffee, and we don’t have to talk about cats.”

“We like our coffee, too,” Bucky laughs. “It would be fun to meet up later. On a nicer, luckier day.”

“Sure.” Sam reaches the light for Sandersville. “That is such an odd name for a street, especially for one all full of vets’ houses. Did they call it Sand Ville when you were over there?”

“Yup,” Bucky says. “My thoughts exactly.”

Sam brings the car to a halt when they reach the edge of the first building. “This you?” He asks.

“Yeah, right there.” Bucky points to his front door. He undoes his seatbelt and tells Sam, “Bye.”

“Yeah, text me.” Sam waves as Bucky steps out onto the curb. “I still have my med kit and my EMT license, if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Back at you, man.” Sam waves again and does a U-turn in the street and heads off it the other direction.

It’s still cold and wet, but the rain seems to have stopped, at least long enough for Bucky to get back to his apartment. He stops dead at his front stoop, though. His keys are back in the car. At the VA.

“God fucking dammit.” He’ll call Steve. The upturn of the day has collapsed in on itself. He listens to the low sound of the wind for a moment. Everything sounds more balanced now. The hospital must just produce its own woeful environment. Bucky tries to reign his breath and focus on the principles of his DBT. He feels the weight of his phone in his hand. It’s hard and smooth, until he passes his thumb over the edge of the business card, which is a slightly different quality of hard and smooth. Bucky decides he can buy himself a few more minutes to think while he sends a text. He awakens his phone and dials Sam’s cell number into the top of a new message.

Hi, it’s Bucky, he types. No emojis. He presses send.

Barely a second later, the same number sends him a reply. Hi Bucky. Another second, and there’s a third message.

Are you locked out? Occurred to me when I got back to the corner.

Bucky feels his face flush with embarrassment. He backspaces through a few quivers typos before he manages to send back his undignified yes.

Bucky still has his eyes on his screen as it populates with another text.

Turning around.

Thank you.

Bucky’s day has reached uncertainty yet again. He feels like he has better odds now, though. If nothing else, he’ll live it out with his friend.

[themonkeycabal]

Hello! I was going to re-read the Run verse and was wondering if you had a copy of the reading order still? I know there's a pdf/ebook but I have an older phone that doesn't have much space and no ebook reader so I just read on Ao3 when I have access to wifi. Thanks 😊

Hi. I don't still have it, but let me make a list here real quick. This is chronological order:

Time to Run

We'll Run Like We're Awesome Chapters 1-4

Expectations of the Unexpected

We'll Run Like We're Awesome Chapters 5 & 6

Hodgepodge: Rebecca & Pepper

WRLWA Chapters 7-10

Hodgepodge: Madame Odette

WRLWA Chapters 11 & 12

One Day

WRLWA Chapters 13-15

Which Way the Weather's Going

Hodgepodge: When Darcy Met Nat

WRLWA Chapter 16

Flashes of Gold

WRLWA Chapter 17

Hodgepodge: Bruce & Darcy

Quality Strange

Earthquake Weather Chapters 1 & 2

'Til the Daylight Comes

Earthquake Weather Chapter 3

Hodgepodge: Clint & Tony

Earthquake Weather Chapter 4

No Ghosts at All

To Brace Yourself from Falling

Running for Cover

Ain't Gonna Drown Chapters 1-8

Shadows

Ain't Gonna Drown Chapters 9-15

Hodgepodge: Bucky & Coulson

Ain't Gonna Drown Chapters 16-19

Hurricane

Start a War

The Stranger

Lexington & Concord

Bid Time Returns Chapters 1-9

Hodgepodge: Heimdall

Bid Time Returns Chapters 10-13

Heart of Nowhere

Bid Time Return: Epilogue

Hodgepodge: Epilogue 2: Steve & Peggy

Trouble Town

8 Seconds

The Letter

Sons & Daughters

One Hundred and Eleven Days

Hodgepodge: Clint & Natasha

It's Alright, We'll Be Up All Night Chapters 1-5

Hodgepodge: Izzy Taveres

It's Alright, We'll Be Up All Night Chapter 6

Hodgepodge: Bucky & Peggy

We'll Have All the Best Stories

Rivers and Roads

Cup of Cheer

*phew* I think that's everything. Enjoy! And thank you for reading. :)

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Reunited Masterlist

bring me back to you (ao3) - kaleidoscopeminds michael/ashton, background luke/calum T, 1k

Summary: Michael is shifting from foot to foot anxiously between paces, staring between the digital board and the entrance to arrivals. Luke looks up from his phone and glares at him again but Michael genuinely can’t help it, he feels out of control of his body, vibrating with excitement and nerves. Ashton’s plane was officially on the ground and that meant it would only be a matter of minutes until he would be able to see him again, in real life rather than through a tiny rectangular screen on some poor quality WIFI.

fourth of july (every song's about you) (ao3) - galacticsugar luke/calum T, 3k

Summary: For some reason, the idea that Calum thinks about Luke at all is a small shock. He thinks about Calum a lot, probably too much. He thought he’d go off to college and meet all these amazing people, new romantic prospects that would sweep him off his feet and make Calum seem boring by comparison. But all that happened was Luke met a lot of people, and none of them were as perfectly imperfect as Calum.

hello, hello (ao3) - bellawritess luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 30k

Summary: For one long, blinking minute, Luke stares at Ashton and wonders if he’s hallucinating. Because that’s definitely Ashton. That’s Ashton Irwin, his former best friend from Sunny Days, the show they co-starred on as children.

But it’s also definitely Ashton Fletcher, professional film actor worth many millions, possibly hundreds of millions, of dollars, standing on his doorstep, wind ruffling his hair.

homecoming (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor ot4 T, 4k

Summary: Luke is an up and coming famous singer with quite a big following already. He's just gotten home from his six month tour, and he's reunited with his three non-famous boyfriends. Luke decides to take a big leap and come out with his three boyfriends.

i know you wanna go to heaven but you're human tonight (ao3) - merlypops luke/calum E, 4k

Summary: 'Everyone knew Luke now, knew the sacrifices he had made and the bravery he had shown, and it struck Calum so suddenly that it felt like the sun was breaking over the treetops because, yes, the blond man lying tangled beneath him might have been a legendary war hero but he was Luke first.

He was Calum’s husband, the small blond boy who had thrown a dice with Calum when they were children… the man Calum had fallen in love with.'

Luke returns from the war in pieces and Calum has to put him back together again.

life is never like this (ao3) - merlypops michael/ashton, luke/calum T, 24k

Summary: ‘Ashton had seen too much and, more than anything, he wanted to rest now... to sleep and forget his pain… to have just a few moments of peace.

Ashton found that sanctuary – amid the chaos – in the unlikely form of Michael Clifford.’

The war is over and Ashton finds it hard to carry on until he meets Michael. Life goes on for Luke and Calum.

Maybe This Time (two wrongs make it right) (ao3) - gravityinglass luke/ashton, past bryana/ashton M, 33k

Summary: Five years ago, Ashton Irwin vanished from 5 Seconds of Summer's radar without a trace. After five years and a string of unsuccessful drummers, Luke suggests that they track down Ashton and get him to give them another shot. Luke expected Ashton to put up a struggle. The last thing Luke expected? Ashton with twin children.

It'll take awhile to rebuild what they once had, but that's a challenge Luke--and Ashton--are willing to take.

Number One (ao3) - iCheeseYou (EHkook) michael/luke T, 3k

Summary: Michael hasn't seen his musician of a best friend in a year since he left for a world tour.

Potato Salad (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine michael/ashton, luke/calum T, 21k

Summary: “Can I have that?” asks the stranger.

Michael hums in his throat, confused. He looks at the stranger, but the stranger isn’t looking at him. His gaze is locked on the potato salad spilled out on the sidewalk. There is a pink flush to his cheeks, but it is different this time. It isn’t modesty. It’s embarrassment.

“If you’re just going to throw it away, can I have it instead?”

(In which Ashton is a homeless stranger who is starving, and Michael has a kitchen full of food.)

Welcome Back (ao3) - nationalnobody calum/ashton G, 401

Summary: In which Ashton finally comes home and Calum is overjoyed.

your string of lights is still bright to me (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum, bryana/ashton, luke/omc E, 81k

Summary: 'Michael looked at himself sometimes, when he was putting six year old Lily to bed or giving her four year old sister Georgie a bath with his shirt sleeves rolled up and the faint silvery scars on display, and although he’d never planned for his life to be this way, he thought it could be a lot worse probably, even if it wasn’t what he’d expected back when he was a teenager with dirty hair and death in his heart.'

Michael is struggling to be the father his daughters need. Until he meets Calum again.

You're The Only North Star I Would Follow This Far (ao3) - nationalnobody calum/ashton G, 1k

Summary: Ashton comes back home and whisks him away and amidst it all Calum forgets that it's New Year's Eve.

[dragonstepp]

Sometimes you can't

win for losing. My apartment complex (assisted housing) recently dropped its lease with Spectrum to get some other internet, but I chose to keep Spectrum since I like the organization, and my internet and Wifi and landline phone are all connected to it. But when I got my first bill, it was $184.00, which I can hardly afford on my social security, so I called and dropped the entertainment package. It brought my bill down to $115.00, but then I discovered that cut out my TCM (I love the old movies). So I signed up for it again, and that is when I learned that I had basically put me into another entertainment package. Since I like ESPN, I need to keep it. That makes my present costs $157.00.

So today I decided on Spectrum free movies to watch Dark Winds. When I clicked on it, I found out I have to pay for each individual episode. I have not looked to see how much that was going to cost me. I cannot pay for it yet until I get another socsec payment on the 3rd. Oh no!!!!

Anyway, I have to find out how much it will cost me. That is because in reading a write-up about it that it was based on the John Hillerman books, mysteries about the Navajo (Dineh, the Navajo word for The People, and which is how they identify with. I have always adored the Navajo (Dineh), and had the privilege of meeting a few when I was living in Vegas. I have also read almost all of the Hillerman books. I was able to watch a documentary about the series.

The actors who play most of the Navajo police force have facial hair. The Dineh do not have facial hair. So they have had to shave their faces to play Jim Leaphorn, Chee,Dand several other characters. But otherwise, they are true to the characters. Since I have not had a chance to watch any of the 14 episodes (2 seasons so far), I do not yet know how well they follow the books. But they are shooting the series in Navajo Nation, including a lot of shots of Shiprock (Tse bida'ki = The Winged Rock). Their legend has it that the Dineh lived on a lower level of Earth, and were in wars with other Native American tribes, so they climbed up a plants, got up on Tse bida'ki, and flew to New Mexico). It is a sacred monument in Monument. Valley (the part in New Mexico). It represents a big bird, its sacred colours are red, black, white, and yellow, it's rocks are jet, turquoise, and a couple of other stones related to the red, white and yellow - look it up on Google - just type in Shiprock.. Fascinating information.

The actors spoke about having to learn the Navajo language, and they used a lot of the Dineh folks as extras, who speak the language. I once had a dictionary of the Navajo language, but returned it to the organization who have offices on Navajo Nation. It was a rather rare book.

So I will be getting the series Dark Wind as soon as I can afford to pay for it. And have to wonder if I am going to be bringing back the high costs of watching it. I guess I am going to have to stop ordering a lot of stuff from Amazon, although with my scooter having limited places to carry stuff, I buy a lot of my foods from Amazon, which means I get it delivered instead of having to carry it hope from the grocery store.

As I said, you sometimes cannot win for losing.

Carol

[dailysandersidesaudoodles]

Ahhh shoot me I finally finished a wonderful crack animatic masterpiece and now I can't post it bc wifi is stil GOOONE

[charnelhouse]

Tell me, lover, are you lonely?

Pairing: Benny Miller x F!Reader Words: 4.48+ Warnings: Smut. PTSD. Depression. Substance Abuse. Oral sex(fem receiving). Angst. Fluff. Brief mentions of sex in high school but nothing graphic. Summary: You’re at a party you wish you weren’t. Benny takes care of you in the bathroom. A/N: Apparently I think the Miller bros fuck a lot in bathrooms. Title from Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Tell Me Baby”. 

The first mistake people make about Benjamin Miller is that they pin him down as dumb.

A bumbling idiot. An air-headed jock. 

You know differently. You know how fucking smart Ben is because you went to high school with him. He took every AP class. He played Varsity sports. He managed to do all of that and still show up to house parties. His skin turned brown from the sun as he peeled a calloused hand through his blond hair and smiled all lazy. 

He never had a girlfriend - never a long-term chick. He’d always offer someone a ride home, though. He’d fuck those girls in his beat-up truck and drop them off, leaving them sharply branded in Ben because few boys ever compared when it came to his prowess. It’s not even like he was an asshole or a player. He just didn’t have the time for anything beyond a few hours in the back of his car.

At least - that’s what you had heard and high-school gossip was considered gospel when you were on the cusp of adulthood and saw Ben Miller as a God.

The Miller brothers were fucking legends in Amarillo.

Gorgeous. Hot-headed. Honorable.

Will went to war and Benny followed as he always did when it came to his brother. They returned decorated in medals and badges. They were written about in the city paper. You had only seen Ben a handful of times when he was on leave and you were home from college. 

Once, when you were getting gas at the local Phillips 66, you had spotted him across the way at the other pump. His elbows were resting on the hood of his truck and he was pressing his face into his palms. He had stood there - like that - for what felt like a lifetime. His legs spread, his spine hunched over - the ridges of muscle in his shoulders and back bunching underneath his loose white t-shirt. Suddenly he had looked up - eyes far away - almost red - and when he caught your gaze, he smiled in a way that felt terribly forced. He waved once before sliding back into his car and speeding off.

 His hands had been shaking. 

The brothers left again and it was radio-silence. There were rumors - constant whispers whipping about the women’s book clubs and weekly poker tables. 

June said her boys are still overseas. There’s bad wifi or something. I don’t think she knows a lot.

Or they just can’t tell her what they’re doing.

You don’t see them again. Not for a long time. Years. You’ve heard that they’ve been stationed at Fort Bragg. You’ve seen a photo here and there from their mother on Facebook. In truth, you forget all about Ben Miller because you’re too busy with your own lack of a life. 

You’d gone to college. You’d gotten your degree. You’d moved to Dallas for a year to work in marketing. You’d done everything right.

And yet you were back in Amarillo. Your father was sick and your siblings were useless and your mother was in denial. 

You hated it. You hated this town with its meat-packing plant and its cheap bars and the fact that so many people knew you. It had its niches of lovelies: art deco and Spanish revival buildings, the Route 66 Historic District with its doll-house structures and splashes of color and sepia-pressed nostalgia.

And then there was the weather - the unpredictable temperature changes and raging winds and ruinous hailstorms. Drought. Late frosts. Tornadoes. Dust-storms. Floods.

Your life had become simple. You attempted freelance marketing online, but most of your days were spent going on a morning jog, giving your father his meds, avoiding your mother, and spending hours at the local bar or drinking wine alone in your childhood bedroom. A room that was frozen in time with its hard-rock posters and Pepto-Bismol shade of paint and sun-bleached photographs of parties you barely remember. Prom. Homecoming. Old boyfriends.

