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thecandywrites · 2 years

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The Switch Chapter 12

Oh My God. Well, in classic ADHD fashion. I had this. And then I got distracted, with, like 2 rewrites, an update on a story I had before I ever wrote this one and like I have like 7852709 other WIPs and story ideas and story lines that I would LOVE to move onto too. But none of it can go until I just FINISH THIS FIRST. Because I HAVE PLANS and plot twists and there's still more to this rollercoaster of a ride of story, I just have to get through the technical difficulties which are WRITERS BLOCK of how I'm going to get from here at point A to point B. But once I get to point B, it'll take off again.

So, after...way too long, here is chapter 12

The Switch

Chapter 12

Once everyone came to drop off their housewarming gifts, they soon left again to give you privacy to continue with the cleanse. Then Mildred came back with potpourri and several more things in large sacks on special carts with wheels she used the rather crude but efficient elevators to get up to the floor and take to your room before she started to move things into the room, with Kragan’s, Saffiro’s and Samantha’s help. But then not long after, that’s when the deliveries started to come pouring in- furniture, silk screens on special dividers to section off sections of the apartment and you had to take refuge in the toilet in the hallway to not disturb the movers trying to move things into the rooms while also not interrupting the cleanse. Which you were sure you were passing things you had eaten as a child since this cleanse was so thorough.

All manner of things were delivered. A new mattress, down pillows, sets of sheets and bedding, furniture and loads of other household supplies. And of course foods to start to make the broths for the soups that you’d be eating for the foreseeable future that Mildred and Samantha went ahead and started to prepare while Kragan and Saffiro and the others moved things around in the rooms which Mildred really appreciated.

All while Samantha and Saffiro never seemed to be more than an arm’s length away from each other which Mildred found amusing. And once you had finished with the first wave of the cleanse and came back to the room, you quickly noticed and found it amusing too. Now that you weren’t jealous that Samantha would be moving onto Kragan after your eventual death. But as a prospect for Saffiro? She seemed much more agreeable. But you also knew her well enough that she wouldn’t be putting up with Solowardian high society well, not without turning it up on its head or keeping out of it all together. But you also knew Saffiro well enough that you could see his instantaneous smitten state with her.

Mildred, even though she had noticed, was much more concerned about you and making sure you would be “set up proper” in the room. And after the initial bowel movement, you were simply very thirsty and wanted chilled water with slices of citrus and mint as even more special food preparation items and ingredients and utensils started to be delivered.

“What is this? This isn’t wheat flour.” You noted when the huge sacks of special flour were delivered to the room with oriental writing on them.

“It’s rice and rice flour. Because you should stay away from too much wheat because while you should still have bread, it needs to be refined white flour- not wheat for the first two to three weeks and then it can be slowly reintroduced and even then- in things like pasta, or small buns, preferably stuffed with meats and things. Having wheat when it’s fried in oil isn’t good for you. But in the market, Miss Sammy showed us a group of people who settled there from the Orient. They make steamed rice bread buns that are just like soft bread, but will be much nicer on your gut. And it shouldn’t taste too different to you. Or if it does, not too much to be off putting because you’ve been gaining a more world traveled palette like Sir Kragan has. And while we were in the market, we got to try quite a bit of it and it’s quite good. When you are up to it, we can go and you can try it and I’ll try to learn the recipes to make them for you. But that being said, we did get you some varieties of the different steamed buns and filled dumplings.” Mildred explained as she handed you a special steel container that had special layers in it, each with its own steamed buns and dumplings, all made from rice and rice flour before you sat down at the table with Kragan and openned it up and were delighted to see so many layers of dumplings and buns all contained within the thing before Kragan walked you through how to use chopsticks to pick them all up to help you eat them.

“Oh. Well Yekmeni had a lot of rice dishes. I like rice. Especially the Byrianni style.” You noted as you looked at the metal thing and appreciated its design as the scents were surprisingly appetizing.

“And they can make noodles and pasta out of rice flour too, because you can still have the pasta you are used to, we just have to be careful about creamy sauces and cheese. But apparently most of the Orientals rarely have cheese and that much dairy in their diet, which is part of the low residue part. We just have to be careful of the vegetables because you can’t have too much roughage in your diet. No seeds, no nuts, nothing too fibrous, like beans, lentils, potatoes, that kind of thing. Lots of super refined flour breads, meats, some oils and fats now that your gallbladder can take them. But that also means you have to be careful of fruits. Like berries and watermelon, but the other melons like cantaloupes, muskmelon and honeydew melon should be ok in small portions. But figs, dates, prunes, dried apricots and other dried fruits should be avoided for the next month, and fresh fruits and cooked fruits should be ok, so surprisingly, pies like apple pie or peach pie or pear tartes should be ok, as should citrus.” Mildred said as she looked over her copied lists of foods you could have and foods to avoid while giving you the originals.

“But the great thing about the western Europa pasta is that instead of adding cream, you can add bread crumbs, that will give creaminess without cream and if you use that huge arborio rice, granted risotto is a labor intensive dish, but again, if you stir it vigorously, it’ll give the taste of cream without having any cream at all, it’s just broth and rice. Simple and easier to digest. And once you can have wheat pasta or oats or barely and things like that, the soups should be awesome instead of just having meat and broth.” Sammy volunteered cheerfully.

“You are literally in the one city in the world where we have cooks from all over the world, the whole of the supersphere- all under one roof. And I know this diet looks like you’re giving up everything you love, but I promise you, we will find work arounds and this just means you can find new favorite foods.” Sammy added as she had put down several other tins of the same things for the five of you to sit down and eat since Saffiro and Kragan had insisted she stay to do so.

You looked at the list and sighed when you saw all your favorite foods on the list that were foods to avoid. You loved all things dairy. You loved berries, you loved berried fry pies the most. You loved cheesecake as your favorite dessert. You loved ice cream, and frozen custard the most. You loved fried cheese around meats too. You loved fried just about everything. And you loved melons of all kinds. Especially a really good sweet watermelon.

“Hey Samantha, Kragan said you’re really good with books.” You began as you all dug into the food.

“Nothing compared to what I’ve heard Kragan and Saffiro praise of you.” Samantha returned.

“They’re biased.” You smiled with a dissmissive waive.

“But Kragan and I are starting a luxury skyship cruise line in The Contessina Project. And because you have experience with hosting nobility here at Souja Inn along with merchants of all kinds and because you help run the Inn side of the tavern, that gives you quite a bit of experience and a skill set and I’d love to have at the very least your invaluable input on the project. And if you’d oblige me to help me find the right staff for it because in Fitsdale, I’d want to partner with Souja Tavern so that tourists can stay here while their ships get resupplied. And once I can recover, if I could talk to the owners, I’d like to talk about having a wing of suites for potential guests for the line to stay here and have the same wonderful experience here that others have.” You proposed to her as she lit up excitedly.

“I would love to help you with that. I think that’s awesome. We are actually going to be rebuilding a wing here in just a couple of months during our off-season. If you wanted to- you could invest in the rebuild and you could have a say so in how they’re built and laid out and what materials you want and we can even get the glass makers to put your Contessina Ship logos in the stained glass of the windows.” Samantha suggested.

“I love that idea!” You beamed happily before Samantha and yourself began to bounce ideas off of each other as Kragan simply grinned and got your journal out along with his own while Saffiro offered a new one of his own to Samantha to use to write down the ideas down as they were being discussed as Saffiro was exceedingly happy that Sammy was not only a sweetheart but just as bright, intelligent and practical as you were but was also exceptionally pretty herself.

Then Ainsley arrived with her family in tow.

“Hey, oh wow! You guys got moved in huh?” Ainsley asked as she and her children and her husband came into the room to see everything already moved in and situated.

“Well I came to offer this.” She held out a box that had a bunch of scented candles in it along with a jar of special lotion and a case of the softest toilet paper you had ever touched in your life.

“I know you’re going to feel like you’re crapping your guts out for the next day or two and it’ll smell awful, so that’s what the candles are for. The lotion is to keep you from getting any hemorrhoids while you do so. So you just get a smear of the lotion on the toilet paper and then wipe it again to get clean and you should be fine.” Ainsley admitted as she knelt on the other side of you and murmured that to you quietly.

“Where did you get this toilet paper?” You asked her as you held up the roll, cut in such a way that the edges were clean but the layers of the multiple plied super soft tissue paper could be seen.

“Souja Papier. Which makes all manner of paper. It’s the top of the line ultra soft kind- second only to the toilet paper in Dorierra, or so we’ve been told. Every merchant that comes through gets it by the case to take home. But it is also should be only a quarter of the price of the toilet paper that comes out of Dorierra, or so we’ve heard from suitors that have traveled to and from there to get a bride. But compared to the other toilet papers it is still pretty expensive but that’s only because you’re investing in very good quality.” Ainsley answered.

“Dearest…” You began as you turned your head over to Kragan who was about to eat a dumpling and paused to answer you before you could finish your sentence.

“Yup, Souja Papier ultra soft toilet paper for the Contessina Ships, got it.” Kragan guessed as you beamed happily because he knew you well enough he could already tell where your train of thought had led to which brought an adoring smile to Saffiro's Mildred's and Samantha’s faces to see it before Saffiro reached over and felt it too.

“Ooh, I’m going to have to get a case of it for home and my room.” Saffiro appreciated it.

“I could have used this a few hours ago.” You admitted since you had to use the bathroom in the hall while the movers were in your room, Mildred’s room and Saffiro’s room.

“Well, sorry, I meant to come earlier but I just got off work myself because I ran late with my other appointments today. But these should help.” She offered.

“Thank you.” You thanked them as you hugged them tight.