You knew that you were falling - collapsing in on yourself. You knew that depression had sunk its claws into the meat of your head. Every morning you woke up and thought:

This is not my life.

This was not meant for me. 

How did I fucking get here?

**

There’s a December storm - ice-slick streets that turn the asphalt to glistening obsidian. It’s brutally wet-cold. The kind that chips away at your lungs. The kind where it hurts to breathe - the kind that so often terrified you because your car would skid or you’d eat shit trying to walk to the store. 

Old friends have returned for the holidays. Most of them knocked up or married or already getting divorced. Hannah - your high school best friend - tells you about a house party at Nathan Engle’s house.

“It’ll be fun,” she tells you - her voice doused in that kind of I can't wait to let loose and pretend that this town is my town again.

Of course - the dismal truth of that - is that Hannah will ultimately leave - go back to her apartment in Nashville with her adult friends and her adult job and her chunky J. Crew necklaces and oat-milk lattes and Soulcycle classes.

“Yeah,” you reply, scrubbing at your old eye make-up that’s caked across your cheeks - spidering along your skin. You’d forgotten to wash your face last night. “Okay. I’ll go.”

***

You first see him across the room. He’s got that blonde hair brushed back - fiddling with the cap on a handle of Titos. He’s in a dark shirt and blue jeans. Even in the dead of December - with everything encased in a thin layer of frost - Ben is golden-tan, most likely from Florida’s constant sun. His cheeks are flushed pink as he sips from a red cup, while a girl with a bleached helmet for hair talks his ear off. You think you recognize her from the grade above you or maybe she contacted you about Herbalife on Facebook.

Ben smiles politely - the sly reveal of bright white teeth as he bites on the rim of his solo cup. Jesus Christ - he is gorgeous. It’s like you’re transported back to high school and Ben is once again an untouchable figure. Someone you admired from afar - desperate to reach and stroke and feel the silk of that hair. 

It’s not that you were ostracized in school. It’s not like you were a loner or incredibly shy. You had friends. You went to parties. You had boyfriends and clumsy make-outs in the backseat of cars on abandoned fields.

But Ben was Ben. You thought him too great - too ideal for you. You knew that if you ever became one of the girls he took in the bed of his truck, you’d never get over it. You’d fall in love and hold tight to it - never giving it up until he hopefully faded from memory. 

He glances up and you catch his eyes. It’s a second. Brief, but jarring all the same. It transports you right back to when you had intruded on that very private moment at the Phillips 66. When you had watched him grieve over something you couldn’t understand. When you saw his hands tremble as they slipped over the handle of his car door.

You think of all the things he’s seen and done. You think of the places he’s been. You think of that young boy with his jawline and his uncanny ability at picking up languages - the surprising way he was able to speak so eloquently about Jane Eyre or Heart of Darkness during AP English. His flawless Spanish that made Señora Dolan titter from her desk. 

He still looks young - boyish handsomeness that hasn’t faded due to time or what you believe was probably continuous devastation overseas. Constant danger. Stress. 

His eyes rake over you for a few seconds - blue and bottomless - before they fall back on his cup of liquor. The girl continues to speak to him - nose nearly shoved into his ear.

You’re not sure how you look. You have good genes. You keep the sun off your face. You’re soft in places - harder in others. You think you look the same.

Maybe - just sadder. Less promise. 

No promise at all.

***

You sit in the upstairs bathroom with a bottle of wine. You’re not drunk - just blown out with a strange combination of anxiety and boredom. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to talk to any of these people, especially the ones who had gotten out of this town, and like to emphasize the places they’ve traveled to and the worlds they’ve created.

You rest your back against the mirror, your legs splayed apart, heels kicking at the sink’s lower wooden drawers. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You take a deep swallow of cheap wine - the acidic, sweet burn of it cloying in your throat. You’d have a hangover tomorrow - then again you’d been hungover every morning this week.

Not anything brutal - just your tongue chalky in your mouth - sour breath and a muddled headache. Exhaustion since alcohol rarely led to a good sleep. 

You’re about to call an Uber when the door swings open. Fuck - you’d forgotten to lock it.

Ben strides into the bathroom, nearly knocking into your knees. He’s long-legged and broad-shouldered. His face is alarmingly handsome up close. He startles when he sees you, blue eyes widening as his palms fist into a defensive position.

You bet it’s instinct at this point. You bet that Ben has stumbled into a number of situations and been forced to put up a fight. A girl in a bathroom with a bottle of wine is the outlier for him.

When he sees that it’s you, he lowers his hands, straightening his spine while those pink lips curve upward. He’s tall - you’d forgotten how tall. 

He doesn’t apologize or step out. He just leans back against the wall - arms crossed over his chest as he appraises you. You try to focus on anything else - the floral wallpaper with the corners peeling - the hideous wicker stool by the chipped bathtub -  the butter-yellow hand towels. The little framed prints of water-color fairies. 

But it’s like gravity - like kinetic energy - and your eyes return to those dark jeans - sweep up the tight black t-shirt before they land on Ben’s disarmingly amused face. A lock of hair falling across his brow.

“You were in my class?” he asks in a low voice.

You nod - tilting the bottle of wine in your hands - feeling your stomach collapses in on itself. “Yeah.”

“Like all of my classes, I think,” he adds. 

You’re struck dumb. He had remembered you - noticed you then. It makes you feel warm - makes your cheeks heat up and you curl your fingers into a fist - letting your nails scratch into your palm to keep you centered. 

“Yes,” you reply because you’re incapable of the human language. Your tongue sits fat in your mouth and your heart flutters. Your top is too tight.

He bites his lower lip, tilting his head thoughtfully as he just keeps staring like he’s trying to piece you together - trying to remember the parts of you that are more familiar to him. The younger you. The baby-fat or the really off-color eyeshadow - the cool cucumber body spray from Bath & Body Works. 

“This party fucking sucks,” he finally declares and you laugh.

**

They talk for hours or god maybe it’s just one and they are stuck in a vacuum where every moment feels less real.

Ben - Benny as he told you to call him - is fucking funny. Not in a way that he’s obviously trying to be - just as himself - his dry quips or salty facial expressions when you bring up some chick he’d hooked up with a thousand years ago. 

They discuss high school - they discuss the time after. You tell him about college and how you’d never been that happy you before - just you running wild on campus with no overbearing parents or people who knew your family name. No nosy neighbors who would run home to call up your mama and tell her that she’d seen you hanging off some boy who looked like trouble.

“Were there a lot of boys who looked like trouble?” Benny asks, sinking down to the floor - taking the bottle from you to sip, grimacing at the taste.

You shrug. “I’d say an average number of boys.”

When they talk about Benny, they talk around the war. He says that he made brothers for life over there - that he still has his core group and - of course - Will who apparently spends his days giving motivational speeches while Benny boxes.

“It’s stress relief, I guess,” he remarks - almost shyly as he peers up at you. “You need to find something to do to get rid of some of the stuff you see back there.”

You don’t ask him about “back there”. You’re sure you understand the gist. You saw him shoving the heels of his hands against his eyes all those years back with the flat plains of Texas riding out behind him - endless land showered in the red sun. Maybe he had seen another land - another country where he’d been forced to grow up in a way that hurt him - that bit him deep and didn’t let go. You saw his face screwed up into something broken and you know that Benny Miller isn’t who he was from high school. He’s been roughened - shattered in places and pressed back together in others with thin tape and glue. 

You remember your next-door neighbor Mrs. Mackin - the way she’d talk about her son who went to Afghanistan at 19 and came back a different person. “The nightmares wake up the whole house,” she sighed, rubbing a knuckle across the newly etched lines at the corners of her eyes. “I-I just don’t think he’ll be the same - he’s not the same boy.”

Benny interrupts the dark hole you’re climbing down.

“So you came back here?”

It’s not like it’s coated in a taunt. No disbelief. But the reminder still pinches - still breaks across your back like a rogue wave - sending you headfirst into the muddy sand. You’re still here.

“My dad got sick,” you defend - narrowing your eyes in a way that should read please change the subject.

Benny’s expression stays the same - bright and bold and beautiful as he nods - as he slowly stands to pass you the near-empty bottle. “Sometimes you gotta be there for your family. No shame in that.”

It’s like he’s snuck his hand inside your ribs and snatched the tissue of your lungs. The word “shame” rolling off his tongue and that gruff man-voice being so fucking reasonable. You didn’t even say that you hated it here - that you wanted to be anywhere else. He must have read it off you - the resentment pooling slick over “sick” and “my dad”, while you spoke about life outside Amarillo with a dream in your throat. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “No shame, I guess.”

And then there’s silence - tense quiet as Benny fiddles with his hands - shoving them into his pockets before pulling them out.

You don’t even know how the rest happens - how the change between casual conversation ascends to something heated and raw. Maybe - it had been happening the whole time - maybe it’s been happening since you sat behind him in English and listened to him drawl about Bronte.

He moves toward you, shifting his hips between your knees. His face is tilted downward as he blinks at you. His gaze - those ice-flecked blue eyes - linger across your face - the bare skin of your sternum. His hands catch at your jaw, thumb sweeping over your warm cheek.

“I always thought about this,” he murmurs - his breath puffing across your lips. “I thought about kissing you all the time back in school.”

Your brain has flat-lined. You didn’t know - couldn’t have guessed.

“Really?” you exhale - your fingers curling around the thin material of his shirt as you tug him closer. “Why didn’t you?”

“I feel like I tried at a couple of parties. You’d disappear.”

Of course, you did. You knew yourself. You didn’t want to feel Ben Miller inside you and never get it again. You didn’t want a hit. You wanted the rest.

You had nothing to lose tonight. You had your shitty bedroom at your parent’s house and the promise of a hangover. You could have this even if you’d never get it a second time.

“I’m here now,” you sigh and then he pulls your mouth up to his.

It’s fucking good. The tentative slide of his lips, his tongue twining around yours as you cling to him for dear life. He tastes like gum and the slight damp of vodka. He smells like expensive cologne and a little sweat. You bet the Ben in high school would have been Axe body spray and cigarettes, but fuck you bet he still could have kissed like he was swallowing your heart. 

It turns hot - his hands fisted in your hair as he drags his lips and teeth across your throat, lowering his chin to nip at the peak of your tit underneath your too-tight blouse. Your knees are locked around his waist as he subtly grinds against the center of your jeans and you feel dirty. His kiss builds into something frantic and he moans against the glide of your wet tongue. 

He pops the button of your jeans. “Can I?”

You nod - seeking out his insistent mouth to kiss him again - to devour him down as you burn for him in all the ways you had hoped. He smirks before dropping to his knees - shucking your jeans off and your booties and your socks before he’s yanking your ass half-off the counter and pushing his face against the lace of your underwear and oh my fucking god -

“Ben,” you start, forcing yourself to concentrate as he brushes his lips across the seam of your inner thigh - his rough hands massaging your flesh. “You don’t - you don’t have to -”

“I want to,” he corrects - meaningfully - edged. “And it’s Benny.”

You slip back against the mirror as Benny leans down, hitching your underwear to the side and latching his mouth to your aching clit. Pleasure shoots through you - spiking your temperature and making you shudder as your thighs wrap around his head and your nails rake through his silky hair. 

“Relax,” he urges against the wet slit of your cunt.

He draws tiny circles around the swollen nub, fingertips grazing your folds before slipping in just enough to make you jump. He changes direction - suctioning his mouth and branding patterns across the tip as he pulls the hood up so he can get even better access.

He rears back and there’s you glossing his lips and chin - captured in the blonde stubble across his jaw.

“You have a really pretty pussy,” he praises before he buries two fingers inside you, making you arch off the sink. His eyes are half-lidded - dark and hungry - as he watches the effect he has on your soaked cunt, his fingers curling and rubbing up against the soft tissue behind your clit. You can’t help yourself as you shamelessly grind against his hand, as he digs his other fingers into the flesh beneath your ass to keep you anchored. “You like that?”

You manage a whimper - something high-pitched and frantic. “Fuck -- yes - Benny - Jesus - “

His lips break apart into the smuggest smile you’ve ever seen. It gilds him - highlights his face like he’s proud of himself for making you an absolute mess.

“Good,” he husks. “I’m gonna make you cum.”

He scoots closer and drags his tongue down the center of your cunt before he licks back up, pressing it flatly against your swollen, spit-wet clit. You writhe beneath him, shutting your eyes as you try to keep from screaming. He sucks and licks and manipulates the pleasure points inside you, alternating between his tongue and his thick fingers. He twists his knuckles, blows cool air against the blazing skin above your mound - your folds - the pieces of you that are coated in a fine film of Benny Miller’s drool and your essence.

He keeps you balanced on the precipice - punching you forward into a near-climax before hauling you backward. He teases - playing your pussy just right as your walls pulse around his knuckles and his darting tongue. You’re ripping at his hair, running between making it hurt and combing it back - smoothing his wrinkled brow as he keeps his eye firmly on your face while he licks at your dripping cunt. 

Sometimes he growls - his whole body vibrating with it against the clench of your knees - other times he moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. You suddenly realize why all those girls never got over Benny Miller fucking them once and then releasing them to their quiet, little homes as they snuck back into their frilly bedrooms while their parents slept soundly. If Ben ate chicks out like this then who would ever fucking forget it?

Although you have a feeling that this Ben is smoother - firmer in his resolve and experience. He’s seen shit - perhaps the worst of humanity - but still takes the time to make you feel good while doing nothing for himself except subtly grazing his hard-on against the cabinet. 

“Benny,” you cry out as he forces you closer and it’s certainly coming as your lower muscles spasm and bear down on his face. 

“Yeah?” he grunts - the word muffled in between soft kitten licks and deep plunges. “You gonna cum, darlin?”

He looks fucking gorgeous as his eyes slip over you - leaving their marks. Your lacy black panties hooked to the side of his damn cheek as he dips his nose to graze it over your abused clit. The intimacy of it leaves you devastated - nerves lighting up across the expanse of your body.

He removes his tongue before he suctions his lips over the entrance to your pussy. He sucks and sucks, pulling you farther off the counter, digging his fingertips into the flesh of your ass cheeks as he spreads you apart. It’s so much pressure, his mouth forming a seal over you and you’re splitting at the seams as you shake and crush his head between your knees - swallowing half a dozen curses as everything throbs and flutters before you feel yourself go slack and spill right into his mouth. 

There’s sweat pooling in the divot of your lower back - your heart is pounding loudly - your ears buzzing. Benny keeps his mouth on you, gently probing his tongue deep as he nurses you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

You peer down at him as he gently releases you, carefully gripping your ankle and pushing it back through your pant leg. He rucks your jeans up before standing to his full height so he looms above you, his damp fingers curl around your chin so he can tilt it up. He moves his hands to cradle your face - dragging your lips up to meet his. There’s the burst of you on his tongue - the salty musk of girl-sex and sweet-heat as he kisses you rough - his hands that are wrinkled with your cum are supporting you - keeping you from melting right off the counter.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, nuzzling his nose against yours in an act that exceeds your expectations. It’s affection. It’s a far cry from the dirty, bathroom sex he’d just claimed you with.

“Yeah,” you answer in between heavy, hitched breaths. "Okay.”

***

It’s all black-glass outside. Frozen branches. Slick dark rivers for streets. The blanket of the sky is pressed down with tiny scattered stars. White-bright and pulsing. 

Benny’s in a thick, wooly jacket that makes him look broader than he is. He grips your hand firmly as his long legs practically carry you across the sleet-soaked sidewalk. 

There’s no one out here. Just parked cars and slumbering houses. Benny’s breath puffs smoke with each heavy exhale. There’s a comfortable silence between them. You can barely feel your feet and you’re still aching between your thighs - still wet and pounding, but also wanting for Benny and his fingers and tongue and cock.

He leads you to the main road where the world is more lit. Closed delis and open liquor stores and 24-hour laundromats and chain restaurants and bars.

“Wanna get pizza?” He releases your hand only to wrap a strong arm around your shoulders, tugging you flush against him. He smells like birch - like sex - like old textbooks and the high school library and ten years past.

“Pizza, huh?”

He smiles, scraping a hand across his jaw and chin in an act far too suggestive for your weak-ass heart. “Eating your pussy made me a little hungry.”

It’s delivered so frankly that you almost trip over your own feet. You initially think he’s being too smooth - too charming - before he grabs your wrist and yanks your knuckles to his mouth where he presses his lips to the skin there. Chaste. 

You realize that this is simply Benny. No ulterior motives or unclear messages. Just brute honesty. After all - that’s the only thing the both of them have left. There’s no more time for run-arounds or underhanded moves. You want a future. You want something other than just your childhood bedroom and creeping depression and your mother reminding you of your promising future and career when you had come back for her benefit.

“Pizza sounds good,” you reply as Benny dazzles you with yet another movie-star grin. 

Maybe, it’ll just be tonight. Maybe, you’ll go home and never see him again.

Maybe, you’ll spend the next decade of your life, sliding your fingers through your sex as you recall the exact sensations of his tongue.

“You know my parents throw this dumb New Years’ Eve thing,” he mentions, scratching the back of his head as he stares at the sidewalk. “You should come. It’s like a potluck or something. I don’t know, you don’t have to obviously if you have plans - “

Or maybe not

“Sure!” you chirp - pulling him close so you can press your mouth to the hinge of his jaw - tasting his stubble as it scrapes your bruised lips from all the kissing they’ve done tonight.

“Awesome,” he says as you both continue down the brightly lit street. The world in ice. The stillness of a town near sleep. The sensation of a snow-globe as everything floats to the ground like feathers - confetti. The question of there ever being an existence outside this glass - this perfect night.

There is a space in your chest - buried near the bottom - where all of your dreams used to live.

As Benny helps you through the pizzeria’s door - as his hand presses hot against your lower back, you crack the space open. You let it out.

***

Plz tell me your thots. I love the TF boys.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello!! Do you think you could do a part 2 of my request? An maybe a lil bit of angst with fluff where the reader comes to the mansion crying because someone hurt them?( Maybe techno or dream? Possibly jack manifold? 👀) Hopefully that's ok I just love the way you write it's so good plus it makes my day whever I read :D hopefully your day or evening is going good

<3

imhereforfan-fic : Omg can you do another yandere tubbo x reader x yandere ranboo romantic relationship please? Maybe where they get kidnapped by the dream team? Oh and adding on to my request can it also have some cuddling towards the end haha I’m touch starved and crap lol but can it a full length fic Okay okay okay. So. I'm so damn happy people loved this fic and I got two requests that I can easily add together. I hope neither of you minds too much having your requests mixed together ^^ I deadass wanna cry from how many positive reviews I've received from Too Sweet. ALSO. I'm a little wary of making romantic fics for characters Ranboo and Tubbo so I'm gonna play with the platonic marriage, just making it really fluffy and affectionate. PS: THIS ISNT AS FLUFFY AS I WANTED IT TO BE SOOOO OOOOPS. AAAAND. TOMMY ONLY TOOK ONE OF DREAM'S LIVES IN THE FINAL DISC WAR

LIKELY TO HAVE MANY ERRORS DUE TO BAD WIFI AND LACK OF SLEEP TW: Knives (+injuries that come from knives), kidnapping, taking of canon lives, Dream being power-hungry, minor panic attack, referenced strangulation.

Part One

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo Part 2

A few months had passed since you had moved into the mansion and some... How ended up involved in Ranboo and Tubbo's marriage, as well as being Michael's mother. At first, you were quite unsure about being a wife or a mother, but you saw how happy you had made the three boys and realized how happy they made you in return. In the beginning, neither of them wanted you leaving the mansion much without either of them, but then Ranboo started to notice small and minor declines in your physical and mental health. This caused him to panic and study your symptoms for a few days straight, to the point where you didn't see him once and you were genuinely scared he had lost his canon lives to the point where you kept checking your right wrist constantly for the message confirming Ranboo's death. But thankfully you never got it. When he had figured out what was causing your health to be less than absolutely perfect, he had spoken to Tubbo about letting you out of your room more often and getting you the sunlight you needed. It took a little bit to convince him, but once the goat hybrid learned that you could, or even would, become a lot sicker, he decided to allow you to go outside without them, as long as you stayed within Snowchester. You met a man the first few days you were out, who wore white glasses with blue and red lenses, and a headset with a mic, although he ran away from you the second you introduced yourself as Ranboo and Tubbo's (platonic) wife. Foolish had quickly become your friend around the same time though, which caused Tubbo and Ranboo to be a little unsure because of how he made you laugh and smile, but they noticed how you always kept him at arm's length with friendship and almost physically. Sure you didn't mind too much when he gave you a friendly side hug or pat on the head etc, but you were never really the one to initiate the contact unless you had to. Thankfully he didn't mind your awkwardness around strangers, trust issues, or lack of social exposure, so Ranboo and Tubbo didn't have to threaten a literal god. After saying goodbye to Michael for the day and putting him down for his nap, you got dressed into something more appropriate for travelling the snowy lands that Tubbo owned. Ranboo had to go to a Syndicate meeting, and Tubbo was working more on some buildings around Snowchester, saying something about prepping things to attack Dream who apparently escaped from prison? Not sure could've been rumoured or could be true? You had no clue honestly. You trusted Ranboo and Tubbo to protect you. The crackling of a few pine branches caused you to lift your eyes from the icy water below to turn your head. Walking out of the bushes were three men and one woman, pushing their way through the branches decorated with freshly fallen snow. One of the men was your crown-wearing platonic husband, although dressed up in an outfit you had never seen before, although not too far off from his normal get-up. Ranboo had a long black cape with golden edges and a high collar, held up together by a golden chain. His vest was now a deep royal purple with an eye of ender pin clasped on his tie, and his pants were half purple half black with golden designs sewn in. Beside him was a short female with shoulder-length pink hair and nicely done dark purple and black makeup. Her outfit consisted of a thick and warm lavender sweater with dark purple pants. On her hip was an enchanted netherite sword with a diamond-encrusted handle. You were quick to recognize her as Niki Nihachu, the baker who had lived in L'Manberg, but you hadn't heard much of her since the Pogtopia war. Off to the side, was a man you recognized easily as you had only seen him a few days ago when Ranboo invited him to see Michael, Philza Minecraft. His outfit wasn't too different from what he used to wear when he was a resident in the country, except for the black and gold cape and a black mask covering the bottom of his face. Then... The sight of the final male was the one to make you visibly react. A tall and buff male with a golden encrusted netherite

chest plate and a velvet red cape with gold accents as well. There was a rather majestic crown on top of his long braided pink hair and his dark eyes were narrowed behind a set of cracked glasses... His gaze pointing directly at you. Technoblade. Giving a shaky gasp, you stood up from your spot on the edge of the dock and turned to face the visitors. "Where's Tubbo," Techno growled softly, watching as you visibly trembled under his gaze. "Techno, mate. You're scarin' the hell outta her." Phil put his hand on his middle son's shoulder before stepping in front of him, blocking him from your gaze. "Hey, (Y/n), can you tell us where Tubbo is? We just have to ask him some things." "I'm here." An almost unfamiliar voice came from beside you before a hand was placed on your shoulder. When you looked over, you saw the goat hybrid with the coldest look you had seen him wear yet. "(Y/n), please, head into the mansion." Without another glance at the piglin hybrid, you quickly scurried towards the wooden mansion, faintly hearing the worried buzzing noises of your enderman husband in the distance before you slammed the large door shut. You almost ran towards your's or Michael's room in the basement, but then realized if any of them saw you heading down there, Michael's safety could be compromised. So, you quietly sat down in the living room and curled up on the couch, trying to keep your breathing stable as you fought to keep your mind off of the fact that the man who had almost killed you was standing a few feet outside the door of your home. You pinched your eyes shut and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying your best to simulate the hugs you would usually receive from your platonic husbands after a nightmare or a panic attack. ".../n)." "../n)!" "...(Y/n)!" With a terrified gasp, you flung your arms above your head to shield yourself from any oncoming attacker but only felt a gentle touch on your knee. It took a few seconds to muster up your courage, but you slowly brought your arms down and opened your eyes to come face to face with Tubbo, who immediately sat beside you and wrapped his arms around your shaking frame. After an hour or so with your face buried into Tubbo's shoulder, you felt another pair of arms wrap around you, causing you to look up and see Ranboo burying his face into your hair, "I'm so sorry... So sorry... I didn't think they would come to Snowchester..." You murmured a small, "it's okay," to him as you sat up a bit to return the hug for a few moments. Tubbo got up, murmuring something about going to get you a snack and a glass of water, knowing you must've been hungry or thirsty from panicking. After a few moments, Ranboo let go of you and briefly explained that Phil had given him some potions to help Michael adapt to the overworld, and he needed to give them to him. He rested his forehead against yours affectionately for a few seconds before turning towards the bookshelf and walking down the set of hidden stairs after opening the secret door. Once he shut it, you shuddered and rubbed your arms to get rid of the cold chill that had suddenly washed over you. Frowning slightly, you looked around for the source of the sudden cold, only to freeze as you saw the door cracked open, allowing the snow and cold wind to slip in. Ranboo wouldn't have left the door open... "Sorry kid." A deep and growly voice came from behind you, causing you to spin around and come face to face with Technoblade. The tall tusked male watched your expression go from confusion to horror in less than seconds, "It's nothing personal. Really. I just got a favour to pay off." A scream of terror escaped your lips before everything went black. "Hey, Michael!" Ranboo crouched down to greet the small zombie piglin child as he held a few potions of varying colours in his long arms, he set them and a thermos filled with a hot drink down on the table. "I got some new drinks for you to try today! Philza made them a little extra sweeter than last time." The small child squealed and made small tippy tap noises with his

hooves against the quartz flooring before he sat on the chair. He watched as his tall father sorted through the bottles carefully before uncorking one of the light red ones. Before he could pick up the small pipette, there was an almost unearthly shriek that came from the top of the stairs. "(Y/n)!" Ranboo screamed, unintentionally startling Michael, but that wasn't his main concern as he sprinted out the door then teleporting up the stairs and pushing the bookshelf door with his sword drawn and gleaming with enchantments. In his peripheral vision, he saw Tubbo dash out of the kitchen with his axe drawn and bloodlust in his eyes. Glancing around, the only thing the two men spotted was moonlight and snow spilling through the open door. Tubbo ran out without a second thought and screamed your name at the top of his lungs as he spun around, searching for any sort of sign that would give away your location. Ranboo decided to start looking around the mansion, even though part of him grasped that you wouldn't have screamed without reason. "She's gone..." Tubbo whispered, standing in the doorway, the moonlight creating a dark shadow over his wide eyes. "Footprints are leading to and away from the house, but they disappear on the docks..." Ranboo stayed still, a violent growling noise bubbling up in his throat before escaping past his lips as both his eyes turned purple. He threw his head back and took a breath to scream all his anger out, but froze upon hearing sad whimpering. He turned his head and saw Michael standing at the top of the hidden stairs, whimpering and shaking quite violently. There was part of Ranboo that refused to move, but his brain seemed to flick onto autopilot as he walked over to the child and picked him up. "Sorry... Michael... Something happened..." "Mama?" "...Mama... Won't be home for a while..." "Wake up!" A voice growled before something sharply came in contact with your cheek, shaking you awake. Your eyes shot open and came into contact with... A smiley face? "Aha... Sleeping Beauty graces us with her gaze. It's about damn time." A harsh grip landed on your jaw, making you realize there was a dull throbbing pain in your head. "Huh... Dre... Dream..?" You whispered, barely recognizing the white mask that helped destroy your home and turn it into nothing but a crater. "W-What?" His mask was lifted up enough to the point where you could see his mouth curved up into a sadistic smile. "You, my darling pawn, are just the piece I needed to make life easier for me... I just need to raise the stakes enough for them to be... Well... Stakes. I'm sure you understand." You went to move your hand to slap the gloved hand away from your face, only to give a small whine of pain as you felt a tight pinching on your wrists, making you realize that they were shackled together and likely chained to a wall. "What are you talking about you psychop- Ah!" He tightened his grip on your face to the point where you knew there would eventually be dark bruising. "I don't think you're in a position to be calling the king any names, pawn." Screams and shrieks of pain bounced off of the blank stone walls as the two people standing outside of the door put their heads down with their eyes closed. "You still sure he's doing the right thing, George? Are you still sure... He's the good guy in this story?" "You know better than to question him, Nick." "Don't call me that."

(Y/n) (L/n) was slain by Dream using Nightmare. Life: 2/3 (Y/n) (L/n) suffocated while trying to fend off Dream. Life: 1/3

"He just took two of an innocent woman's three lives. Just to use her as a hostage to make Tubbo hand over the nukes and to force Ranboo to follow his orders... He's a stranger, George. This isn't Dream anymore... Don't be stupid." Sapnap lowered his right arm that he read the messages off of and looked in the direction of his former best friend. The screams of agony were almost haunting as they echoed through Snowchester as silence fell down upon the entire Dream SMP. Shock slipped through the veins of everyone who read the message that appeared on their right wrists. - "I'm gonna kill him..." "I'm going to activate the nukes..." - "Techno... What did you do." "I owed him a favour. What he does after that is none of my business." - "...Isn't that Tubbo and Ranboo's wife?" "Yeah... She was my friend..." - "Tubbo's definitely not happy about this..." - "Ah... Atta girl..." Dream murmured in a mock soothing voice as he gently dragged his knife threateningly along your cheek. "Y'know... You would look better... With a smile." He leaned closer to you, the drawn-on eyes of his mask staring into your dull and tear-filled eyes as a stinging pain came from the corner of your lips. "Sh, sh, Relax... They're just shallow cuts, they won't even leave a scar. I'm not a monster." Time had passed quickly, but also excruciatingly slowly. You had no clue how long you had been down here, or how long you had been dead in between respawns. Dream just didn't seem to be leaving you alone. "Now..." He flipped the switchblade closed and threw it in his pocket before tremours shook the earth below and around you. "What the fUCK?!" He growled deeply before the door slammed open. "How did they even find this place!?" The door was blown off its hinges with a loud bang, causing Dream to duck out of the way of the flying piece of scrap. Light flooded into the room as you shut your eyes tightly, your ears ringing from the explosion. Once your eyes got a little bit adjusted, you opened them and saw five figures in the newly widened doorway. "Let's just say... It was an anonymous tip." "Sapnap?! You dare betray me?!" The black-haired male fell silent as he turned around and walked out, putting his hand on the shoulder of the tallest silhouette in the doorway as he walked by. Once you got completely used to the new light, you began to recognize the figures. Tommy, Tubbo, Foolish, and Ranboo. Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo immediately ran forward and started a barrage of attacks on the masked psychopath while Foolish ran over and began to work on the chains binding you to the chair. After getting them off of you, he silently picked you up as you turned your head to look at the blond, brunet and monochrome boys. Dream's mask got knocked off and was thrown across the room as he was pinned below a growling Ranboo, whose skin looked almost purely black from your angle. Tommy was off to the side, rummaging through Dream's equipment, he already got his revenge when Dream was put into prison, this was Ranboo and Tubbo's revenge now.