“So this is my husband Annick, who goes by Nick and this is our daughter Nadia and this is….” Ainsely introduced her other children.

“How have you been? Your mouth getting you into any more trouble lately?” Kragan teased as he had gotten up and hugged Nick when he and his family came in and knew all thier kids by name as they did the same to him calling him "uncle Captain Kragan" which you thought was utterly adorable.

“No, he’s been good.” Ainsley answered for him as you looked questioningly to Kragan when Kragan had said that to Nick.

“When we sailed on the Cromwell together, his mouth got us into more trouble than we could get ourselves out of, on several occasions.” Kragan insisted.

“Well we learned valuable lessons, don’t bet against the greenhorns to get out of scrubbing the deck after being in port for three weeks and the ship was covered in seagull shit.” Nick answered.

“Or the barnacles.” Kragan recalled.

“And the barnacles, those damned things.” Nick shuddered at the memory.

“Well actually we learned in Wakanear that the mermaid population there love barnacles the way we love other seafood too and usually remove them from their whale friends which was why the pirate ships never had any barnacles and could sail faster than other ships in the past. And now that Wakanear is a Yekmenian province, we’re gonna be running all the Salgria ships through there from now on. Even if it’s just a two to four times a year visit. Especially the northern vessels that get them the most just to get the cleaning service the merfolk provide in removing them so we don't have to dry dock them.” Kragan volunteered.

“Really? The merfolk communicate with dry landers there? And not in the whole- "siren song to your death" kind of way?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, Princess Maisarra of Wakanear has a special relationship with them and she swims with them regularly and they talk quite a bit. Even Yekmeni has a special relationship with their merfolk population. And of course all mouras do since mouras and merfolk came from the same home world and share a root language since the species evolved side by side.” You added.

“Oh, speaking of which, I should probably call Sarah and Audrey and Yana….” You remembered.

“Nope, I already did that, they’re packing up and should be here tomorrow. Yana is bringing Zirvush fruit, which is like a cherry, and Agnes said it should be really good for your diet. And Yana swears that it’s both delicious and nutritious yet gentle on an upset stomach. Audrey is of course bringing adani fruits and seasonings and spices and another Messengerari for us to use here so we can keep in touch and not have to continually use the common ones in the squares. And Sarah is bringing Wakanear coconuts by the case because if you’re pregnant, and already nauseated and dealing with morning sickness, coconut water will be really helpful. And she’s bringing acai and avocados and the other tropical fruits that shouldn’t have too many seeds or too much fiber for your diet and of course they are also bringing a moura healer to heal everything else.” Kragan supplied.

“Aw, they don’t have to trouble themselves just for me.” You sighed.

“You’re their friend. They wanted to come and help. Audrey is especially sorry she didn’t fly you to a colony and to a healer herself while you were in Yekmeni last. So now, she’s bringing one to you. That, and she’s having a hard time getting Millie to decide on finishes for her ship because her tastes change with the tastes of the Solowardian court almost daily.” Kragan insisted.

“Oh gosh, what color are they on now?” You asked.

“Purple.” Saffiro supplied in a deadpan tone and a tired sigh as you rolled your eyes and bit into your soup dumpling and then took a tentative sip before an explosion of flavors seemed to bloom on your tongue.

“And it’ll change a dozen more times between now and when that ship should be done.” You muttered between careful bites of the surprisingly hot soup dumpling.

“Well we’ll get out of your hair so you can eat dinner. Don’t worry about anything Tessa, we got you. You’re part of the Souja family now. And we take care of our own.” Ainsely insisted which was exactly what Nora and everyone else had insisted earlier.

“Thank you for welcoming me into it.” You thanked them before they saw themselves out as you were happy to simply sit down at the table with Kragan on one side of you with Mildred sitting at the head of the table with Saffiro and Samantha sitting across from you as you appreciated how well they looked together and their so not subtle looks to each other as you gave Kragan’s knee an appreciative squeeze under the table and a meaningful look.

“This is really good.” You appreciated about the food.

“It is, I thought it smelled odd at first but the more you eat it, the more you like it.” Saffiro appreciated as Samantha also helped him learn how to eat with chopsticks as she had already done with Mildred.

After you had eaten your fill, it was time for another round on the toilet as Mildred, Saffiro and Samantha quickly took their leave to give you some more privacy as Kragan was already lighting up every candle that was in that box for the inevitable smell that was sure to follow.

“They make a cute couple.” You noted as you sat down and felt like you pissed your body weight as it had never smelled so horrible before. But your kidneys were releasing every toxin that had been built up previously. So of course it would smell like liquid death.

“Yeah they do. But I know Sammy, she would hate Solowards. She’s a Souja, Souja’s rarely leave Fitsdale.” Kragan appraised.

“Maybe she’d take the place by storm and turn it on its head.” You shrugged.

“Nah, the only way she would ever come, is if she could keep her independence which Solowards doesn’t give to it’s women with primogeniture and all that. And you said that women can’t own property. Which Sammy has in her own right. She’d never give it up.” Kragan predicted.

“How good is she with accounting books?” You asked him.

“She’s pretty good, granted not as good as you, but she’s pretty good. She does a lot for the Inn side of Souja Tavern.” Kragan answered before you grinned mischievously.

“Oh no, I know that grin, what you got cooking up?” Kragan asked as he braved the stench and knelt between your feet in front of you as you were still sitting on the toilet.

“Well I’m thinking- that if a relationship were to bloom and blossom between them, I think I know a way to even the odds in her favor.” You prompted.

“I know Saffiro. He doesn’t like girls easily. His bar is already almost impossibly high. But Samantha is everything he’s never realized he needs. He needs a strong woman to support him and his heavy burdens. Samantha is strong. And Solowards needs to change. I think if the relationship blossoms and blooms, and her and I can see eye to eye on The Contessina Project. And we can agree on what needs to happen and how it needs to work. And I can trust her with it. I could always hire her to run the Contessina Skyport. But only if she can keep that job and keep all her income from it as her own and authority and control. And therefore it wouldn’t matter if Saffiro could make her a Duchess, she’d be independent yet they could help each other and she’d be strong enough to slap my father’s greedy hands off of it. But yet, still keep it in the family in a way. Do you think she’d go for that? As far as I’m concerned, she’s an heiress to the Souja Dynasty of the great and awesome Fitsdale. Which is more impressive than the capital of Solowards which is Varidhe. And if I can explain that I hired her because of her intellect and her work ethic and qualifications and aptitude but that I only trust her and her alone to run things for me in Solowards, much less Fitsdale. And that Solowards can’t have her or our business with its current unfair laws because I don’t trust them to not screw her or us over.” You proposed.

“Well then lets see where that relationship goes. But that’s a big vote of confidence in Sammy and your opinion in her.” Kragan praised as you finally finished and wiped and quickly washed your hands before you got ready to go to bed early because it had been a very big day and all you wanted was rest.

“Hey can I ask you something?” Kragan asked once you both settled into the bed.

“Please tell me it has nothing to do with the stench in the room?” You pleaded as you felt the stench of what you passed was horrific, no matter how many scented candles you had burned and what incense you had burning too. All you could smell was a rotting corpse from the pure evil that had left your bowels and bladder had flushed from your kidneys and liver.

“No.” Kragan reassured you.

“Sure, shoot.” You answered as you laid in bed in the fetal position with Kragan spooning you before you felt Kragan take a deep breath and then hesitate to ask what he wanted to ask which made you frown before you rolled over in his embrace.

“What is it?” You asked him as you looked up at him in the darkness of the room, only lit up with small flickers from the candles and the incense censors and the low glow of flames and embers in the fireplace from the small fire burning in there.

“Maybe it’s not the best time to talk about this, you’ve had a really hard day, we should probably talk about it when you’re recovered.” Kragan noted.

“Not if it will keep you from resting tonight. No more secrets, remember? What’s troubling you?” You asked as you looked into those gorgeous golden yellow eyes that still seemed to almost glow in the low light.

“I know you love me now, but at what point did it turn from manipulating me into loving you and you manipulating yourself into loving me and you actually loving me?” Kragan asked.

“Ah, I see why you would want me to rest and recover before you would ask me this and yeah, I can see why that would keep you awake.” You noted with a small but accepting grin before you rolled over and got the stack of letters you had written to your loved ones that Mildred had slipped into the bedside drawer to do with as you pleased, although the one you wrote to her, would be something she would cherish for the rest of her life. You used the low light from the fireplace to flip through them to find the letter addressed to him.

“Here, read this. It’ll answer that and many other questions you could have.” You offered as you handed him the letter before you put the others back and rolled back into his chest and used his arm as your pillow to get comfortable. He used his enhanced vision even in this lower light to open it up and read its many pages, every once in a while then almost constantly the more into it he read- he petted down your head and back and pressing kisses into the crown of your head as you could hear and feel him start to get choked up as he read it.

"My Dearest, Most Beloved Husband, Kragan.

I hope that this letter finds you in good health and I wish you nothing but the best, and I hope Salgria Shipping can take the world by storm and that The Contessina Ships are also a great success. But most of all, I hope you can forgive me and especially Mildred and the rest of my family for what we have done to you.