"̷̛̲̪͝Ỳ̵̧̖͒̉o̸̟̔̆û̶̩̟̍͊'̸̧̺̎̉ṟ̷̰͘ế̴͍̰̎ ̶̤͆̎̒g̶̭̋̇o̸͍̐͑i̸̼̟̾ņ̷͊̈́̈́ĝ̷̰̤̈́ ̵̘̉t̵͖͠ȯ̸͎ ̴͎̐̈́r̸̰͙̾̑͝e̸͚͌͑g̴̛̗̦͑ř̷̳̳̱e̵̲̿̕ṫ̶̨͓͗ ̷̢͊E̷̬̪͒͊͂V̷̟̒͝Ë̸̜R̷͐̄̏ͅ ̶̲̟̤͗͋t̴̝̎o̵̖̐ư̴̞̾̇c̶̡̙̐h̵̹̜̣̒͂̂į̴̙̤͠n̴̤̼̻̅̚ǧ̵̹̙̌͜ ̵̥̞̏m̶̱̳̦͗̌y̴̱̮͒̒̄ ̶̮̈͑͆f̸͉̽̄à̵̹͠m̵͕̓̅͋í̸͇̩͔̿l̷̰̫̳͗͑y̸̡͌̊́.̶͓̇͝"̸̡͆ ("You're going to regret EVER touching my family.") Ranboo hissed lowly before he and Tubbo began applying weight to the sword pressed against the speedrunner's chest. You shut your eyes tightly for a moment before you felt a bottle press into your hands, causing you to re-open your eyes to see Foolish trying to hand you a healing potion. You eagerly took a small sip from it, feeling the small slices on your cheeks form back together and the pain from the bruises around your neck vanishing completely.

Dream was slain by Ranboo and Tubbo using Ranord

There was a clattering noise before two sets of footsteps running in your direction. Slowly tilting your head in their direction, you saw Tubbo with dark bags under his eyes and Ranboo with plenty more scars on his cheeks from tears. You were pulled from Foolish's arms and brought down to sitting on Tubbo's and Ranboo's laps, their arms completely wrapped around you. The goat hybrid was nuzzled under your chin while the enderman's face was buried in your hair. "We should have come sooner..." "We shouldn't have even left you alone in the mansion..." "I'm sorry... I should have never left the manor..."

[jordanstrophe]

War of Royalty

Yay! It's done!

CW: Slavery, medieval whump, whipping and branding referenced, noncon stripping (again, nonsexual)  taken in by royalty, whumpee thinking fluff is punishment, intimate caretaker, forcefully carried, begging 

Masterlist

The king held a golden goblet in the palm of his hand, occasionally glancing from the ambassador to the boy at his right hand. He was visibly trembling as all eyes at the banquet were glued on him, tracing his scars, staring at the healing whip marks curling over his shoulders. The king however, just kept looking longingly into his face. 

“Are you not hungry, Eden?” He asked, nodding towards his overfilled untouched plate. “No! It’s n-not that, your majesty, It’s just... sh-should I not be serving you? I should be refilling your wine, or washing plates.” Eden tucked his head waiting for the hand to dig in his hair or a strike to the back of the head... But alas, he just laughed.

“Nonsense! I want you here.” He raised his goblet before bringing it to his lips. Eden hoped his red cheeks weren’t as visible as they felt. “Then tell me, what's something about you? What hobbies have you dabbled in?” He asked. “I... used to set up picnics in the field for my master when he was tired.” Eden let a smile creep across his face at the once happy memory. 

“A picnic mm? That sounds delightful.” He painted a grin on his face before waving the guard over. “What on earth is a picnic?” He whispered. “Ahh, it’s like a feast.. but outside and on the ground, my lord. It’s quite dreadful.” The guard whispered back. “A feast... In the ground, eh?...” The king muttered to himself, stroking a hand through his beard. 

He then noticed half the table was more indulged in the boy than their own plate as Eden had sunk further into his seat. The king took a breath, before leaning towards the guard. “Then set up this picnic for the boy and I.” He spoked. “Wh-what? My lord, that’s far too dangerous! We would have to set up a wall of guards protecting you!” He protested. The king slowly cranked his head till they made eye contact. 

“Then do it.” He hissed. 

-

Eden’s legs trembled as he was walked down the corridor on the king's arm. “Your majesty, why are we leaving early?” Eden asked. "That’s a surprise.” He smiled, unaware that his words only pierced more fear into the boy's heart. 

The gates leading the courtyard swung open, revealing a sea of guards fully armored in a perfect circle around the hill. Their backs were to the center as they faced outwards, their swords centered with their body at their feet. Eden instantly tensed in horror, knowing this process all too well; the stake in the ground, the crowd gathering to watch the whipping, the cheering and laughter at his every cry.  

“Y-your majesty wait!" Eden begged, crumbling to his knees while pressing his forehead to his feet, mumbling pleas and apologies. “Calm yourself, boy. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He soothed, but it was like his lips were running without him. “Eden! Look at me.” The king finally commanded, his voice raising to a level he had never heard before. He then snapped his fingers as two guards stepped aside, revealing an embroidered blanket with full plates in the center.

“wha-?” Eden shyly looked up at the king. “You’re not taking me to get whipped?” He blinked. “Ah-of course not! Why would you think that?” The king couldn’t hold back a laugh as he grabbed Eden’s elbow. “I thought you might like some privacy. I could use some as well after all these war meetings over sea. I just got home! I want to relax for a night.” His arm tightly wound around the boy's arms, practically pinning them to his sides.

He plopped him down on the blanket across from him, struggling to get comfortable, although it wasn't half as miserable as the king was expecting.  Eden's eyes kept nervously glancing at the wall of guards, but his chin was tilted back. "Don't look at them, look at me." The king smiled, handing him sliced fruit from the plate. Eden accepted it as he huffed a sweet, real smile.

-

“My lord, did you enjoy the banquet?” Madeline asked, bowing before refilling his glass once more. “A bouquet is business for a king my dear, but the picnic with the boy was quite nice. I just wish he wasn’t so frightened, he expects a slap across the face every time I look at him.” He puzzled. 

“He’s quite well behaved, is he not? I think we were all expecting a handful with all those scars, especially that burn on his chest.” She said as she fixed the last winkle on his bed. 

“... What burn on his chest?”

There was deafening silence in the room as the servant's face drained from all color. 

-

The gates slammed open as two guards held each of the boy's arms, dragging him into the throne room. “Please wait! What's going on?!” Eden cried, his feet could hardly touch the ground as his toes grazed the carpet. His tearful eyes found the king sitting on his throne, his face painted with dread as he rested his chin on his hand. He didn’t look up when the guards held the slave before him. 

“Wh-what’s happening?” Eden panicked, seeing the woman from earlier, her face staring at the floor red with guilt. 

“Strip him.” The king muttered, his eyes averting Eden's horrified gaze. 

“-what?” He gasped, his pupils dilated before two hands ripped the clothes off his back, it’s tattered white pieces falling around his feet. He let out a choking cry, turning his head from the countless eyes that widened. The room instantly erupted with anger when the brand became visible; the brand of an illegal trade set up by his previous master. 

“This is treason!”

“An insult to our kingdom!”

“Who did this to the boy? I’ll have their head!”

“SILENCE!” The king ordered. The room fell silent aside from Eden’s crying. 

He rose from his throne, approaching until his hand reached the boy's cheek. “Look at me.” He spoke, feeling him tremble in the palm of his hand. 

“I can’t.” Eden rasped, hiding his face within the king's hand. He choked on a sob when he was suddenly pulled into the king's chest, the guard's grasp disappearing as he was held by nothing but the king's gentle embrace.

“Who did this to you?” He gently whispered in his ear, curling a hand in Eden’s hair. 

“I-... I can’t!” He sobbed, burying his face into the fur of the king’s robes. He felt him sigh a long, disappointed sigh. Then, the comfort was taken away, falling back into the harsh grasp of the guard's cold metal hands. 

“Return Eden to his chambers, let him rest for the night.” His hand lingered on his cheek for a moment as he blindly leaned into it, before it slipped away. "Send the four horsemen! I want whoever owned this slave to be found immediately! Turn every stone on its back! Tear the city apart if you have to!” He hissed, swinging his cloak around before collapsing back in his throne. 

“I want their head for what they've done to this boy...” 

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!~ @tears-and-lilies  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @starnight-whump  @bumpthumpwhump @whumpcreations @myst-in-the-mirror @heathenville (ahhh, If I forgot a tag, I am so very sorry, give me a poke and I’ll fix it right away)

[arcadejohn127-9]

Could you do the Brothers and undatables reacting to MC being poisoned and finding out that Micheal was trying to kill them because he was jealous that MC was close with the brothers. Let me just say your work is great the way you describe the situation before going into the reactions is really interesting. Thank you so much!!!!

I already had this ask half way done but Tumblr decided to delete all my work due to buggy WiFi - I'm currently in pain 😭

I don't know much about poison so bare with me, I just looked at the basic symptoms and went "I'm smart" I've passed out after being ill or just in general quite a few times when younger so I had faith

This also has a bonus Michael part! I've decided to add his response to the boys reactions in its own format or else each one will just have a repeat of the same Michael Response

Warning: angst, implied vomitting, attempted murder, fainting, spoilers of lesson 37 and 16, gore on Michaels part, long

"from Michael...?" You questioned outloud, unsure on how to feel about the parcel you've found.

Your relationship with the angel wasn't a defined one. You didn't hate him but you didn't like him either; there was always something about his presence that made you fearful. You choked it up to be just internalised fear due to hearing the brothers experience of the celestial realm and angels.

You've never met him in person; the first conversation you had of him was when you stabbed yourself with the dagger instead of Lucifer. You saw the light and he spoke to you, surprised and shocked at the love you had for the demons. Even then you never really got to speak to him again, he was a mystery. You've sent a few letters and he's returned some and Simeon is a link between you two. But other than that? You didn't really have a relationship with him.

So why? Why would he send you a gift?

You looked inside to see a packet of apple pieces and herbs inside of a snack shaped teabag. You admired the unique shape and couldn't stop a small smile appearing. It was definitely cute! And you finally got to use the new kettle and cups barbatos got you.

You decided to text Simeon, telling him to thank Michael for your gift. He was surprised by this but agreed, happy you two were connecting.

Whilst your new tea brewed you were trying to figure out a way to repay his kindness. Sure it was simple small gift but he was reaching out - you were giddy! Hopeful this meant he was fully on board to the exchange program.

But you soon would regret drinking that tea. It was so sweet you couldn't stop drinking it; your lips only leaving the cup of a second of breath. It was addicting. The herb covered apples pieces gave it a nice slight bitterness. But it wasn't overbearing but didn't make it taste like sugar in your mouth.

As soon as the last gulp came down; something came up. You hunched over as your stomach churned, a disgusting taste forcing itself up your throat. Your vision growing blurry as you stumbled out of your seat, the light in your room feeling like knives to your eyes. You tried closing them but the effect didn't change. You were barely hunched over on your side releasing everything in your stomach. It stung your throat, your stomach feeling painfully empty.

There was this invisible feeling telling you to go to sleep. You wanted to obey but the light felt too painful. In your dazed state you shakily texted the groupchat a sloppy "help me ASAP, my room" before letting your body go limp, heaving as you just laid there, dragging a nearby jacket over your head and let your vision be consumed by the darkness.

Lucifer:

He's heart broken

How did this happen? You were fine and now you're not moving

Your breathing was faint against his neck as he held you

He saw the parcel and connected the dots, Eden's tea

It was a death sentence for any human, a treat for demons and a punishment for angels

He's started a war once, he can do it again

Whilst he knew he couldn't enter the celestial realm he demanded that Michael show himself

When his demands went unanswered, he was ready to break all rules

"He's gone too far, I don't care for his reasons! I WILL DESTORY THE CELESTIAL REALM IF I HAVE TO! HE WILL ANSWER ME!"

when you received a cure all his angers washed away with relief

Happy to have you awake again even if it was for a few moments

Mammon:

FLASHBACK ARE STRONG

All he can think about his how you looked like in the past; dying in his arms

He immediately went to blame belphie but almost tripped over the parcel

He's an idioit but he knew what this tea was

Becomes feral with rage and overly protective of your unconscious body

He's hunched over by your side at all times just growling at anyone who comes near you

He wanted to hurt Michael but he wanted to stay with you

He'd talk to you and tell you how he was going to get payback

"I should of known he'd do something-! I'll never forgive him- DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!!! I'M DOING THIS FOR THEM!"

As soon as you get the cure he's hugging you and telling you how much he missed you

Levithan:

When he found you, his heart dropped

It only got worse when he found the parcel and realized what Michael has done

he will remind the celestial realm why he is an admiral of hell's navy

He spends time by the sea communicating with any creature he can get; telling them if things go down he'll need them to flood the gates of heaven

When he isn't planning war he's with you, playing games, trying to ignore how dead you looked

He would remind you what buttons to push when your chatacter didn't move

"YOU THINK I'LL JUST LET THIS SLIDE??!! HE'S KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!"

He broke down sobbing when you woke up after getting a cure

He was convinced you were dead but here you were, alive and awake

Satan:

He's a detective nerd so of course he scoped out the scene

When he found the parcel and Michaels name - oh boy

Never met the man and pities him for letting their first meeting be the angels demise

It wasn't long before he had to be detained

Screaming and tearing up anything he could, yelling at his brother's for falling

He blamed his brothers, he blamed Michael and he blamed himself

Hated being locked away from you, would course more of a fuss when he couldn't see you

"I WILL KILL EVERY ONE OF YOU IF YOU DON'T LET ME GET TO THAT DAMN ANGEL!! I HATE YOU!"

He's only calmed down when you are given a cure and he's told you're alive

Is finally allowed to see you and he holds you tight

Asmodeus:

When he found you he was sobbing

It only grew worse when he found out what happened

In Denial

Not of Michael, he believed that but in denial you were dead or were dying

Kept insisting you were just tired and sleeping

Destroyed an entire room when one of them insisted you weren't sleeping

He'd help you get ready and pamper you, telling you it's okay and you can thank him when you feel better

Would be seen wiping your face often in hopes it'll get rid of that death like appearance you have

"They're fine but Michael won't be, when my precious darling wakes up I'll make sure they know I'll make everything better."

When you bad your cure he started crying and laughing, telling everyone he was right

Clinged to you and let you sleep

Beezlebub:

He found the parcel almost immediately

And went into a rage - we all know how his hunger tantrums are

Would've destroyed the whole house if he wasn't restrained

Guilt

So much guilt, his shoulders are always sagging

Sits by your unconscious body so he feels like he's protecting you

Has tried kissing you awake

Hoping you'll wake up like a fairy tale Character and everything will be fine

"I'm going to kill Michael and I won't let any of you stop me....protect (Y/N) For me."

Was so happy and relieved when you got the cure, sticking to your side at all times even when you were awake

Belphegor:

He was quick to help you into bed and on your side

When he found the parcel he was ready to murder

His rage towards Michael massively outweighed his hatred for humanity - even Lucifer!

Beel couldn't keep control of him mostnofnthe time unless he got forceful, belphegor stuck in a headlock screeching bloody murder

Stress sleeping

Like many of the brothers he develops two modes: calm or PLANNING MASS MURDER

Whenever he gets overwhelmed he just forces body to shut down and sleep besides you

"Michael will face me again, I won't let him kill anyone else that I love! He got Lilith killed and he can't do the same for (Y/N)!"

As soon as the cure was found he was by your side

Letting you rest and watched over you

UNDATEABLES↓

Diavolo:

Found out through the brothers

Sees this as an act of war against the peace he's working for

He was normally sweet and forgiving but it seemed Michael wanted to rip to his last nerve

Demanded for every reliable demon to search for a cure

Even had Solomon try to make one

"Barbatos, what is the possibility of Michael coming down to the devildom or the human realm? I want 'discuss' with him what his actions have caused."

As soon he he found out you were alive and safe

He didn't stop his plans but let himself have time with you

Barbatos:

So much guilt

Like holy shit

Is just constantly questioning how he didn't prevent this

Asked permission from the lord to just change the timelines so this didn't happen but the brothers were against it

They demanded they didn't avoid this situation and let Michael face punishment

That he couldn't refuse, he was angered by the angel's actions

More than he would ever show

"humans are so fragile and their time is so limited - that's why I'm never going to let anyone cut theirs short again."

Was part of the cure search party, he led the group

Once you were cured he stayed with you

Acting as your butler and made to check each of your foods and drinks

Solomon:

It wasn't a wise decision to piss off a wizard with stupid amount of pacts

To think an angel would do such a thing

But whilst Everyone lost their temper and searched for a cure

He was wondering - why did it happen

He was ordered asked to make you a cure

He was able to do it but the real cure was also found - giving you extra cure wasn't going to harm you

But he did plan to harm Michael

"you'd think he was smarter than this, he didn't even hide he was the one who did it but all it does is make my job easier."

nursed you until you woke up

Making sure you had mini cures to completely magic it out of your system

Simeon:

When he found out he was stunned

Betrayal - that's all he felt

How could Michael do such a thing?

But he knew Michael was a cruel angel, many having to drink Eden's tea as punishment

It burned their insides and had any poor soul sobbing for mercy after a gulp

"Michael you fool, you can get away with things in your league but you've involved the three realms into this....I pray you do not make your demise harder for yourself."

Was apart of the cure search party

Soothed you when you finally woke up, telling you it'll be okay

Let you rest as much as you wanted

Luke:

They tried to hide it from him but he kept demanding to see you

He wanted to know why everyone was acting strange

When he finally found out he was broken

His mentor

His idol

His everything

The person who always went for permission and knowledge

He thought so highly of him but he's hurt you

He's done more than that! He's tried to kill you!

He's been sobbing for days and locked himself away, he couldn't bare to see you after his once visit

He believed you were dead and they were just keeping your body

"Michael....why....why would you do this.... I thought you loved your brother's....I thought you were kind..!"

When he found out there was a cure he begged to help but they wouldn't let him

He only got to see you when you woke up and he was hugging you, crying

+ bonus Character↓

Michael:

The angel knew they'd be upset

But 9 demons wanting his blood? One wizard ready to cause mayhem and even his own kind wanting his downfall?

That he didn't expect

In his blind jealousy he didn't expect they'd all care for you this much

Thinking apart of them would be relieved you weren't there

But no

"You were my brother's before you were their partner, I'm simply doing what is right! It was their time to meet him and finally stop controlling all of you! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME! I'M YOUR FAMILY! WHY ARE THEY MORE IMPORTANT?!"

He got his answer

His wings torn to shreds, chunks of flesh bitten off him and slashes all over his body

He was left in human world bleeding and barely recognisable

They didn't hold back

He dread to think what the rest of them would do when they find him

[valec275]

Another spur of the moment story because my drama class decided that we should play the Cha Cha Slide and Macarena and whatnot to celebrate the end of the year.

I am Rill, a representative of the Eretic Race and vice leader of the GSA. Things have gotten much more interesting around here since the humans joined the Galactic Species Alliance, but not necessarily in a bad way. We’ve discovered many interesting things on their planet. One of the best examples we found recently was how certain songs seem to take control over the humans, and it was so bizarre to see for the first time. This is log 2234 of weird things we have discovered about humans.

It was an ordinary day in the RSFO (Report Sending and Filing Office). Lek had submitted their newest report on Vadeus’ twelfth moon and had made their way to the food court of the ship. They’d helped themself to what meal options were out (meats and vegetables from a planet in the Walker Galaxy. Lek couldn’t remember which) and then joined their friends, Human-Jaiden, Human-Catherine and Eretic-Astrine. They sat down and joined in with the conversation - the current potential war between the Eretics and Martians.

Lek’s ear picked up the sound of the intercom before the other three. They turned their head up in the direction of the sound as someone began to speak.

“Good day, loyal members of GSA. I am Rill, the vice leader of our wonderful organisation. I have a message for our human workers from their representative here at the Rep Office.” There was the sound of Rill clearing his throat. Lek looked to their human companions. Both of them were staring up at the intercom, eyes narrowed with curiosity. Rill had started talking again. “Dear human members of the GSA, I know that a lot of our technology can’t be used while you are out exploring the stars, because of our current inability to get WiFi so far from our own solar system, and all of you have been working incredibly hard. I am proud to represent such an amazing race, and for that I would like to reward you with a little bit of home. To Rill, please don’t play this if anything important is happening. Humans can’t resist stopping everything they’re currently doing for songs like this.”

The room was suddenly filled with excited muttering from the humans in the food court. A lot of weird words were being thrown around like ‘Macarena’ and ‘cha cha’ and ‘cupid’. Lek turned to Jaiden and Catherine who shared the excited looks of the rest of their race.

“Song?” Astrine asked before Lek could. “What is Rill on about?”

Jaiden grinned. “You’ll see.”

Catherine let out an excited squeal. “You guys are gonna love this!” She got up from her seat. “Care to join us?”

Astrine gave a chirrup of a laugh and returned her attention to the food on her plate. “No thank you. You humans are too strange for me. Getting all riled over a song,” she added in a mutter as she took a bite from a burgundy meat.

“What about you, Lek?” Jaiden asked as he also stood up.

Lek shook their head. “I agree with Eretic-Astrine. You humans get excited over the most peculiar things.” They smiled. “I think I’ll watch, though.”

The humans shrugged and then left the table to stand in the middle of the room where a group of about twenty humans had gathered. They were all muttering to each other those odd words again. Some were bouncing on the fronts of their feet, eager for the song to start.

Lek was curious about what would transpire. Their representative had mentioned that humans couldn’t resist dropping everything to dance to this song. Was it just strong wording or was it literal? Did humans have genuinely no control over themselves when these kinds of songs played? Lek leaned on the back of their chair, eye glued on the group in the middle of the court.

“Are all humans listening?” Rill asked through the com. There was a resounding ‘Yes!’ that echoed around the food court. The sound of Rill exhaling from surprise from the sound was audible. “Right, well... Humans, I present to you the popular song from your home planet: The... The Macarena?”

The room erupted with cheers and squeals and laughter. Lek covered their remaining ear against the noise but uncovered it as the humans quietened down and the song started over the intercom.

It was so... strange? Weird? Ridiculous? Unnatural? Lek wasn’t sure if there was a strong enough word to describe the sight, to describe the way the humans organised themselves into a line, shifted slightly as the opening music started, and then launched into a synchronised dance. Hands out, palms up, hands to shoulders then to head then to waist then switch hips and then turn. Those exact same movements over and over until the song ended. A few mistakes happened where humans were trying to align their movements with the lyrics but apart from that it was-

“This seems like a suitable time for a human phrase,” Astrine said with a confused smile. “What the fuck is happening?”

“I have no clue.” Lek didn’t take their eyes off of the dance as they answered. It was an oddly beautiful sight to behold, if they were being honest with themself, if not a little unsettling. Humans were usually known to be a fierce but clumsy race. Many times had Lek seen them tripping up stairs or nothing at all, or insisting on carrying more than they could hold and ending with items littered everywhere. To see humans of all the species on this ship performing such movements and in time with each other was a rare and fascinating thing indeed.

Jaiden and Catherine came back to the table once the song had ended. The smiles on their faces were contagious and Lek couldn’t suppress a slight smirk as they asked, “What was that?”

“The Macarena!” the humans said in sync.

“Oh don’t tell me it’s spread to the way you speak!” Astrine groaned. “If you humans start walking around talking in sync I might-“

“We won’t,” Catherine promised with a laugh. She leaned back in her chair. “Wow, it feels like forever since I’ve heard that song.”

Jaiden nodded in agreement as he tucked back into his meal.

Lek tilted their head slightly. “Can you explain the significance behind that song and dance?” they asked. “Surely your kind doesn’t get so ecstatic over something like that without there being some sort of importance?”

“And the synchronised dancing?” Astrine chimed in. “That was a bit creepy, to be honest.”

Jaiden and Catherine laughed. “There’s no real significance to it,” Jaiden told them. “It’s just a really popular party song. We have others like it - songs to get people on the dance floor at a get-together.”

“How many more?” Lek and Astrine asked. Astrine’s tone was more concerned while Lek’s was curious. They shared a quick, surprised glance.

“Your human ways!” Astrine almost shrieked. “They’re rubbing off on us already!” She wrapped her arms around herself, drowning in her feathers, like the mere thought terrified her. “Were your damn phrases not enough?!”

Jaiden and Catherine laughed at the Eretic, Lek giving off a low chuckle. Another fact to add their next human report, though they supposed that everyone else would have already decided that. They’d let someone else take the credit.

For weeks it happened. For weeks, everyday during lunch break in the food court another one of these songs would start playing. The Cha Cha Slide, The Cupid Shuffle, 5 6 7 8, Candy Man, Cotton-Eye Joe. There were so many of these songs to the point that some workers, Astrine included, stopped entering the food court because they couldn’t take it.

However, one day it just... stopped. It was a day like any other had been. The humans had gathered in the centre of the food court, ready for what the day’s song would be. Many seemed more suspicious than excited, mumbling about how all of the better known ones had been done so surely their chances to dance had run out.

The song started playing. Before it even got to the lyrics there was a collective groan from most of the assembled humans, though some laughed and some just immediately stalked right back to their tables. Amongst it all, someone yelled, “Oh for fucks sake!”

Lek was stunned when Jaiden and Catherine came back to their table looking somehow both impressed and disappointed. “What’s the matter?” they asked.

“We just got Rick-Rolled,” Jaiden said with a sigh.

Lek went to ask for an explanation but decided against it by the looks on the humans’ faces. That was an aspect of Earth culture they could save for another day.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Little Witch | k.m.

1-3-2021

Klaus Mikaelson x fem!reader

Word Count: 5,268

Author’s Note: So this got a little out of hand, and I wasn’t expecting to write this. But I was stuck in a cabin with little to no wifi and my mother decided that she wanted to rewatch the Originals so...here we are. I do love me a horribly wicked character with a tragic backstory; Klaus has always been my favorite. 

Warnings: Mentions of murder, emotional and mental abuse, cussing, some heavy making out but nothing excessive

New Orleans was a magical city, no matter who you asked. Whether it was the tourists who got off on ghost tours and psychic readings or locals with their affinity to tell those ghost stories and give those tours —it was hard to deny the whispers that echoed through the streets. New Orleans radiated supernatural energy; little did most know it was because it was genuinely packed with supernatural beings. 

Witches once ruled the Quarter, protecting one another and living as a community. Vampires came and went, stayed if they found themselves inclined. Werewolves once lived in the city but were driven out by both the witches and vampires. And now the Quarter was in a fierce game of tug of war between those who practiced magic and those who fed on human blood.

Marcel Gerard held the witches hostage in their own home, banning the use of magic unless given explicit permission —or if they were part of his helpers. He ruled the Quarter with an iron fist and made sure to prove that occasionally by executing a witch here or there. Just because he could. The witches of the Quarter loathed him but he had too much power to fight back. Especially with the Harvest ritual incomplete; Marcel knew when magic was practiced with Davina. 

Problems arose when the Mikaelson family returned, with Klaus hellbent on taking power back for himself. The power struggle between him and his once protégé was more of a pissing contest, but it distracted Marcel from witches who passed through the city in their own travels. Witches who didn’t belong to the New Orleans coven came and went from the city, most unaware of Marcel’s rules. Some died because of their lack of knowledge, others went unscathed because they were gone before anything could be done. 

She was one that wouldn’t go unscathed, though she wouldn’t be one he’d kill. No, no; she didn’t let anyone tell her what she could or could not do with her magic. But she was also not bound to Marcel’s ridiculous laws for the city —after all, she wasn’t part of the New Orleans coven. She wasn’t part of any coven; not anymore. 

When she arrived in New Orleans, it was simply supposed to be a pit stop on her way home from a road trip she’d taken. She stopped to pay respects to a family friend who had passed a few years prior, pick up some herbs for a protection spell or two, and then home to Savannah. She never intended to stay longer than a day or two. She didn’t even intend to perform any magic while in the city. 

However, at the little shop she’d stopped in to pick up her items, she overheard the girl at the counter talking about a baby, a monster, and a harvest. And gods, did that peak her interest. She lingered in the shop longer than she probably needed to, listening in. The older woman that the shop girl was talking to was whispering about an original family and a man named Marcel —that’s when she decided to check out. 

The two dropped their conversation, with the girl at the register asking basic questions about what shehad planned. Vague answers and polite smiles and money exchanged easily. She leaned over the counter a little, though, to whisper. 

“You said the original family is here. Does that mean what I think it means?” She asked, sliding her bag into her backpack. The girl looked surprised as the older woman walked back over. 