You see, only a couple of days before your offer of marriage came to my father, I had been diagnosed with very advanced side sickness and cancer that was terminal and inoperable and was given only weeks, to maybe a few months, but no more than a year left to live. That my belly would swell as if I was with child, but it would not be with a child, but rather, the tumor growing in size and from there, I would be mere days or hours from death. My entire family took the news very hard but kept such a diagnosis secret to save themselves from the runiation- since such news could cause. Especially since it would be seen as a family genetic defect, rather than a single member’s unfortunate ailment that had no cause and no cure. It was also kept secret so that the rumor mills and harmful gossip because such news threatened to destroy the family’s reputation and standing in society and business. The healers in Dorierra offered to try to cure me but for a sum of a million gold bullion. A sum that even if my father and every member of my family sold everything we had, could never hope to come up with even a small fraction of such a sum. Without my knowledge, my father agreed to your proposal simply to acquire as much funds as possible to pit them in the investments market, hoping by a miracle to even get up to a quarter or up to half such a sum.

However, when Millie was informed of the betrothal, she threw a fit. And threatened to throw herself from the roof rather than marry you. She was the season’s Diamond of the First Water- meaning, aside from Solowardian Royalty, she was High Society’s most coveted bride and had already gotten dozens of betrothals in from every other gentleman in high society but none of them had the handsome offer you did. When Millie was informed of her betrothal to you, she came bursting into my rooms as I was already into my final confinement, preparing myself for my inevitable demise and my strength was growing less and less from one moment to the next. To the point I could not be out of bed for more than an hour without fatigue setting in and the pain from this side-sickness and cancer was excruciating if anything more than a shift were to touch my skin.

But upon hearing Millie’s recounting of the events, I asked for her help to bring me to my father’s study since my father had refused to come into my rooms after my initial diagnosis. Especially since he had already thrown himself into making as much money as he could for a cure because he refused to accept that I would die before he could finance a cure. But I simply took his absence and withdrawal as his refusal to accept my perceived defeat and failure to be his first and greatest pawn in his well orchestrated play for fame, fortune and power.

Once I had my father read your proposal, I must admit, I too was shocked. But with my terminal diagnosis, Ron’s bitter resentment and extreme prejudice against me and yet his already high and lofty standards that he would demand of me once I would marry him, the answer seemed obvious. So I suggested to my father to switch Millie and I in our betrothals. Ron had never met Millie before in his life and had not seen or gotten a chance to know her or possibly reject her yet. And if Millie had already decided against you based on nothing more than your kind and occupation. Then we both stood a better chance and meeting and making a good first impression with each other's betrothed instead since there was nothing in either one other than a business formality that our fathers had already agreed on without our input or consent. Millie of course was happy to get the second greatest groom in society besides our own brother Saffiro. And I was relieved to finally get a chance at a fresh new start, even if it was only for a short time. I instructed my father to tell the doctors to make up a believable lie about a horse accident that the Count and Countess Lavine would accept and most importantly Ron would accept and that would readily excuse my need for “medicine”to you. Which really was a concoction of poison meant to keep me energized, appearing healthy and strong but mask my true state of health and my other symptons of my terminal illnesses along with warding off pregnancy so that when the illness would finally run it’s course, my life and my life alone would be claimed, and no other, for even that was a burden too heavy for me to carry.

My betrothal to Roncharles always hinged on me producing two male heirs within the first two years of marriage. And your betrothal never mentioned hiers or a time table at all. So behind Ron’s back, my father added 5,000 gold bouillon to Millie’s dowry and Senior Count Lavine accepted it. However, to induce Roncharles to accept Millie, everything was done to make Millie the most exquisite beauty possible and hopefully so great a beauty that Ron could never hope to resist. Mostly because Ron and Millie had never met before that night at the ball. Because every time I took Millie with me to visit the Lavines, Ron “conveniently” suddenly went on a hunt and refused to enter the house until I had left it first, much to his parent’s embarrassment and chagrin.

However, in preparing myself for that ball, I had been informed by my brothers and father of your nature and personality and what approaches would work best. And when I wrote to you and you stonewalled me, I knew I was already fighting one losing battle and I did not wish to enter into another, especially at the same time. So that balcony was set up specifically by myself and my mother to make our first encounter as unintimidating, nonthreatening, and comfortable as possible. It was all done with calculated precision before you ever took your first step off that carriage at the ball. But while Roncharles was given the illusion of free choice. I knew you were too intelligent to fall for such a ploy and would readily see through the ruse. So I was determined to simply present as much of myself as you would let me reveal and let you make up your own mind about me one way or another. If you decided against me, I insisted to my father that I had already spent the last 18 years of my life being betrothed to a man who hated me. And if I was going to die in less than a few months, I refused to spend another moment in those circumstances again by forcing a betrothal onto yet another unwilling groom. And that if you refused me, you could claim any reason you wanted to refuse me, and that reason would be accepted and your dowry for your hand in marriage would be returned to you, no further questions asked. But even if all I could ever hope to be was your friend, then that was what I was going to be content with.

Ron came into that ball and took one look at Millie, dressed up in the highest quality and most ludicrously lavish gown and accessories and decked out in more jewels than all of my jewelry in my jewelry box combined. None of it paste, all of it real. All glitter and glow. Even makeup made of crushed pearls and gold and silver dust and even diamond dust was applied to crushed flower petals and butters and balms to her skin to make her look utterly ethereal. She was made up to look like a Crown Princess and he bought into her illusion- in entirety- “lock, stock and barrel,” as you might say. He was immediately smitten and enraptured with her and she with him. And it happened only moments before you came into that ball. I was terrified he would take one look at her and dismiss her as quickly as he had me, or, heaven forbid, take one look at me all grown up and want to switch back. But instead, the moment it was evident that he was taken with her, the rest of his family and mine all breathed a collective sigh of relief, myself doing so the most. His father and mine both gave each other the nod of approval and agreement that the illusion of Ron choosing Millie of his own free will was a success. And I was told at the end of the night that once he saw her for the first time, he had no eyes for any other. Which was again, a great relief. And for him to propose the very next morning was the greatest relief of all. Because I knew that at least for the present, that she would do everything my father had always hoped I would do. And she would be happy and content and at the very least, taken care of while not exhausting my parent’s finances even more than she already had in setting up her own illusion of the perfect bride that even the brides of Dorierra would be hard pressed to compete with. Which is, sadly, all that Millie has ever wanted for herself.

But then it was time for me to do the same with you but taking the absolute opposite approach. Instead of dazzling, I had to be more "drab" so as not to intimidate you and reinforce the inferred chasim of our social standings by Solowardian standards which was honestly a relief since I am, by nature much more reserved and discrete. Instead of perfect poise, perfect manners and layers of pleasantries and formalities, I needed to be at ease to put you at ease and embrace informality and be honest and frank without being blunt and offending so that you could be relaxed and wouldn't feel pressured or persuaded or forced into this becuase I had already heard that your parents were practically dragging you into this kicking and screaming the way Roncharles had been all his life. But instead of rebelling against it because I was not his ideal. You were rebelling because I was a stranger and thought I felt the way Millie did, without actually giving me the chance to tell you myself how I felt about it. But all of that changed the moment you came into that ball looking like a masculine version of a damsel in distress and a mighty eagle in the silken binds of peacock feathers. I wanted nothing more than to save you from your discomfort and set you free from such constraints.

The reason I felt that way was because I very vividly remembered when I was presented at the Queen’s court at 18 and I felt the exact same way you did. Every set of eyes of everyone in Soloward’s high society were on me. Looking me up and down and weighing and measuring me with just a glance. And while my mother is a Duchess and one of the leaders of Solowardian high society, even she could not save me from the Queen’s scrutiny or the scrutiny of her daughters, the Princesses. Princess Frangellica, upon watching me being presented- said that ‘it was a good thing I was already betrothed because had I not been, I surely would have died an old maid with only my fat belly to keep me company’ and the snickers among the Queen and the other Princesses soon infected the entire courtroom. And from then on, I was on a very strict diet and shoved into the tightest of corsets at social events, but even then, that first impression was impossible for me to shake or improve from.

But even with that history, I was terrified that you would take one look at me and judge me the same way they and Roncharles had done in the past. But I could not show my feelings or fears on my face or in my words, least offending you and fucking up all the hard work I and my family had already done and was already in the middle of doing.

Because at that point, my family already had plans for your family so that you and I could make “our escape”. Gwendolyn was tasked with taking care of your sisters, Saffiro was tasked with taking care of your other brothers and my little siblings were urged to take your youngest siblings up to the nursery to play during the ball, which Mildred herself oversaw.

That balcony’s table was filled with your favorite foods, which your mother had already provided myself and my mother the lists and recipes and the seating arrangement was set in such a way so that when and if you sat down, depending on where you sat, would tell me exactly how much work I had to do to prove the benefits of the match. But when you sat at the chair closest to the couch, it gave me hope that perhaps I had a fighting chance of at least becoming your friend.

But that was the last of the manipulations.

Because the moment you opened your mouth and blurted out ‘aren’t you angry about all of this?’. It was you who won me over. But I must admit, I did answer with a lie. I was angry. I was angry that I got cheated out of a life I had prepared for my entire life up to that point. I was angry that I had lived my life in so much fear of making the smallest of missteps, that I would be sure to fall. I was angry that I had spent my life being betrothed to a man who hated me to the core and would have to live in a society that only tolerated my person only because of my family and connections. I was angry that I lived in a society that did such injustice to every woman within its society. I was angry that I had never once been able to enjoy a day of my life or a meal in full and that it took a terminal illness to release me from the biggest moron on the supersphere. I was angry that everything I had ever done up to that point was for naught.