The two exchanged a wary look before nodding some. The older woman was who spoke up. “The Mikaelson family has returned; with a demon child in their mutt stowaway.”

“Grandma,” the girl scolded. She watched the two carefully. The girl continued the explanation. “Rumor is that Klaus Mikaelson got a werewolf girl pregnant. But Marcel is pissed they’re back, so he’s been taking it out on the witches.”

She pulled back some, glancing out the window with narrowed eyes. “Who is this Marcel guy? Why are you so afraid of him?”

The older woman scoffed. “Marcel rules the Quarter with his army of blood suckers. He’s forbid the witches from practicing. He’s the reason we haven’t finished our Harvest Ritual; he has our last girl and she tells him when we perform anything. Then he sends someone to...” The woman sliced her finger across her neck, making a face of disgust. 

She raised a brow, slipping her backpack onto her shoulder. “He sounds like a drag. Klaus, though, that sounds like a fun time.”

“You’re either incredibly stupid or have a death wish.” 

A smirk found its way to her lips as she shrugged. “I guess it could be both.” She looked between the two, who seemed just as wary as before, if not more now. “Thanks for the supplies; I won’t be sticking around to find out how all that ends,” she motioned to them indistinctly, “But good luck. I’ve heard the originals are a nasty bunch.”

*****

If only life was so easy, though. If only she could have walked out of that shop, gotten into her car and returned home. But she never did like the easy route; and she was a nosy thing too. She wanted to see for herself what was happening in the Quarter. Unfortunately, though, her desire to be nosy took her once pit stop and made it a rather long stay. 

The day turned into a week. A week turned into two. And then suddenly she had been there for a month, staying in a hostel just on the outskirts of the Quarter and living off the two weeks of clothes she had for her previous trip. And it didn’t seem like she planned on leaving any time soon. 

Now, in the month she’d been in New Orleans, she’d learned quite a bit. She learned of Elijah, who was the noble older brother of Klaus. She had a few run ins with him, though none of them were anything terribly exciting. Elijah had seemed distracted each time, either looking for his brother or looking for Hayley —the werewolf girl who was carrying a hybrid baby. Which was the next very important thing she had learned about: the baby. In an interesting turn of events, Klaus Mikaelson was fully capable of producing children, given his own hybrid nature. 

She hadn’t had the pleasure —or, she supposed, displeasure —of meeting him, though. Not yet. She’d seen him several times throughout the Quarter. Even followed him for a little bit, though she tried to be sneaky about it. He had been wandering down the streets, as if he wasn’t hell bent on destroying Marcel and everything in the town, so it was easy to act like she was also just wandering and totally not spying on him. 

“I wonder how many women he’s knocked up over the course of a thousand years?” She’d asked Sophie Deveraux, who had been enlisted by both her and Mikaelson family for her help, when she entered the bar one day. Sophie didn’t particularly like that comment. 

She needed a local witch to provide her information on the city, as well as someone on the inside of the situation. Honestly, if she wasn’t so nosy, she would have been just fine leaving. But alas, she liked to involve herself. Besides, Sophie wanted a witch that Marcel couldn’t track as easily. It was a win win for the two of them. 

Though that was about to bite her in the ass. 

She was following Klaus once again, mostly out of boredom today. They were setting up for the music festival that started tomorrow, and the witches had been banned from the Quarter. Sophie had asked her to go grab something for her, and with that errand being done, she needed something to do. It was then that she had found Klaus, whispering with a blonde woman. 

She lingered some, window shopping, so she could listen in. There wasn’t anything too exciting. Telling her to help Marcel, explaining compulsion. Perhaps she was under his control; maybe she should have done something about it. But she didn’t, nor did she plan to. After all, she was only there as an observer. 

Well, until she suddenly wasn’t. Brief panic overrode her senses as she was pushed into a wall, away from the crowd of people in the streets. The panic was enough to overwhelm her, and she couldn’t focus long enough to provoke a barrier around herself. When she opened her eyes, she was struck by the piercing green eyes of one Klaus Mikaelson.

 “I don’t like being followed,” he hissed, holding her against the wall by the base of her throat. There was enough pressure to remind her that he could absolutely kill her, but not enough to prevent her from breathing. 

“I-I wasn’t following you,” she insisted, though she was clearly caught. 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you now.” He ordered, squeezing tighter and cutting off the jagged breaths she had. 

She tried taking a breath, but gasped instead. She managed to stammer out, “I’m...I’m pretty?”

Klaus’s grip loosened some as he gave her an incredulous look. She inhaled sharply, waiting for him to just snap her neck. Instead though, he chuckled. “You’re pretty,” he repeated, dropping his hand from her throat. She reached up and rubbed the spot, trying to soothe the pain and the fear. Klaus continued to laugh though; she wasn’t sure if it was threatening or not. “I shouldn’t kill you because you’re pretty. You know —I’ll give that to you, love. You have a lot of nerve to give such a vain reason.”

Her hand was still lingering on her throat but she finally had her breathing under control. “Is it vain if it’s true?” She asked snidely, looking up at him now that she was able to focus better. “It was a good enough reason for you to let me go.”

Klaus raised a brow, nodding in agreement some. “Perhaps it’s because I’m also a rather vain person.”

“I’ve heard you’re more of an insane person, but I guess vain works too.”

The hybrid seemed to enjoy her quips, since he’d taken to leaning against the alley wall as she spoke. Then he pointed at her, a wicked smirk playing at his lips. “You’re rather brave, aren’t you?”

She shrugged and motioned with her hands to quote the host of the hostel. “Agnes would describe me as ‘reckless, stupid, and suicidal.’” 

“Agnes would be correct then. But I’m feeling merciful today,” he motioned for her to follow as he pushed off the wall. “Come have a drink with me, little witch.”

There was clear hesitation as she considered her options. She was the one that was following him; she did want to see how it all unfolded. She didn’t think she’d be directly involved, of course. She also didn’t anticipate Klaus being rather nice —minus the whole almost snapping her neck bit. And that accent was making her weak in the knees...

Any sane person would have said absolutely not. Any decent, smart witch would cast a spell and send him to his knees. But she wasn’t a sane person, apparently, nor was she a smart witch. She was selfish, and a bit lonely, and Klaus Mikaelson was offering her a drink. Who was she to deny him?

“Only if you’re paying,” she finally said, pushing the strap of her bag up her shoulder some. Then she fell into step with him as they left the alleyway together. “And buy me dinner. Agnes is eating up what little money I have already.”

If he was listening, Klaus made no indication that he cared about paying or feeding her. Instead, he simply offered her his arm and she took it without a second thought. If this was her demise, so be it, she decided. At least her demise was hot.

*****

What started as a beer and a burger with Klaus quickly turned into whiskey on ice and shitty bar peanuts. When that had run out, it became shots of tequila and a question game back and forth. Klaus asked her name, she answered. She asked about his baby, he told her it was none of her concern. A lot of her questions were answered with that, though. He asked plenty of mundane questions about her, but never gave an answer for any about him. 

It took her finally not asking about his family, or Marcel, or his past for him to start answering questions. By her third round of drinks, she started asking easy things. What were his hobbies? Painting, he had said. Art in general. What was his favorite food? He reminded her that he didn’t need to eat; she reminded him that food was still good, immortal or not. 

His favorite food, as it turned out, were beignets from the little shop down the road. She found that to be the most human thing about him. 

“Where are you from, little witch?” He asked, sipping his whiskey after. 

“You asked that already,” she reminded him, taking a fry from her plate and biting a piece off. 

“You said Georgia; that’s not specific.”

“What, you wanna come home with me?” She teased, raising a brow suggestively. 

“Perhaps,” he grinned back, then motioned for her to tell him. 

She felt a weird flip in her stomach, noting that she was flirting with the man that was cause for such horrible crimes around the city. Every witch hated him; every vampire despised him. She, briefly, wondered if anyone had seen Klaus as more than just a monster. Besides him pinning her to the wall earlier, he hadn’t come off as more than a snarky but kind man. Their banter back and forth was easy and felt normal. Maybe it was the alcohol though. 

“Savannah,” she finally admitted, pushing her plate from in front of her. “Born and raised there, right off of Forsyth Park. You ever been there?” It was a silly question, but she knew he’d answer. 

He nodded, finishing off his drink. Pushing the glass towards out of the way, he reached over and snagged the bottle from behind the counter. Then he poured himself another. “Not recently, but I did pass through once right before the First World War started. Beautiful, though I hate to tell you that it doesn’t quite compare to New Orleans.”

She lifted her beer to her lips, taking a long drink, as she listened to him speak. But she laughed at his comment about the two places. “Savannah has less drama. Though I’m sure if you were there, it would find its way.”

“You think I ask for all these things to follow me?”

“I think you thrive on chaos, and when there isn’t any, you find a way to make it,” she pointed her beer top at him, “That counts as your question.”

“It absolutely doesn’t; I’d like for us to expand on the psychological knowledge that you suddenly have.” Klaus pushed her beer out of his face and turned to face her fully. There was an amused grin on his face, which reassured her that she wasn’t pushing any buttons that bothered him. “Go on. Analyze me more.”

“Listen,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s not because I know anything about psychology or something. I just...I don’t know. I’m the same way, I guess.” The label edge of her bottle became significantly more interesting as she started peeling it off slowly. Klaus sat patiently, eying her closely. The silence was becoming uncomfortable as she got it about halfway off, then she finally spoke again. “I get bored easily, so I find ways to entertain myself. Following you, for example. I probably shouldn’t have. You definitely could have killed me, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Why is that?”

“I like to say it’s because I’m a nosy motherfucker, and you have a very interesting thing going on with your whole baby hybrid thing.” She peeled the rest of her label off, then started to fold the paper together as she spoke. “But the truth is that I don’t have a lot going for me so I have a bad habit of getting myself into trouble to feel like I’m not wasting my life away.”

“Why do you feel like you’re wasting your life away?” Klaus questioned, leaning against the bar now as he watched her intently. 

“This definitely counts as your question and you have to answer an actual question from me after.” She countered, looking up at him. Her fingers played with the paper idly, giving her something to do. Klaus nodded, waiting for her to respond. She shrugged though. “Savannah has —well, had —a decent sized coven for a long time. Most of the younger generation left and the older generation is too stuck in their ways for me. My mom included. 

“I was fifteen when my parents split up and my dad moved as far as he could, and ended up in California. I lived with him for a while but my mom wanted me to learn to practice where our ancestral magic was and so I moved back after about three years. Turns out she just wanted to marry me off to the regent’s son when I turned 21. 

“When I told her I wouldn’t, she said I had to or else I’d bring dishonor on my family even more. Apparently, when I left, I broke my mom’s family’s line. No one in my family had left Savannah, until I did. This was the best way to restore the coven’s faith in my family.

“I tried. Like, picked out the dress and went out with the guy for a while. The wedding was planned for the winter solstice, which was a few weeks after I turned 21. But the longer I stayed in Savannah, the longer I dated him, the worse I felt but the worse he got. He...well, he ended up being a fucking dick.”

Klaus listened intently to her story, eyes cast down as he processed what she was saying. But his brow furrowed and he looked back at her. “You told me your birthday was last month. I take it you didn’t marry him, then?”

She took a long drink of her beer, polishing it off before setting the empty bottle on the bar. “It was and no, I didn’t. Like I said, he was a dick. He expected me to stop everything I was doing, become a doting little housewife. Every southern stereotype, that’s what he expected. When I didn’t do something he wanted, he’d break something of mine or take my keys and hide them. He’d report back to my mom like I was a child. It became too much, too quick. 

“Like a week before my birthday, he got mad that I was going to drive to California for the week to see my dad. It was the whole plan. I’d visit my dad and I’d be back the week before the wedding. But suddenly that wasn’t okay and he smashed my windshield. Just straight up walked out of the house, threw a brick through my windshield and told me if I wanted to go anywhere, he’d have to take me and he wouldn’t do it. So I...hurt him back. I may have reacted poorly, in hindsight, though.

“You killed him, then.”

She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment as she remembered that night. As she thought back on how he screamed as she boiled his blood from the inside, how he begged for his life before his heart gave out and he just...died in their driveway. How she just left him there as she cleared the glass out of her car seat and left. 

“I called my dad on the way and told him everything. Ditched my phone, got a new one and a new number. My dad covered for me, swore up and down he no idea where I was. I spent a few weeks in California before I decided to go back a few days after I turned 21, face the consequences. You know. But I stopped here and...well, everything here seemed way more interesting than whatever will happen back home.”

The bartender, at some point during her story, had slid over another beer. And thank god he had; rehashing her plights gave her the need to be as drunk as possible. Killing a man wasn’t something that the heart or soul took lightly. And the mental toll it takes on someone is just as bad. Perhaps Klaus wouldn’t understand, given how easily he killed people. But he had to at least see that anyone else couldn’t just kill without hurting themselves in the process.

Klaus didn’t immediately respond, though. While she nursed her new beer, thinking back on the events that had transpired, Klaus simply stared at his own glass, counting the air bubbles that popped up when he moved the ice. She didn’t mind that he had nothing to say, honestly. It was better that he didn’t, she thought, since any advice he’d give her would probably be less than helpful. It felt good to tell someone, though. Someone besides her dad, at least. 

“So...my turn,” she murmured behind her bottle, voice thrown by the slight echo it provided. 

Klaus shook his head though. “I think we’ve asked enough questions, little witch. It’s best to get you home, I think.”

“Hostel home or Savannah home?”

But Klaus didn’t answer, setting a few rather large bills on the counter and standing instead. She hesitated for a moment, but stood as well, following close behind as Klaus left the bar and walked them into the streets of New Orleans. She was buzzed enough to feel pretty good, but not drunk enough to handle whatever emotions would crop up from her sharing her tale of murder. Like before, though, Klaus offered her his arm and she took it. 

The walk wasn’t uncomfortable, at least. The silence between them was easy and didn’t need to be filled with useless conversation. With the sun going down, though, it was clear that the people coming out into the streets weren’t just those looking to party; some were out looking for a meal. And many of them were looking at the two in both confusion and fear. 

It would be a lie to say she didn’t like the attention. It would be an even bigger lie to say that she didn’t like the tinge of power she felt, either. It wasn’t a lot of power. But it was enough for her to get a taste of what Klaus must feel every day of his life. 

Though now, she wondered if that meant he was lonely. Given that no one approached them, let alone smiled as they made their way through the crowd, she had to assume he was. The town knew enough about the original family, with three of them in town. But from the stories she’d heard, it didn’t seem like they got along. Or they did, but they fought. It all seemed convoluted. 

“Why did you decide to be nice to me, Klaus?” She asked, breaking the silence. 

Klaus tensed some as they approached a large, old building that was marked with an iron M outside of it. She’d passed it before, though she thought Marcel lived there. But she didn’t question where they were going. If this was her demise, if this was all a ruse, she’d accept it. Maybe he’d be nice enough to make it quick, at least. 

“I told you earlier, I liked your vanity. I also said I was done answering questions.”