But most of all, I was angry at Fate itself for demanding my life so soon, that only in its last moments, would it give me the love of my life to enjoy the precious but few moments I had left- with you. And from there, I was furious that I could never live the life with you that I wanted to. Because in my heart of hearts I have loved you. In my wildest of fantasies- I have grown old with you, wiser with you, more in love with you every moment after than any moment before. I would have had as large of a family as my body would have otherwise been able to bear. I wouldn’t have cared if we only had a penny and a single row boat to our names and only the clothes on our backs. But just for the chance to be together, I would have given anything. And have given everything. Even if I have to give the last of my life, just so that the latest and greatest idea you’ve ever had is to take flight. I would have loved to do nothing more than to soar in the clouds with you. To feel the crisp air in my lungs, a cloud’s gentle caress on one cheek and your hand on the other. I have loved you, heart, mind and soul. And I’m so sorry that our time together must be cut short just as we were gaining speed and height and momentum.

But if you ever wonder if any or all of it was real, or imagined, or manipulated, please, believe me, our love was real, and genuine. And that other than the circumstances of our first meeting being manipulated to put you at ease, I never had to manipulate you personally any further. All I did was present myself to you and give you the chance to either accept me or deny me as I was. No other pretense or any other stupid bullshit. I was never a charlatan.

Other than keeping my true diagnosis from you for fear you would retaliate against my family, I have otherwise done my best to be honest and transparent with you. Because you were never a fool, not even for love, even when I was.

And while I will always feel guilty that you may look at this situation and feel you were taken for a fool. Hopefully, your latest dream inspired by your own true love for me, will make it back to you at least a hundred fold. And watching you soar cloud high in spirit has only lifted mine for the last time from even the depths of the grave. And I can only hope that if there is an afterlife, or a chance to be reincarnated- that we find each other again. But that we get to enjoy a full life together then, for twice as long as what has been denied to us this time around.

My greatest regret in life, has not been feeling like I’ve been cheated out of a fairytale romance with my soul mate, for which- such a wound is beyond words. But it is otherwise- not being brave enough to tell you the truth with my own lips and face to face. You have given me chance after chance and opportunity after opportunity to tell you, and like a famous writer once said- “I was in the middle before I realized I had begun.”

I should have told you that first night on that balcony. I should have told you that night as we were sitting under the stars hand in hand. I should have told you before you ever proposed. I should have told you before we said our wedding vows. And at the very least on our wedding night. But while my guilt has been eating away at me all along, I have been otherwise blissfully happy thanks to you. At least, I can say, with confidence, that I have lived up to my marriage vows to you. I have loved you, truly- with my whole heart and soul and mind. I have been wholly and completely devoted to you. I have never once been unfaithful or disloyal to you. I have never looked at any other with want or lust in my eyes after my eyes got the privilege to behold you. For it was for you and you alone that my heart beat for - after our engagement. And while I'm sorry our courtship was rushed, for not having much time left to live, it had to be so that I could enjoy what few precious moments I could with you. And after you unveiled the greatest wedding present in history in the form of a ship in my own name. Of which is an honor I never could have prepared myself to receive. I only wished to help it and you and every other amazing and incredible idea you have- or that we have had- become a reality. And I only hope that for such a great gift and service you have bestowed upon me, I have returned others to you in kind. And with such a diagnosis, knowing that death is coming for me, I could never in good conscience take any other's life to the grave but my own. Which is why I have done my best to ward off pregnancy. For the cost of my life is already too high a price for you to pay, I would never ask for the precious life of an unborn child to be paid with it.

I didn’t want my diagnosis and my true health condition to kill those precious gifts before they could ever be realized or come to fruition. I didn’t want you to bankrupt yourself or your family trying to save a lost cause. Or pay any more on my behalf than you already had. Because while you feel you simply paid for the privledge to court me, I feel you paid a ransom for death’s prisoner, but for a time much shorter than what you were owed.

You have been cheated my love. You have been cheated out of decades of time. You have been cheated out of money that was hard earned. You have been cheated out of happiness. You have been cheated out of so many great and wonderful things. And I would have loved nothing more than to offer up the world on a platter for your pleasure and taking. I would have been so happy to live my life beside you. I would have been so happy getting you the justice you deserve. I would have been happy to smear our happiness and success into Solowardian’s High Society’s faces. And I would have cheered as you continue to show the world just what you’re capable of and just how high you can soar. So far above the fray, that entire nations are mere specks on the vast surface of the supersphere. And I would have loved for you to show me a world where the sun never sets and the days are as beautiful as they were showed in the great works of art. And in theory- could never end if you don’t want them to.

I would have loved to see how Salgria Shipping became an even bigger empire than even Dorierra. I would have loved to see The Contessina Ships bring you just as much joy and pride as I have, and as much pride and joy as you have brought me for the simple but divine right and privilege I’ve had to be your wife. Because you have clothed me in love, respect and dignity just as much as any other ever could have regal splendor, glittering jewels and gold. For what are such worthless things compared to the priceless? Especially when such physical endowments pale in comparison to the intangible, but perfect benfaction you have given me. You have loved me to the point of invention. A point I never knew possible before I met you. You have given a sick and dying girl, the chance to go on one last adventure before the grave could claim her so that such things were not just stories in books, but experiences and cherished memories, fully realized.

It was the most painful thing I’ve ever gone through watching you sail away from your childhood home, you, and the ship you were on- shrinking down until my eyes could not distinguish it in the sky, knowing that it was the last time I would see you face to face. I sat the grass, it’s blades clutched between my weakening fingers wishing I had the wings of a bird to fly away with you, but feeling so tired and weak, I could barely stand. Wishing I had the courage to tell you the truth, and selfishly ask for you to stay so that the last things my eyes would ever see while on this side of the grave- would be your perfectly handsome face, the face of the one person I have loved more than all others. And a sight I never would have gotten bored or tired of. A face I have been waiting my whole life to finally see and know that your heart and soul were the perfect match and counterpart to my own, no matter the body such things possessed. I would have loved nothing more than to see all the little bits of yourself mix with all the little bits of myself in any and every child we possibly could have ever had. I would have even adopted any child you would have ever had with any other. Because they were all part of you and I have loved you wholly and completely. And if those children were made in love, they would be kept in love and comfort all the same. It is a right every child should have- to be loved by the parents who made them.

Now My Love, I am sadly running out of paper. Because I could go on for hundreds of thousands of pages of all the ways I have loved you and the life I wish I could have led with you. But I must be mindful of how much time and energy I have left. And I must, unfortunately use it wisely. So if I may leave some last advice for you. Please, head what you can.

First I ask is that you give yourself time to fully grieve me. And while in the beginning of our courtship, I mistakenly thought that while you fell in lust with me in such a short amount of time, it was easy to call lust 'love' when it would only be fated to last for a blink of time. And I thought that you would be quick to recover from me and do so pretty easily. And that in only weeks or months, you would weather the storm of grief in only weeks or months. Oh how wrong I was. I now know that that is not the case. We fell so hard in love with each other and so fast and so soundly, only Fate could be attributed to the almost instantaneous state of our relationship. And while there has been a healthy amount of lust, it didn’t hold a candle to love that blossomed and bloomed between us- right before our eyes. And for such a glorious and beautiful flower, it’s a shame it will only bloom for such a short time. Fate, for dealing me such a heavy, fatal blow, it at least had the decency to bring us together and not getting in the way of us uniting faster than we naturally could. I’m so happy that at least we got to be together, even for as short of a time that did.

Please, do not let regret eat away at you the way it has me. And do not look back and mentally kick yourself for not seeing the signs that I was much more gravely ill than I let on that I intentionally buried and covered over and hid from you. The regret has been a burden that I only hope I have been able to bear it for both of our sakes. Also, please, do not give up on The Contessina Project. Rename if you must. But it is the future of the Supersphere and it will be your greatest triumph yet. Do not cut it off at the knees just because it’s namesake is no longer with you. Trust Audrey with it. She will see to it, that it is done correctly and I trust her to do right by you with it. And while she was aghast at the price Dorierra asked to cure me. She too sensed the severity of my sickness, and could not risk her own life or kingdom or the lives of her friends to try to cure me. Even she and Dr. Hayati sensed the severity and the terminal nature of my illness. And even they knew it was a lost cause. And I hold no ill will against them for sensing the truth. And while the healing stones bought us only a month or two more of time. Even they had limits. And Audrey wanted to respect my wishes to not kill and gut the Contessina Project just because it’s namesake was terminally ill.

Also, hold true to the course we’ve agreed upon for Salgria Shipping. I hope that there will come a time, that the sun will never set on the Salgria Shipping Empire. And I hope you finally get the recognition for it’s success you’ve been owed all along. You’ve poured your heart and soul into it all your life. It’s only right and fair that it pays back in kind and takes care of you better than I ever could. And while I know having Salgria Shipping in one hand and The Contessina Shipping Enterprise in the other. You are strong enough to handle both. You are smart enough to chart the courses for them both. There is no one in the Supersphere who is more capable than you to do so. Never doubt yourself My Love. Trust your gut. It’s gotten you this far in life. It will take you farther still.

Second, when you are grieving me, do not give into the way of the bottle, or any other substance or drug. Do not lose yourself to grief just to join me in the grave sooner than you naturally should. I will wait however long I have to be reunited with you, even if it’s in the afterlife. And please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t lose yourself into prostitutes either. For they will be like parasites. And they will surely keep any hiers you would give them only to continually be a drain on you financially. But when you’ve recovered and the thought of me no longer brings tears to your eyes and overwhelming grief to your heart. And that every time you close your eyes, you stop seeing my face, and your dreams of me lesson in frequency. And you are mentally, emotionally and psychologically ready to unite your heart with another. Don’t go looking for a pretty face with a pleasant voice who will agree with you on everything. But get a woman, no matter her nobility, no matter her breeding, no matter her background- who isn’t afraid to call you out, and stand toe to toe with you and stand her ground. Who is passionate about what she believes in and for what is right and just. She doesn’t need to be a genius, just smart enough to keep her wits and her head. Who is a hard worker and puts forth effort. Who will be a reasonable creature as much as she is an emotional one. Who will have a good balance and reasonableness. Someone who tempers justice with mercy. Someone with a good heart. And I want her to be able to look at you and not see someone to dupe out of a fortune, or her ticket to a luxurious life of ease. But I want her to look at you as her equal in all things. And to see your work load and only wish to put herself beside you under it’s yoke and pull with you if only to share the burden with you so that your own shoulders don’t give out.