“That’s why you didn’t kill me. Not why you decided to take me out and play the question game with me,” she pointed out, looking up at him as they walked. He had an amused grin on his face but it vanished as soon as he caught her looking. “And let me have this one; I told you I killed a guy and you didn’t even blink.”

He didn’t respond though, pulling her alongside him as he pushed open the gates of the building. It was much bigger inside than she anticipated, adorned with decor that was clearly from another time. They stood in the courtyard in the center of the place, though, as Klaus released her from his hold. She took a moment to step away from him and look around, appreciating the architecture of the building. 

Klaus tugged on her bag’s strap, pulling her towards the staircase. She looked over her shoulder before quickly following, trailing behind him. She hadn’t forgotten that he hadn’t answered her question, but she wondered if this was, in some way, his response. When he opened a door at the end of the hall, though, her question was answered. 

Inside the room were dozens of paintings. Some done, framed and hung up. Some frames and leaning against various pieces of furniture. Supplies were littered throughout the room, with canvases sitting by the windows and sketchbooks tossed onto chairs. Every piece was different but she could tell they were all done by the same person —by him. She was so taken by the room that she hadn’t even noticed that Klaus had shut the door behind them. 

It was a long time before She made any attempt to talk to him, to tell him anything. Much of the silence they were sharing was spent admiring each piece of work individually. She examined and analyzed each painting, noting the colors and the brush strokes. Just by looking, she could tell which were painted when he was angry; which were done when he was calm. It was like looking at his emotions laid out before her —she just had to look close enough. 

The final painting she stopped at was of the city itself, half done and in front of the window. It sat on the easel, with the brushes and paint clearly untouched in several days based on how dry they were. The city was just as magical in the painting as it was outside the window, but something about his painting was more inviting. Maybe it was because it was done by someone who knew this city better than anyone else; he’d mentioned his family helped build it. Whatever it was, though, she liked it. She liked them all, honestly. 

When she finally turned to face Klaus, he was sitting down on the couch, watching her closely. His expression was hard to read, though. Throughout her stay in New Orleans, she’d been able to tell how he felt by just looking at him. Most people could, though. When he was angry, it was pretty obvious. Whatever he was feeling now, though, wasn’t as obvious. She moved to the couch, sitting beside him and pulling her legs to cross them under her. 

The two were silent for a few more minutes before she finally spoke. “I think you answered a lot of my questions by showing me all these.” 

He nodded some, clasping his hands together in front of him. Though now he wouldn’t look at her and she realized what was going on: 

Klaus Mikaelson was nervous. 

“You don’t show this off a lot, do you?” She asked, leaning in some. “I think I get why; I can see everything in them.”

It was then that Klaus finally turned and looked at her, a rather soft smile on his face now. “Not many people see me and think of an artist. Most see me as a villain —rightfully so, I suppose. I will not deny that,” he explained, looking around the room now as he took in his works. “You, for some ridiculous reason, saw a villain and decided you were not afraid of him today. Perhaps it’s because you have other things you fear over me, perhaps you just didn’t care. It doesn’t matter. You accepted a drink with me after I almost killed you, followed me willingly, and pestered me with questions that no one has asked me before; trivial things that would otherwise never matter.

“I decided to continue the evening because I happened to enjoy your company, little witch. You are the first person in quite some time that I haven’t had to force to spend time with me. And you were a decent distraction from my own problems.”

“And I’m pretty.” The comment came out before she could control herself, with the moment probably being ruined. She gave him a sheepish smile. 

But Klaus only chuckled, nodding in agreement. “And you’re pretty, yes. It certainly helped your case.” 

The two watched each other for a moment, both smiling as they enjoyed the moment. It had been a long time since she felt as at ease as she did now, and it felt good. Every story she’d heard about Klaus over the last month seemed exaggerated now, though she knew they weren’t. She knew that he was a wicked man with wicked intentions. But in this moment, he was just a man who was just as fucked up as she was. He was someone who needed someone to willingly listen to him and be with him without being afraid of him. 

Maybe she could be that person. One day with him certainly equate to anything special, but it was enough to want it to. She’d gotten herself involved enough to watch, but now that she was sitting in his home with him, she didn’t want to step back into the audience again. She wanted to help, give him that company that he clearly wanted. 

It wasn’t clear if Klaus wanted the same at first, and maybe his next move didn’t mean anything, but he had leaned closer. It was enough for her to notice, to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheeks. It was then that she couldn’t take it anymore. The space between them disappeared as she pushed herself to her knees and pulled him into a heated kiss. Klaus didn’t waste any time returning the gesture, pushing her back onto the couch in order to deepen the kiss. 

It wasn’t a desperate, lust filled kiss like either were used to. They weren’t tearing at each other’s clothes in order to get them off, but instead his hands roamed down her sides and over her hips, holding her down. Her hands ran down his chest, then back up to run her hands through his hair. The two remained tangled like this for what felt like forever, before she pulled back to breathe and catch her breath. 

Klaus rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed as her fingers left his curls and lingered against his collarbone. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered. 

“Just tonight?” She whispered back, opening her eyes to look up at him. 

Klaus returned her gaze, a cheeky grin on his lips as he ran the back of his hand against her flushed cheeks. “We’ll see how you fair tonight before we make that decision, little witch.”

[bruhlsbees]

paradox burning ; 2/5 || ernst schmidt x fem!reader

summary: when it seems you've lost earth, panic finally settles in

pairing: ernst schmidt x fem!reader

word count: 5,548

warnings: biting of skin around the fingers, mentions of mental health issues

a/n: finally settled into my apartment and have wifi! i will admit this one was a little hard to write so i apologize if this was a little hard to read. next chapter for sure will have more meat to it! thanks for all your comments, shares, and support! <3

Another test aboard the Cloverfield Space Station. The 47th test in just over two years is scheduled for 8:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. All eyes are on-

“This is Huntsville...we’ve got eyes and ears.”

Seated beside Acosta, you watched the newscast presented on the screen with Mark Stambler - the conspiracy theorist who was on yet another rave about this so-called ‘Cloverfield Paradox’. Acosta seemed to be just as irritated with what the guy was saying just as much as you were. You could only wonder how many people actually believed what this guy was saying.

“Right this minute, they are testing a particle accelerator up there, so we can learn how to make unlimited energy down here. But those who have accepted the Cloverfield Paradox is real...know how dangerous that is.”

Shaking your head, you brought your fingers to your mouth, chewing on the skin that was around your nails, leaning forward towards the screen. You didn’t know what was more nerve-wracking...what Stambler was going on about, or the team around you preparing for the next test.

As you sank your teeth into your skin, tearing it off before moving on to the next finger, you felt a sensation trickle down your spine, as if someone were watching you. Glancing to your right, you quickly pulled your fingers from your mouth at the sight of Acosta giving you ‘the look’. Blushing, you looked down and squeezed your hands together in your lap.

“Sorry...just a little anxious.” You whispered, your eyes falling back to the screen.

Placing a hand on your knee, Acosta gave your knee a comforting squeeze before pulling away, “It’s going to work this time. I know it will.”

Nodding your head, you smiled weakly at Acosta, finding a sense of ease with his own hope on the day. You did your best to focus on the newscast again, ignoring the stinging sensation from your fingers at the spots that you tore into too deep. The faint taste of iron in your mouth from the blood. You knew you’d have to clean up after the test, not wanting to go around with bloody fingers the rest of the day.

“This experiment could unleash chaos…the likes of which we’ve never seen. Monsters, demons, beasts of the sea-”

“To clarify, you believe their efforts to solve the energy crisis might unleash demons?”

Scoffing, you couldn’t help but laugh as it continued on, “This guy really thinks that we are going to break open some world-ending creation, doesn’t he?” Shaking your head, you leaned back in your chair, your hands gripping at the armrests on either side of you.

It was the Commander who finally had enough of what bullshit was spewing from the guy’s mouth - directing that you and Acosta turn it off. As you did, you heard over the intercom from Volkov that the gyro was calibrating, meaning that it was only minutes before the test finally began - but not before egging Schmidt’s temper on how his station was doing.

You smiled weakly at Schmidt who rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath as he continued on before your attention went to Mundy who approached you and Acosta, asking for him to grant them with his ‘holy stick’. When Acosta stood to lead into prayer, you sank to your knees on the ground, crossing yourself before clasping your hands together, you closed your eyes and bowed your head, waiting for Acosa to begin.

“Oh come on. Not now when we’re-”

Opening one eye, you looked to see Schmidt slightly amused, in shock that you were about to go into prayer before the test. You all had your own faiths, or lack thereof, and something you and Schmidt never seemed to see eye-to-eye with was that. He could treat it as a joke all he wanted, but this was possibly the only thing that gave you even an ounce of peace of mind.

“Schmidt.”

When the Commander scolded Schmidt, he fell silent, sitting in silence while Mundy, the Commander, Acosta, and yourself all gathered around for Acosta to lead you into prayer.

“The farther we travel from home, the clearer it becomes that there is power infinitely greater than us. Please show Your mercy and allow the Shepard to work this time. To provide the energy we need. To prevent our countries from going to war. Please, God, be on our side. Amen.”

Standing up, you smiled at Acosta before laughing as Mundy went in to fist-bump Acosta.

“That was righteous.”

It was finally time for the test to begin. As the accelerator began to power up, the team gathered around to their stations, you stood beside Acosta, watching as Schmidt made his way from his station towards the two of you.

“Back to work. Sunday school over with?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Schmidt’s comment, shaking your head as he smirked, winking your way before turning towards the middle of the room, to the main starter for the accelerator.

“He’s insufferable.” You mumbled, earning a laugh from Acosta before he nudged you, heading over towards Schmidt and Mundy. You followed in suit, standing beside Acosta as you watched Schmidt prepare to launch the accelerator.

As you steadied yourself for the test, you found yourself toying with your cross necklace, squeezing the pendant between your fingers as you listened to Schmidt count down before turning the key, igniting the accelerator. The ship around you began to shake as the accelerator kicked in, preparing to send out another test of electricity.

You didn’t have it in you to watch, closing your eyes, you began to mumble a prayer to yourself, hoping that this was it - that this would be the test that worked and that you’d all get to go home. Back to your families, back to a normal life, back to reality.

“Please…” You found yourself whispering, “Please let this work.”

The whirring sound of the machine almost drowned out Tam’s voice, but when she repeated herself, your eyes shot open. Did you hear her right? Was this test successful?

“What’s our output?” Commander Kiel asked.

“We have positive energy flow,” Schmidt began, “For the first time. Look at this! Look at this!”

Of course this was a time to celebrate. For the first time you managed to finally run a successful test. Turning towards Acosta, your smile grew from ear to ear before rushing into his arms, hugging him tightly as the two of you laughed, happy to hear that your prayers were finally answered and that they finally managed to figure out how to get a successful test.

“We are focused at 47 teravolts.”

“Oh man!”

The cheers and celebrations that went around were only expected - perhaps a little unprofessional with some of the language that came from Mundy, but nobody could be upset - after two years, finally you had something go right.

“Hamilton, get us in viewing mode.”

Watching as the screen changed from your current view of Earth to the accelerator lighting up. Your grin never faltered at the sight of the beautiful purple hue buzzing, indicating that everything was going smooth. All things were finally going to plan…

Until they weren’t.

You weren’t sure what happened, but the purple light soon became too much, practically blinding you until the power shut off completely, the accelerator overloading the system. Catching yourself as the ship violently rocked, the power shortly coming back, your eyebrows furrowed as the alarm began to ring, screaming at Schmidt as the warning for ‘system overload’ presented itself on the screen.

“Schmidt! Tell me something!”

“It says it hit 602-”

Before Schmidt could finish his sentence, the glass in the room shattered, sending everyone ducking to the ground. You groaned at the bits of glass digging into you and how abruptly you were thrown to the ground. Pulling yourself to your knees, you lifted your hands up, flipping them over to see that your palms were covered with glass, small trickles of blood freckling your skin.

Looking over towards the main window, you squinted at the sight of the harsh light beaming in, the electricity buzzing picking up again. You covered your hands over your ears, the sound becoming almost too much for you. What the hell was happening now?

Before you could even ask, you felt your body suddenly lift off the ground and into the air, hitting the ceiling along with everyone else - pinned in place before being dropped to the ground again. This time you rolled to your back, letting out a cough as you tried to collect your thoughts.

The test failed. You along with many others would probably have some sort of injury that you and Acosta would have to look over later. The test failed and you only had two more tests now before...well....

When you sat up, you let out a sigh before grabbing the table in front of you, pulling yourself up before sitting in the chair. Your hands at this point were burning from the glass and your head was so heavy it felt like it was going to topple off your shoulders and roll to the ground. But there was no time to recover just yet, because this was just the beginning.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

After attempting to kill the fire and figure out what exactly was failing with the ship, everyone came back together in the main control room. Glass was still everywhere and the awful smell of smoke still stung your nose. You currently sat in front of Mundy, looking over his hands and picking out the glass with tweezers, your own hands wrapped now from you and Acosta treating one another before the others returned.

The hiss that came from Mundy made you jump, although you continued to work on his hands, pulling out the final pieces of glass from his left hand before wrapping it up to match his right. You looked up and smiled at him, letting his hands go as he stood up to gather around with the others.

You knew that panicking wasn’t going to help anything, but the feeling in your stomach wasn’t going away and it was hard to not lash out when Volkov and Schmidt were at it again.

“For once, Volkov! Could you please just shut up?” You snapped, your back facing away from him as you rubbed at your temples.

“Enough! All of you!” You tensed at the sound of the Commander’s voice booming over the arguing that was going on. He didn’t have to say it for you to know, but you all sounded like a bunch of toddlers throwing tantrums.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you chewed on your bottom lip as you calmed down, or at least attempted to. You were doing fine until Hamilton spoke up.

“It isn’t here.” Hamilton explained, a worried expression washed over her face. The color was drained from her face, as if she saw a ghost.

Spinning in your seat, you watched as the Commander headed towards Hamilton, standing beside her as he looked down at the screen. What wasn’t there? Was it the frequency for Mission Control like Schmidt suggested. No, it was much worse.

“The Earth...it isn’t there,” Hamilton rushed, “I...can’t find anything.”

“We must have got turned around, moved during firing.” The Commander suggested.

“Well it’s big, blue, full of angry people. Keep looking, you’ll find it.” Mundy pressed, now hovering like many others over the station that Hamilton was at.

Standing now, your own worry began to sink in. How in all names holy did you just lose Earth? Making your way now beside Mundy, you watched Hamilton as she continued to look over the monitors for Earth, still unable to find anything.

“I’ve double checked the radio target, but the target’s gone.”

“Guys, the system is scrambled!” Mundy reminded, trying his best to remain calm.

“Hamilton is right,” Looking over towards Schmidt, your heart sank to your stomach. You didn’t want to believe that Hamilton was right, but it seemed as though she was. “It’s-it’s not here. We’re not picking up any signals!”

“The entire Earth is not gone!” You finally cried, tears filling your eyes. “We didn’t just lose Earth!”

As everyone around you began to frantically look through the monitors, your brain went to your family. To Mama, Papa, to Mila and Joseph. Did you lose them? No, no you couldn’t have.

You didn’t wait around to hear Volkov point blame at Schmidt, when you didn’t see the Earth on the external cameras, you pushed by Mundy and made your way out of the room, rushing down the hall to begin looking out the windows for yourself.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

As you looked out the window that was outside of your own quarters, you felt the whimper escape your throat, your body rocking slightly before your attention turned towards your room, rushing in suddenly and towards your computer, typing in Joseph’s name to start a video call. You knew it was a long shot, but you could only hope Joseph would answer.

Staring at the screen through your tears, feeling some finally begin to spill over, you watched as the call searched for a signal - feeling like forever until finally-

/COMMUNICATIONS ➤ NO SIGNAL FOUND

“No...no...no!” Wiping away your tears from your face, you frantically retried the call. Waiting until the same error message popped up. Sinking into your chair, you stared at the picture of your family, the red error message burning into your eyes.

So this was it. The weight of possible damnation staring in front of you. How could something go so right, yet so wrong in the matter of just seconds?

You tried one more time to call Joseph, watching as the connection buffered before the same message popped up again. Letting out a shaky sigh, you dropped your head and cried until no more tears could fall from your eyes. The overwhelming sense of fear filling your body.

After taking a moment to recollect yourself, you stood up and wiped your face, heading to the mirror to look over yourself. No matter how hard you wiped away your tears, it was still so evident that you had been crying. You didn’t want anyone to see you like that - knowing that you were cracking under pressure.

“Get ahold of yourself,” You whispered, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You shook your head once before fixing your hair, wiping away the tears and letting out a sigh, shaking your arms and legs as if to get all the nerves out, “You’re going to see them again. Crying isn’t going to solve anything.”

You took one final look at yourself in the mirror before nodding, taking a final look at the screen once more, looking at the picture of your family.

“I’ll find a way home. I’m not going to stop until I’m back with you.”

Despite knowing that it was just a picture, you waited a moment, as if waiting for them to respond before exiting your quarters and moving down the hall, back to meet with the others.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When you walked into the common room, everything felt heavy. Despite the room filled with everyone now, besides the Commander, nobody spoke a word. Sniffling, you quickly wiped your face to make sure no new tears were falling before making your way to the table, taking a seat at the end in between Acosta and Tam.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you hugged your legs to you, staring ahead of you at the table. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat, choking on the whimper that dared to escape. Clearing your throat, you tried to pretend that you weren’t on the verge of crying, coughing once before hearing the corridor doors open.

“Alright, here’s what we’re up against.” The Commander spoke as he sat down at the other end of the table. Your attention turned to the end of the table where he was seated, listening to what he had to say.

“The station’s got problems we don’t have tools to fix. At this point, looking for home is a luxury for us. First, we need to survive.”

“We need to consider, evidence or not...that we might have ended the lives of billions of people,” Acosta interjected. You sank in your seat, your eyes watering. You hadn’t thought of it like that. Did you destroy the Earth? Did you wipe out your home planet instead of just get shot to some other part of the galaxy?

“We didn’t destroy the Earth,” Schmidt explained, surprisingly calm, “We just...lost it.”

It was Mundy who let out a laugh, and you couldn’t blame him, it was almost a joke as to how Schmidt had put it.

“Totally routine day. Copy that.”

Shaking his head, Commander Kiel motioned towards Mundy and then Schmidt, “Mundy, take Schmidt and deal with the O2.”

Looking up, surprised to hear that the Commander wanted Schmidt with Mundy, you smiled to yourself - it seemed like any sense of normality was off the table now.

“I’m a physicist.” Schmidt reminded.

“And now you work for Mundy,” Adjusting your position in your seat, you leaned forward against the table, listening as the Commander continued on with orders, “Tam, you and Monk will search and repair all power leaks. Maybe we can get this temperature under control. Hamilton, Volkov, test all circuits, then we can start looking for home.”

“When the Shepard overloaded, something went wrong with the station’s orientation system.” Volkov explained.

“We’ll replace the circuits-”

“No shit, if that’s the problem!” Volkov cut Mundy off, annoyed at the obvious solution, “But um, it might be the gyro.” You watched as Volkov messed with the side of his face, rubbing under his right eye as if something were bothering him.

You tried to ignore Volkov, your attention pulled to the Commander when you realized that he hadn’t assigned you to do anything. Watching as everyone headed out, you stood up and made your way towards the other end of the table.

“Commander? What can I do? You didn’t assign me anything.” You pointed out, toying with the bandages around your fingers from where you were biting at earlier.

When you caught that the Commander was looking at the bandages, you quickly dropped your hands, as if trying to hide them. You watched as he smiled weakly, standing up before placing a hand to your shoulder.

“Yeah, listen...I want you to go check on all medical supplies. Actually, supplies in general. See how much we have and figure out how long it’ll last us.” He nodded and went to turn, going to meet with the others before you stopped him.

“Wait, that’s all? Commander, I’m sure I can be of help elsewhere.” You explained, taking a step forward towards him. The Commander’s steps slowed to a stop, his shoulders sinking as he let out a sigh before turning around.

“When you were going through your interviews and evaluations, what was your weakest eval?” He questioned, perplexing you until it came to you.

“M-My psychological evaluation, Commander,”

“Yes, exactly,” He took a step towards you and placed both hands on your shoulders, “Like Hamilton, you have family you’re close with, which oftentimes brings more stress to you both than the rest of us.”

“I don’t understa-”

“Your fingers. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re under a lot of stress right now, anxious about not being able to contact your family. Right now you going and trying to mess with wirings or the systems is not safe. Not for you, or the rest of us on here.”

You felt insulted. So what if you were experiencing a slight breakdown - who wouldn’t be in your shoes? You passed your evaluation, barely, but you did. You felt like a child, not being able to play with the big kids because you were too small.

“This isn’t fair, Commander. I’m just as much a part of this crew as everyone else. There must be something I can do to help!”

Pulling away, the Commander sighed and shook his head, “I want you to go to the medbay and go through medical supplies, that’s what you can do. Please, don’t take this as punishment. You are helping,” He paused and straightened up, clearing his throat, “Now I don’t want to hear anymore of it.”

And with that, the Commander left you in the common room, alone with your thoughts. Feeling your hands balled into fists, you looked around the room, tears welling in your eyes before you let out a laugh, shaking your head.

“Incompetent...is that what I am now?” You squeezed your nails into your palms before feeling the tension inside of you soon pop, leaving you back to your empty state of mind. Wiping your cheeks, you mumbled a string of curse words as you headed out of the common room and down to the medbay where you were tasked to look into the medical supplies.

When you arrived at the medical bay, you shut the door behind you, pulling on a pair of gloves before grabbing the clipboard that contained all the medicines on file and quantities. Opening the first cabinet, you went through the list, verifying that everything was in order and that you had the correct amount of vials that were listed on the paper.

You grew tired of the task quickly, rubbing your eyes and blinking as you stared at the paper. Looking up from the clipboard, you tossed it down on the examination table before sitting at the stool, closing your eyes to take a break, soon drifting off into an unexpected slumber.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“There are a few that I’m worried about joining you on the ship, Commander,” You overheard someone - a woman - state. You could hear her flipping through files, searching for the right paperwork.

You were the last of the crew to receive your final evaluations before departing onto the Cloverfield Station. You knew something was off when you finished your psychological evaluation and the doctor left in a hurry, not stating much other than you were free to go. Now you were seated outside of the examination room, waiting to receive your results from the Commander, toying with the hem of your shirt as you listened to the doctor and Commander speak.

“She hardly passed her psychological evaluation. Her temperamental issues, not as severe as Volkov or Schmidt, are still high - dangerous when unstable. I fear that she may become a threat on board if the wrong situation should arise.”

Frowning, you held your stomach as it began to flip, making you sick. You had always known of your own mental health issues, of course, but to the extent the doctor was putting it made you sound incompetent of joining the crew - and you knew that you had a right to be on board just as much as the rest of them.

“So what are you saying, Doc? If Volkov and Schmidt are good to be on board with their own temperamental issues, what is the concern with her?”

“It’s not that she has anger issues, but something more depressing. Being in space, without the sun, away from family, it can send someone into a state of panic. I fear that her being around those medical supplies, especially when she is having an episode, will not only harm her, but the others too.”

The silence that fell over the Commander and doctor made your heart sink. So this was it? All this time, all this money, all this preparation just to be told no right before boarding? Shaking your head, you stood up and went to leave, not bothering to stay to be told what you already knew.

But before you could make it to the middle of the room, the Commander’s voice startled you to a stop.

“She is no threat to this crew and belongs on board the Cloverfield just as much as the rest of them do. Until I see her pose a threat, I don’t give a damn what cruel ideas you have set in mind for her.”

As you turned your attention back towards the doorway of the room the doctor and Commander were in, you felt your cheeks become red when you saw the Commander, in a huff now standing in front of you.

“Commander, I-”

“You’re all cleared for boarding. Go change into your uniform and prepare to meet with the others. We leave at sunrise tomorrow.” The Commander quickly said, not letting you get the chance to even attempt to apologize for eavesdropping.

Your mouth turned into a small smile, nodding before turning and making your way out of the room and down to the room you were staying in on base, the closer you got to your room, the bigger your smile became.

Waking with a start, you tried to catch your breath as the sound of screaming came from outside. Jolting up, you made your way towards the door before stopping halfway as the entire crew came in, carrying, well, that you didn’t know.

“Clear the table! Quick we need to get these pipes out of her!” You heard Acosta yell, motioning for you to clear off the examination table.

Nodding, you frantically made your way to the table, pushing off the clipboard and other things you had piled on before stepping back as the crew surrounded the table, setting the mysterious woman down before holding her as she thrashed about.

“Who is this?” You asked, squeezing your way beside Acosta, holding up a light as he began to cut away her pant leg, revealing the wiring that was going through her. Gasping, you held your hand to your mouth, trying not to gag at the grotesque sight.

Nobody seemed to be responsive, in their own world as they tried to calm the woman down, pinning her until Acosta was able to inject her with something in the leg to numb her pain and put her to sleep while he operated on her. When the woman was finally asleep, the room filled with just the panting of everyone on the crew, you looked up at everyone.

“I’ll ask again, who the hell is that-”

“We don’t know! Okay? We found her in the wall, wrapped in the wirings and screaming.” Schmidt exclaimed, his face red.

Glaring towards him, you shook your head and pointed your flashlight at him, letting the light hit his eye, “Don’t sit there and talk to me like that. I wasn’t there. You expect me to just sit back and watch as some random person comes into the medical bay?”

Schmidt held his hand up to block the light from hitting his eye, “Would you get that light out of my face?”

You dropped the light, watching as he dropped his hand before you shot the light back up to his face, blinding him once again, a smirk toying on your mouth before jumping at the sound of the Commander.

“Enough! Acosta, finish looking after her and give us an update when you have one.” You watched as Acosta nodded, continuing to look over her. As you started to get your own set of medical supplies to help, you were stopped by the Commander, placing a hand over the drawer before you could get anything out.

“No, not you. Go to your room and cool off for a minute and then you can come back and help. Right now, you’re on the brink of-”

“Of what?” You snapped, turning your attention to the Commander. You ignored the rest of the crew in the room who tried to not so obviously watch and listen, but you kind of made it hard when you were pulling a scene. “I’m sorry that I’m reacting like a normal human being, Commander. But to be quite frank, we’re fucked. I’m not going to pretend that we aren’t, especially when you have a strange woman who you claim to have come from the wall lying on the examination table!”

Your face, now red, stared up at the Commander who seemed to be blank faced. When he didn’t say anything, you fell back on your heels, scoffing.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go. I’ll go to my room and suck my thumb because evidently that’s all I’m good for!” Moving around the Commander, you pushed past Schmidt, knocking him to the side before storming out of the medical bay and down to your quarters. It was times like now that you wished the doors were manual, so you could slam your door shut and let the irritation seep out of you.

When you arrived at your quarters, you pulled off your medical gloves, tossing them in the trash before unzipping your suit, decided to change into your sweatpants and t-shirt as you didn’t expect to be doing much else today.

“Stupid...incompetent...might as well just say it to my face instead of dance around it,” You mumbled, pulling up your sweatpants as you looked at yourself in the mirror. You pulled your hair from your ponytail and shook your hair loose, letting it fall down your shoulders.

Hearing the door open and shut, you looked through the mirror to see Schmidt, his hands behind his back as he made his way towards you.

“What do you want?” You asked flatly, crossing your arms over your chest. Even in that moment, you were too annoyed to even want to see him, and usually you always wanted to see Schmidt. When he didn’t answer you, you uncrossed your arms and pointed to the door, ready to kick him out before being suddenly blinded by the light.

Flinching, you jumped at the light and closed your eyes, groaning as you held your hand up to block the light, “Okay, I get it, I’m sorry - but you really pissed me off, you know that?” As you blinked your eyes back open, adjusting to the light, you tried to not smile as Schmidt made his way to you, setting the flashlight on your desk before wrapping his arms around you.

“When don’t I piss you off?” He asked, smiling down at you as he moved his hands under your shirt, rubbing your waist. Moving your hands up, you placed your hands flat on his chest before pushing him away, your own smile now creeping onto your face as you went and sat on your bed.

“When you’re asleep,” You teased before cocking your head to the side, “Actually, no, even in your sleep you piss me off. Did you know you snore? God, it’s awful. Makes me want to suffocate you with my pillow.”

Smiling, you watched as he laughed, making his way to sit beside you on your bed, pulling you close to him as he kissed your cheek, moving down to your jaw before up towards your ear, “I know something else you could suffocate me with.”

You giggled at the feeling of him biting on your earlobe before sitting back against your pillows, your legs now on his lap.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Something important to do? Or were you put on babysitting duty?” You shook your head and looked at your fingers, examining the bandages to make sure none had to be changed.

Shaking his own head, Schmidt looked down at your feet that were rested in his lap before rubbing your ankles, “Tam is meeting me at the X-Deck in ten minutes, but I wanted to stop and see you first after what happened in the medba-”

“What happened in the medbay was nothing, Ernst. I’m fine.” You knew that lying to him was pointless, but right now you didn’t want to explain to him what you were feeling, why you were feeling it, and so on. To you, it felt useless given everything else that was going around.

When you didn’t hear him respond, you looked up and frowned, seeing his own disappointed expression on his face. “Look, I’ll tell you later, okay? I’ll leave my door unlocked for you.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his, holding his face in your hands.

At the feeling of his own hands on your face, holding you steady as he deepened the kiss, you sighed against him, wishing that the moment could continue. Pulling back, you stared up at him, “You should go,” You explained gently, leaning forward to kiss him one more time.

Schmidt nodded, mimicking your actions and kissing you as well one last time before moving your legs, standing up off your bed before looking back down at you.

“I’ll be here at the usual time. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Nodding, you smiled and watched as he turned, heading out of your room and going to the X-Deck to meet with Tam, leaving you to your thoughts again.

When the doors shut behind him, you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, laying back on your bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Perhaps the Commander was right, maybe the mission finally cracked you.

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”