And I want you to see the same thing in her. I want you to find a partner in life. Who is your equal in all things. Who will bravely and resolutely walk hand in hand, step by step in life with you. Who will, and can- give you a wonderful, loving and supportive family. You have always been an adventurer and a traveler. Your mate should be wanting and willing to be the same. Ideally, she would rather have the small and simple over the large, gaudy and grandiose in all things. But who is not intimidated by any high society, nobility or royalty. Where she comes from, doesn’t matter, only that she will feel that she belongs to you. And that you belong to her. The way you have belonged to me and that I have belonged to you when we have been together.

I’m so sorry My Love. But at last, I must say goodbye. I have enclosed some music I’ve composed for my family. If you can bear to hear it, I want you to listen to whoever can perform it and envision me singing it to you. Please, take comfort in knowing that while our love was short, it was true. And that for as strong and wonderful it was, it must be cut short. I’m not afraid to suffer and die, I have done my best to prepare myself for this, but I’m heartbroken that I must do so without you. Please understand that I only wished to spare you any suffering in watching me go through such an ordeal, especially when your presence was needed elsewhere. I can only hope that your scent in the pillow beside me will last until the end. So that even if my eyes can not behold you, to my sense of smell and my other senses, you never left my side. I’m only sorry that I didn’t have more time with you.

P.S. Please do not retaliate against my family, for they were only moved to try to survive and make the most of an impossible situation. Please stay friends with Saffiro. For he is still young and needs guidance. Especially when it will come for him to find his own mate in life. He has had myself as his golden standard of a friend and companion. Which is not fair to any other. Especially him. He needs a strong woman. A woman who can go toe to toe with him and anyone and everyone else. A woman who is not only intelligent but wise to walk side by side and hand in hand in life the way you and I have done. This will be especially hard for him and I fear the only women up to the task are in Dorierra. And while I have asked for your own dowry for my hand in marriage to be saved for such a purpose by my father. Who knows what will happen between now and then. He may take at least a few years to recover from my loss at least. And perhaps, even if I must go, he can stay your friend. And perhaps you’ll both be recovered at about the same time and can help each other navigate unfamiliar waters and both of you can be brave enough to enter the future, better for what you have endured so far. And wiser for it too. I love you, I have loved you. And I will love you and I will be patient until we can see each other again, if not in the afterlife, than in the next life after this one.

Your Loving Wife- Tessa"

Kragan couldn’t stop crying. He couldn’t stop holding you and kissing you all over your face as his tears wetted your face as your own tired eyes teared up in response as he put the letter down only to hold your face in both of his hands and kissed you all over your face as more and more tears came to his eyes before he moved his arm to wrap around and hold you as close as physically possible.

“Don’t you ever think that you’re being selfish about anything ever again. I am never leaving your side again. I never should have left you and I feel like an asshole who abandoned you when you needed me the most and I will be damned if anything separates me from you from this moment on. If you can’t fly, I don’t fly. If you can’t soar, I won’t soar. Hell, clip my wings right now. I don’t need to fly or soar or any of that if you can’t do it with me. Nothing else matters to me than you. To hell with everything and everyone else. You are the only one in the Supersphere I love and need in my life. I can’t lose you. You have been and are and always will be my one true love and my soul mate. I don’t care if I have to go to Heaven and demand your soul back from the gods themselves. I will pay whatever I have to keep you with me. You are never a lost cause. You are never a burden and you will never pay for anything ever again. Not even my own stupidity. Yes Fate did us a great service in bringing us together but Fate can fuck right off if it thinks it will ever take you from me. I have worked my whole life to become as strong as I need to be to bear whatever I have to for your sake. If you didn’t have surgery just this morning, I would be fucking you so hard this bed would break into pieces, but I also want to make damn certain you are never hurt by anything. Even a paper cut, the offending piece of paper needs to be burned to have the audacity to cut you in the first place.” Kragan insisted inbetween desperate kisses and sobs as he held you so hard it was almost hard to breathe, but you were clinging to him just as hard as your tears and his seemed to intermingle before you let out a laugh about him setting paper on fire for giving you a paper cut which finally got him to crack a smile through his own tears.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I will tattoo those words onto every inch of my skin if I have to because they are already practically ingrained into my heart as it is. Nothing about you was ever a waste. It was only to prepare you for a life no one in that stupid fucking place that you called Solowards could ever dream of. You are not going to die. Not from anything and never any time soon. Other than this special diet from recovering from the surgery, you are never going to go on any other diet, ever. And I will love you and respect you and dignify you and worship you every chance I get to for the rest of our lives. Please, never, ever hold anything back from me. I want to know everything. Even the small, inconsequential and mundane. Because you and everything about you is precious to me. Everything. I can’t do without you. I refuse. And anything and everything else can just fuck off until you heal from this.” Kragan insisted.

“Ok.” You readily agreed, so happy and relieved he wasn’t angry or upset or resentful- at least towards you as you did the same and reciprocated in kind and simply clung to him with the same desperation he was clinging to you.

You were going to live. And you were going to be spending every moment after this with him, your husband, your one true love and soul mate and you were going to bear this precious babe, come hell or high water.

#The Switch #The Switch Chapter 12 #orc love story #exo #orc romance #male orc x female reader #orc husband #Male orc x plus size female reader #orc period drama #orc historical period intrigue drama #orc renessance period intrigue drama #orc remessance love story #Orc fantasy love story #alternate fantasy universe

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expired-monster-craft-smp · 2 years

Text

Blooming Panic hcs because I have literal brain rot but barely any of these are serious and you can tell who are my favs

Xyx

- has no idea what a grilled cheese sandwich is

- like you and Toasty were talking about having them for lunch or something and he goes “what the fuck is a grilled cheese sandwich. Do you,,,,do you grill two slices of cheese and eat it???? Is it just burnt cheese?????”

- you and Toasty are confused too but not with the same thing

- “YOU DONT KNOW WHAT A GRILLED CHEESE IS???????” “no?????” “ARENT YOU A GROWN MAN YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS”

- despite being a lawyer, he doesn’t actually know a lot of basic things

- “wdym I cant put white clothes and coloured clothes in the washer together, they’re both clothes” “…how are you almost 30”

- the eyeliner he’s wearing is actually the same eyeliner he applied 2 years ago

- you know how some ppl go for the crusty emo look?? Yeah, he perfected it

- has never been in the closet, he came out the second he knew so he could make even more jokes

- he wears a fairly large shoe size so he constantly says shit like “well u know what they say about men with big feet😏” “Xyx I’m in the middle of a raid SHUT THE FUCK UP”

- dislikes ham for no reason in particular, he just thinks it’s weird

- used to play the knife game a lot. Like a concerning amount

- hates hair gel cause it makes his hair Crunchy but he has to clean up nicely for work so he sits there and wants to wash his hair so bad but he can’t cause then he just has a weird mullet thing

- has a tongue piercing

- even though he uses “lawyer” words and makes lawyer puns constantly, no one knew his career until he outright told them

- “yeah so im a lawyer” “YOURE A WHAT?? HOW ?!??” “WHO THE FUCK USES THE WORDS PERJURY AND LIBEL IN NORMAL CONVERSATIONS???” “IDK ONION??” “okay fair u got me with that one”

- because only you and Toasty (started having voice calls after Xyx shared his face) have heard his voice, no one else in the server has any idea he’s Not American so they assume he’s American

- likes fairy bread. Like a lot. Maybe too much.

- no literally sometimes it’s all he eats for days. Every single meal it’s just. Fairy bread.

- he flusters so easy whenever someone is being genuine like you can say you want to peg him or smthin and he’ll flirt right back but if you tell him you want to cup his face oh so gently and kiss him slowly he breaks

- well actually if you say you wanna peg him he’ll probably get flustered too but ignore that

- he’s double jointed

- eats whipped cream right out of the can

- has extra teeth from when he was younger and his teeth are also Very Sharp

- makes fun of Toasty for having a peanut allergy

- “I thought u were fruity Toast, why can’t u handle nut?“ “for the love of god please stop” “…do u need to bring an epipen when u suck someone off” “STOP OMG WHAT IS WITH U TODAY” “wdym I’m like this everyday”

- always uses the perfect amount of cologne it’s terrifying, it’s never too much or too little

- got his appendix removed and needed his tonsils removed too but he wanted to keep them so they had to sedate him

- he was Not pleased

NakedToaster

- as implied earlier, they are allergic to peanuts

- he thinks they’re gross anyways so he doesn’t care really

- forgets that they’re really tall sometimes and smacks his head on shit constantly

- “hey, have you seen m- FUCKING SHIT. OW” “…u good???” “Yea sorry I threw my noggin’ into my doorframe again”

- references vines to an unhealthy extent. Even the rare ones that only he seems to know about

- they say the reference out loud and laugh but since no one else knows it they think they’ve just gone fucking crazy

- “ya know, like that one vine?” “No, no we don’t know”

- likes cheez-its but only after 1 am

- half Polish, 1/4 Estonian, 1/4 Russian

- why? Because they look so slavic it hurts and because I said so, fuck you

- likes cheese so fucking much it’s actually disgusting

- lactose intolerant

- only instrument he knows how to play is the fucking accordion but he doesn’t want to admit that so they just say they don’t know how to play any instruments

- avid reptile enjoyer, active amphibian hater

- stoner

- it just makes him feel weightless and warm and dizzy in such a good way so they smoke often but they prefer edibles, especially sweet ones

- gets super soft spoken and cuddly and sweet when high like the best way I can describe it is like subspace and it’s the cutest thing the World

- fairly good singer, often does little duets with Xyx when it’s late and they’re both inebriated in some way

- little spoon (I’m right about this)

- will wear the cat ears he bought as a joke for $20 or more

- probably plays League and mains Machine Herald

- “haha funny machine Russian man says the funny machine Russian man things that’s so silly of him”

- easiest person to fluster, you can say anything to them and he will turn bright red and stutter

- “your hair looks so cute today toasty :)” “hhhhhhhhthank u…”

- favourite drink is apple juice or warm apple cider

- actually has three monitors not two but the third one is only used to display a picture of big Marty at all times

- first time you saw it you broke down laughing and worried him because you looked like you weren’t properly breathing

- they probably have asthma

- got pneumonia once because he was too focused on final fantasy to take care of himself

- Toasty is actually autistic, this is true they told me himself

Quest

- can be worse than even Xyx when it comes to dirty jokes, but most of the time he doesn’t even realize he made such jokes

- puts someone random in the JAIL role every Tuesday depending on how badly behaved you are during the week in the server

- Xyx and Nightowl get this role the most

- likes to paint on skin like he really enjoys painting things like landscapes on someone’s forearm or back or stomach

- has accidentally drunk paint water several times

- whenever he gets a cut or he’s bleeding somewhere, he sucks all the blood off and thinks its a little bit tasty

- “no wonder I get so many mosquito bites, I taste delicious :^D” “what did u just type…”

- hates graham crackers for literally no reason

- takes gym mirror pics and sends them in general chat because everyone thinks he’s really hot

- even BIGLADY keysmashes over the pics

- Quest knows what he’s doing with those okay, but he likes to act completely oblivious

“[pic sent] finished my workout for today! :^) a bit sweaty but feeling pretty good” “ALSJSJSHSHS daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry.” “???? I know I’m like the server dad but what does that have to do with this??”

- good at poker, absolute garbage at blackjack

- only one other than Xyx to beat Onion at chess

- likes celery because of how crunchy it is he just munches on it all day long practically

- the other sever members make fun of him for it because they do not particularly favour celery

- his glasses are always so dirty

- doesn’t drink all that often but when he does it’s almost guaranteed he’ll get blackout drunk. Why?

- he’s a fucking lightweight. And it’s kinda sad how little it takes for him to get absolutely fucking hammered

- thinks fish are very interesting

- likes frogs :)

- this has lead to arguments between him and Toasty, the resident amphibian hater

- “frogs are awesome!! Theyre so cute and little!!” “Are u prepared to die for those opinions? Because frogs are dogshit and I stand by that” “@NakedToaster has been timed out for 5 hours”

- will have quiet/silent calls with Nightowl with some quiet lofi music in the background where Quest does his work and Nightowl does him homework

- Quest loves lofi music and I will die on this hill

- throughly enjoys building 3D models of things

- probably the reason half the server has a praise kink and it’s completely by accident

- somehow always wins at Rock Paper Scissors??? No one knows how he does it

Nightowl

- has mild deuteranomaly (red green colourblindness type where they can usually see most shades of green)

- it’s not usually an issue though tbh and it doesn’t come up much for him in his day to day life

- hates apples and but loves apple slices

- uses kid toothpaste because he hates minty toothpaste

- used to have braces and would change the colour of the bands literally every appointment

- sucks at chess but dominates at checkers like he’s so fucking good at checkers

- has eaten a glass marble once and hasn’t seen it since

- has hundreds of tiktok drafts and most of them are thirst traps

- once super glued his hand to a wall and the fire department was in fact called

- has bpd but has never gotten treatment because he doesn’t know what it is and his mom talks shit about mental health stuff so he never even thought about going to therapy

- owns an Xbox 360 and plays it frequently

- has a massive scar on his thigh from attempting and failing at climbing a tree when he was younger

- is the reason why there is a “horny jail” role on the server

- listens to Kpop and tries to get the others into it the way Toasty tries to get ppl to play final fantasy

- tried sharpening his teeth with a nail file before and his dentist has been suspicious of him ever since

- “your teeth look sharper than they did the last time you were here” “haha that’s crazy…anyway-“ “🤨”

- has dyed his hair every colour of the rainbow but eventually got too tired of the upkeep and stopped

- his favourite snack are gushers

- has an Instagram account where he posts his art and has like 200K+ followers on it

- he wants an eyebrow piercing so bad but thinks it would look weird on him but the second that anyone would suggest it he would cave immediately and get one

- likes bang energy drinks, favourite is the cotton candy flavour

- has mixed bang with vodka once and lets just say he never did it again

- surprisingly steady hands

- really good with kids!!! He loves them so so much and they love him back!!! Used to babysit for family friends and family

- kind of a picky eater

- likes to dip his fingers in candle wax to make a little wax tower and then when it gets to be pretty tall he pops it off, lets it melt, and does it again

- he’s god at math but he’s kinda bad at reading because he’s severely dyslexic

- wears gold shimmer eyeshadow and puts on eyeliner everyday no matter what

- uses tone tags and has learned to ask for clarification when he’s confused about the tone of a sever message

#blooming panic xyx #blooming panic #bp xyx #blooming panic toasty #bp toasty #blooming panic nightowl #blooming panic quest #bp nightowl #bp quest #blooming panic hcs #bp hcs #xyx #toasty

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baroquebucky · 3 years

Text

fool for you

bucky just wants to be with you forever

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs !! hope u are all well <33 pls enjoy this v fluffy one shot inspired by own post :’ ) let me know what u all think !!

You were tired, your eyelids felt heavy and you struggled to pay attention to the tv. Your head falling to the side as you drifted off, eyes shooting open when you realized you were falling asleep. You got up quickly, splashing your face with water and settling back on the couch, rubbing your eyes and focusing on the tv again.

1:57 a.m.

You checked your phone in hopes of a “five minutes away :)” text from bucky, but there was none. You yawned again and changed the channel, flipping through some channels to try to wake you up before deciding to just switch to netflix instead.

You smiled as your favorite show played, nuzzling into the blanket bucky had given you and focusing on the show. The sound of keys rattling woke you up, you hadn’t even realize you had fallen asleep.

“shit” bucky whispered as the door slammed into the wall. “sorry” bucky spoke, apologizing to the wall before dragging his suitcase as quietly as he could. He kicked off his boots and his eyes landed on you asleep on the couch.

“buck?” you mumbled, willing your eyes open. Your vision was fuzzy and you could hear the tv still playing, you moved a little, forgetting you were on the couch and slipped off the edge. You couldn’t even process that you had fallen by the time bucky caught you in his arms, smiling at you.

“hi doll” bucky smiled at you, kissing your forehead gently and easily lifting you in his arm. He turned the tv off and carried you into your shared room, gently placing you on the bed.

“what time ‘s it?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes and yawning, finally waking up.

“almost 3” he smiled at you softly, rummaging through his drawer and taking out a change of clothes. You nodded as he pulled out a black t shirt and some boxers, walking towards you and kissing your temple.

“I’m gonna shower doll, you can go to sleep” he assured you and you nodded, knowing full well you’d end up waiting up for him anyway.

“don’t slip” you smiled and he rolled his eyes, waving you off with a small smile on his face.

“it was one time!” He groaned before closing the door to the restroom.

You smiled to yourself as you heard the shower turn on, rolling over to your side and closing your eyes. The sleep that had been taking over you earlier was nowhere to be found. You kicked the covers off you and groaned, frowning as you stared at the ceiling. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand and scrolled through Twitter for a while, waiting for bucky to finish showering so you could cuddle up to him and fall asleep.

You could feel yourself growing hungry, glancing at the time on your phone you frowned a bit, it was already 3:07 am. you drank some water and tried to fall back asleep, cuddling into your pillow and letting out a soft sigh when you finally got comfortable. Right as you were finally going to sleep bucky opened the restroom door, the sound making your eyes shoot open and heart race.

“did I wake you?” bucky whispered, a frown on his face as he heard your heart rate quicker than usual. You shook your head with a small smile. He knew you were lying but he didn't say anything, he just threw his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and settled next to you under the covers. He threw his right arm around you, pulling you closer to him and kissing the top of your head.

“g’night doll” he mumbled and closed his eyes, already falling asleep from how exhausted he was.

“goodnight buck” you replied softly, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. It was silent, with only the sounds of the city flowing through the Brooklyn apartment.

Then your stomach growled, causing bucky to looked at you with wide eyes and you stifled a giggle. You mumbled a ‘sorry’ before closing your eyes again, hoping it wouldn't keep growling.

You were wrong. Your stomach was relentless, and finally you got up, slipping from Bucky grasp and scurrying into the kitchen to find something to eat. Bucky felt your absence almost immediately, he opened his eyes and frowned, getting up and making his way into the kitchen.

“didnt mean to wake you angel” you apologized as he walked towards you. He shook his head and wrapping his arms around you, letting his chin rest onto of your head. His eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into him, your arms snaking around his waist and leaning your head against his chest. The sound of the microwave made you pull away from him, grabbing the hot cup of Mac and cheese and setting it on the dining table, Bucky soon following you and sitting next to you.

“now im hungry” he frowned and you laughed, giving him some of your Mac and cheese which he gratefully ate. Within minutes the small bowl of Mac and cheese was empty, the two of you still hungry. You stared at bucky, a small smile creeping onto both of your faces. You were both thinking the same thing.

“no we shouldn't” you shook your head and bucky agreed.

“yeah no its almost 4 we should get to bed” he replied, you both got up, making eye contact before bursting into a fit of giggles and smiles, heading straight towards the kitchen and definitely not bed. You pulled your phone out and put on some music.

“you were thinking about French toast right?” you asked and bucky smiled, already opening the fridge for the ingredients, you grinned and you opened the pantry to get the other things you needed. You both sang along to the music softly, swaying to the beat.

As bucky made the mix you grabbed the bread and two plates, heating up the pan and putting some butter on it, letting it melt. You moved easily in the kitchen with bucky, ever since you had moved in together everything just seemed to work for you guys.

As you dipped the bread into the batter before putting it in the pan. Turning to bucky and using the spatula as a microphone, singing along to some 40s song you had added for bucky. You smiled as he took the spatula from your hand, setting it down and grabbing your hands, dancing along to the song.

Bucky had the brightest smile on his face as you followed his lead, letting him twirl you around as the song played. You looked up at him as he danced with you, meeting his light blue eyes. Your eyes met and bucky couldn't stop himself.

“I can't wait any longer oh my god” he rushed out, letting go of you and rushing back into the bedroom, leaving you along in the kitchen.

You frowned, did you do something wrong? You focused back on the French toast, flipping the slice so it wouldn't burn before placing it on Buckys plate. You frowned as you looked for the powdered sugar. Realizing you hadn't taken it out you turned around to get it, your back to the bedroom door. As you searched for it your mind raced, was he breaking up with you? Was he just really tired?

Meanwhile Bucky was rummaging through all his drawers, wondering where the hell he put the ring he picked out with Steve seven months ago. His heart was racing as he heard you cooking the french toast, confused as to why he left you. Finally he found the black velvet box in the back of his sock drawer, smiling as he ran back out to meet you in the kitchen.

Bucky saw you facing the drawer, so he wasted no time sneaking up behind you and getting down on one knee silently, opening the small box to reveal the ring.

You finally found the powdered sugar, opening it and turning around. You turned quickly, eyes immediately landing on bucky, right in front of you.

On one knee. With a ring.

You dropped the powdered sugar, causing it to land all over you, bucky and the ring. Your hands flew to your mouth as he smiled at you brightly.

“are you joking? this is a joke right?” you questioned and bucky shook his head, still on one knee despite having powdered sugar all over his shirt.

“y/n I love you so much, I wanna spend forever with you. Everything feels so right with you I just- its like we’re just meant to be, I can't imagine a life without you. I wanna make you happy, I wanna travel the world with you, I wanna dance in the kitchen at 3 am and make French toast at ungodly hours with you for the rest of my life” he rambled, you felt your ears burning as he continued, your mind still processing that he was actually proposing.

“-I love how competitive you are and how excited you get over anything and everything, I just love you so much-” he cut himself off when he looked at you for the first time since he started rambling, smiling softly up at you as you looked at him, fondness in your eyes and a tear rolling down your cheek.

“will you marry me?” he spoke, breathless.

Never in your life have you nodded so quickly.

“yes, of course yes” you whispered and bucky smiled, jumping to his feet as you cupped his face, crashing your lips onto his, smiling into the kiss. You pulled away with a sniffle, smiling as he took your hand and slid the ring on, he blushed at the sight of it.

You looked at each other with a smile, kissing once more before you realizing the french toast was cold by now. You pulled away quickly, grabbing the powdered sugar bag from the floor and sprinkling some lightly on your plates.

“sorry about all that” you laughed, motioning to the powdered sugar all over the two of you and the floor. Bucky just grinned, waving it off as the two of you ate the French toast, a smile never leaving either of your faces. Both pf you giggling as the sun came up and birds began to sing.

Not long after you finished Bucky cleaned up your mess, you changed into one of his t shirts and slipped into bed, a smile on your face as he walked into the room, taking his shirt off and slipping out of his sweats before moving into bed next to you.

You wasted no time as he laid on his back, moving his arm so you could rest your head on his chest. He cradled you gently as you got comfortable, kissing the top of your head once you settled in.

“love you so much angel, can't wait until we get to spend forever together” you mumbled with a smile on your face, already drifting off to sleep. Bucky smiled at your words, letting his fingers run through your hair.

“and I love you more than yesterday” he whispered, “but less than tomorrow.”

Bucky meant his words. He meant them with everything he was. He fell in love with you everyday. He always found himself falling deeper and deeper, but he never complained. Now could fall in love with you for the rest of his life.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

'till death blooms us art

Summary: You’d rather die loving him than never getting to see the sun ever again.

(“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. This number is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”)

Characters: Sam Wilson/Plus-sized Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), strong language, Hanahaki AU, angst with a happy ending, weight insecurity, allusions to eating disorders, talk about death, blood, past domestic abuse and trauma, gun violence, original male character, book quotes, anxiety

Word Count: 12796

A/N: Thank you for reading! This fic won the vote during my 500 follower celebration and it's finally out now! This story has a lot of meaning for me, due to it being a bit of a metaphor for disorderly eating. I know that will make some people uncomfortable, but as someone who has struggled for a long time, I want to talk more openly about this kind of thing. Anyway, thanks so much for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!

main masterlist | AO3 | playlist by @tripleyeeet

—STUBBORN WEEDS—

They are everywhere—covering the space of the sitting room like an overgrown garden made of glass and paint, canvas and pages torn from old waterlogged books, stained mugs filled with decaying brushes. Wanda walks through your room like it’s a maze, her fingers trailing over the air but never touching the art. She’s pretending she’s in a museum, or a gallery, or something fancier than what you could ever appear in, but a twinge of something akin to warmth stabs through your heart at the thought.

“These are incredible,” she says, not looking at you. “How do you do it?”

With a shrug, you bend down and pick up one of the canvasses from the floor, holding it out to look at it.

“I don’t know,” you lie.

White space in the shape of flowers, uneven and missing petals here and there, is outlined in streaks of paint that go every direction, in every different shade, hard edges and soft, blurred lines and covering the entirety of the canvas except for those spaces where flowers once sat, pinned to the medium.

“They are beautiful,” Wanda says.

Your nail sneaks under one of the dried chunks of acrylic and you chip it—a fleck of ultramarine blue falls from the painting.

When you turn, Wanda studies a different piece in careful hands. It’s a glass case, trimmed with shitty, shaky lines of gold you painted on a whim. But inside, between the thick panes, dried flowers painted over are encased in eternity, arranged to match their exact placements on the canvas where your brushes stroked life onto them, around them, through them. Two perfect pieces that once belonged together, separated like an act of Adam against his God.

Maybe they were meant to be together, but no one will ever know their story.

“They’re amateur,” you tell her, laughing. “I’m not much of an artist. It’s just for fun.”

She smiles at you, placing the glass piece down. “You have a talent.”

Wanda takes another turn about the room, another circuit, another spin. She looks at every piece in such focus, taking in every single detail, fingers stretching and curling as if she wants to caress the dried flowers, the dried paint, and feel their meaning. You wonder what she would say if she could read their minds—the art you’ve made. Would your pieces tell her the true meaning behind their existence? Or maybe they would laugh, or cry, or howl in pain.

But Wanda only stares, at the paintings and at you, a small smile on her face like she knows something you don’t. Like she’s keeping a secret. Is she keeping the secrets that the flowers have whispered to her when you weren’t looking?

“What inspired them?” she asks, the very tip of her nail tracing a different glass box filled with dyed petals reconstructed into a larger artificial flower, protected by its own display.

You wring your hands together. “I like flowers.”

She laughs. “That’s obvious. But what makes them special enough to paint? To—To make such lovely art out of?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you place the small canvas you’d been holding back on the side table, crossing the room to your bookshelf. Your fingertip finds the spine of a hardcover book you’re too familiar with, pulling it out and into your awaiting hands. Sheets of paper, a little bent and crooked, stick out of the pages.

You crack it open, the dulling white petals of a daisy pressed flat between the crackling spine fluttering from between the black inked words, then fall to the floor at your feet.

“The Devil’s hand directs our every move,” you read. “The things we loathed become the things we love.”

Wanda stares at you as you fiddle with the book, tracing the words of the cover.

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” you say. “The Flowers of Evil.”

Gently and without word, she bows at your feet and picks up the drying daisy, cradling it in her pale hands, but you don’t have the strength to take it from her.

(“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I had to run some errands this morning, y’know how it is, so I’m out of the Tower right now. I was just wondering if you needed anything while I was out. Anything—really, anything at all. Even breakfast, or maybe a latte? Just a little pick-me-up. Well, give me a call back if you need anything. If not, I’ll be back soon. See ya.”)

—BETTER TOGETHER—

“Steven Grant,” you say his name like a curse, shaking your head. “This is why you spend three hours a day in the gym.”

Too busy shoving the first bite of his first hoagie into his mouth, Steve doesn’t reply. You roll your eyes, but the smile on your lips gives you away. When he’s finally swallowed, wiping crumbs from his mouth, he looks a little indignant.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Well, you would be if you didn’t have that serum running through you.”

He frowns, brows furrowed, a little confusion on his face. “I thought it was because I work out three hours a day. And I’ll have you know—”

“—you work out six hours a day between your morning runs and training, I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before Steve.” You groan at the thought. “It’s like it’s your job.”

“It is my job. Saving the world and all that.”

“Okay, you really need to let America know that it’s giving you a complex, ‘cause if I hear one more thing about you saving the world, I think I’m going to scream.”

He shrugs, taking another gigantic bite out of his sandwich. Scraps of shredded lettuce fall out from between the buns and litter his plate. You pick at your own, pulling uneven pieces of sliced onion and stray pickles from the hoagie, content to sit and stare at it instead of eating.

Food is good. You brush the grainy crumbs of bread from your fingers. Food is good, but you just aren’t hungry. And you don’t work out three hours a day. Maybe you should start. Your body feels like a balloon with all your insides threatening to come up in a retch and choke you. Food is good. Food is good. You just have to pick up the sandwich and eat it.

Fingers shaking, you take the sub in your hand and stare at the corner where you mean to take the first bite.

“You good?”

Steve, still chewing, looks at you with concern clear in his crystal blues and it makes you put your food back down on the plate. Instead, you busy yourself with another sip of your water, nodding at him.

“Yeah. We can’t all be Steve Rogers, demolishing two hoagies in less than two seconds, y’know.” You throw in a snort, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wipe your mouth, Captain. You’ve got mayo on your cheek.”

He doesn’t, but him grabbing a napkin to embarrassedly wipe a nonexistent condiment from his face gives you enough time to pick your sandwich back up and contemplate taking the first bite. You’ve just gotta start with the first bite and the rest will go down.

But you aren’t hungry. How can you be hungry when you’re already so full? Stuffed, even. There isn’t room in your insides. All your organs are bursting. It’s so painful sometimes, the expanding of your skin to accommodate. Waves of sickness roll through you, spreading. Your stomach is stretched, bloated, filled with all the swallowed—

“What are you doin’ to my girl, huh Steve?”

The sound of his voice alone makes the ache inside of you dissipate, the nausea escapes from your throat, the anxiety twitching through your hands steadies. Your head perks up, shoulders rolling back as your entire body relaxes, and you look behind you.

And there, dressed in a tight blue polo and a pair of pants clinging to his legs like they were made for him, the very angel who blessed you, the devil who cursed you, the god of the fucking sun and everything it could ever touch, stands before you with a smile saved just for you.

Sam Wilson.

His dark eyes are piercing, like he’s trying to peel back the layers of your skin to see underneath, as he shoves his hands in his pockets and grins with all his teeth.

“Hey honey,” he says—simply and easily and not serious. Never serious.

Your lungs burn. Your mouth feels too dry to answer him.

“Oh, your girl?” Steve asks him, brows a little too furrowed to be joking. “When did she become your girl?”

Sam shrugs, walking toward the empty seat next to you, placing his hand on the back of your chair so dangerously close to your body that it makes you pull in a deep breath. His thumb could brush against the fabric of your shirt, run along the seam of your spine. And, goddamn, it should be illegal for him to look so casual and so unbothered while still looking that handsome.

Like this, you can smell the spice in his cologne, a powerful mix of something you’re sure is designed to drive you crazy.

He looks down at you, still hovering over where you sit, and throws a wink your way that brings heat to the surface of your cheeks.

“Aw, she’s always been my girl, ain’t that right? Tell him, darlin’.”

You stare at Sam for one second too long, breaking away to gaze down at your uneaten sandwich again. With every flutter that Sam sends down your stomach, the heaviness inside it seems to fade away. Your fullness is replaced by a familiar hunger—the rawness of your throat waning as a burning itch takes over. A cough is threatening to bubble up. You choke it back, smiling instead.

“He’s right, Stevie,” you say all bright and cheery again.

Steve meets your eyes with a stony gaze, unreadable, his blue eyes looking gray in the light. Beside you, Sam throws himself down in one of the chairs and pulls up to the table, hand still sitting on the back of your seat. His knees are spread a little wide, thigh resting against yours.

It’s so innocent but your brain thinks it’s so intimate. A lie. A lie.

In the end, Steve relaxes back, his eyebrows lifting as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. He tosses one of the sticky plastic menus toward Sam, nodding at it.

“Order up, man,” Steve says, his tone more neutral than you think you’ve ever heard it in regards to Sam. “But I’m not paying for yours. You’re on your own.”

At that, Sam laughs, full and robust with his face up to the ceiling. He rocks back in his chair, shaking his head, and he looks so beautiful even in the shitty sub shop that Steve drags you to for lunch every other week that it makes you ache and your lungs contract in an attempt to cough.

You swallow it back again, trying to even out your breathing. The itch in your throat is so bad that you almost pick up your sandwich to eat again, but your hand passes it up to take another few sips of your water. It’s cool, clear, refreshing—but it can’t make the tickle of the cough go away.

“So,” Sam starts once he’s finished ordering his own hoagie, “how’s that apartment hunting going? Found anything good yet?”

A frown forms, heavy, on your lips. You pick off a flaking piece of bread from your sandwich, watching it turn to crumbs underneath your fingers.

“It’s going,” you say, but anyone who ever responds to a question of how’s it going with it’s going is absolutely lying and it is absolutely not going—and maybe Sam knows that, or maybe Steve does, or hell, maybe they both do but it makes you look weak to admit that things aren’t going so well out loud.

And you—you can’t admit the truth, so it’s just better to lie about it.

You don’t want to leave the Tower.

“It’s going, huh?” Sam asks, his tone proving that he can see right through you. “You need help looking at some places or something?”

“Well—”

“You know,” he barrels through your words as if they are nothing, “I think I actually know a realtor around here. Maybe he can get you some leads on rentals or something. I could make some calls for you, honey.”

It’s not supposed to—Sam only means well, he always does, always trying to do so much for people—but it hurts to hear. Because you don’t hear him saying that he’s trying to help you out. You hear him saying he doesn’t want you around the Tower anymore.

Because, well, why would he want you there?

To him, you’re just an outsider. A girl who doesn’t belong. Someone who daydreams and doodles flowers on every surface as soon as she thinks of him. And you always think of him.

Before you can think about it, your hand flies to your mouth reflexively to hold back a cough. Instantly, Sam’s leaning closer and that damned hand of his falls soft against your back.

“You okay?”

There’s barely a moment for you to nod, signaling that you’re fine, before Steve’s got on his game face, all hard lines and furrowed brows and thin lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Sam’s attention. “She’s allowed to stay as long as she wants, alright? The Tower is her home now, too. So there isn’t a rush for her to find a place unless she wants to leave.”

The passion and care in Steve’s voice is strong, almost so overpowering it’s oppressive, and something rises up from within you and threatens to send salty tears careening down your cheeks if you don’t blink them away.

Sam raises his hands in front of him dramatically. “Okay, okay, I get it. I wasn’t trying to run her off or anything, just wanted to lend a hand if I could. Damn, Steve.”

Something changes at the table, then. It’s like a fog, thick and cloying, falls over the three of you and keeps you lethargic—so much so that the only words spoken in the next few awkward minutes are Sam’s thanks when the waiter brings his sandwich by.

You still haven’t even touched yours, and you hope it seems like you’re just waiting for Sam to get his, because Steve’s tearing into his second and by the looks of the mustard dripping down his fingers messily, he’ll be done any minute now.

But as you prop your head up on the table, leaning on your elbow boredly, Sam nudges his leg into yours to grab your attention. When you turn to look at him, he’s got that grin again, all pearly and white with the little crooked gap you think you could stare at forever as long as it meant he was smiling and laughing and happy.

“You gonna eat, girl?” Sam picks his sub up in his hand and gestures at you to do the same. God, he makes you dizzy just by talking. The butterflies in your belly are fighting tooth and nail against your organs, trying to take up all the space, but they aren’t really butterflies. The soft monsters in your stomach leave a taste on your tongue you can’t explain.

“Oh.” You mimic his movement and then Sam toasts his hoagie against yours with a chuckle.

“First bite,” he says, and there’s no thought in your head or balloon in your stomach and no bloated skin to make you second guess yourself.

You follow Sam, sinking your teeth into the bread of your sandwich, and its flavor explodes over your tongue just enough to take away all the bitter, floral, fragrant taste of the daisies that are building up in your stomach, their petals choking you out, downy fluttering things inside you.

(“Hey girl, it’s me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I was coming to see if you wanted to grab a bite with me for lunch, maybe at that little Italian place you like to go to around the corner? Or maybe sushi or something? Been a while since I got to go out for lunch, so I thought I’d ask, but I guess you’re busy right now. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Enjoy your lunch.”)

—NEW BEGINNINGS—

You’ve got to call him. You have to. You have no choice anymore.

Danny is on the other side of the locked door, his fist pounding on the wood and threatening to cave it in from the repeated force. The sound is louder than it should be, really, echoing off the tile of the bathroom you’ve barricaded yourself inside. He’s shouting above the sound.

“You fucking bitch. I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna fucking kill you. You lied to me? What else are you lying about, huh? You fucking whore. I took you in, I gave you a home, I gave you everything. Fucking fat slut—how many other guys are you sleeping with, huh?”

None, you had answered earlier when he was questioning you in your shared bedroom, his fist tight around your soft arm and squeezing so hard it made you want to scream. None.

But that wasn’t the answer Danny was looking for. And, well, once he threw you onto the ground and stomped to the dresser, clothes strewn around the room as he furiously ripped through it until he found the shiny black firearm you didn’t know he had, you were gone.

But there was only one place to go and that was the bathroom.

Now, trapped inside, you know you have no choice. You have to call him—the man from the coffee shop you’ve been going to regularly for a few months. The man who noticed the bruises Danny always left on you after a rough night. The man who pressed and pried and tried to do anything to get you to open up to him even as you refused over and over again. The man who put his number in your phone because he wanted you to call him if you ever needed him, not because he was a hero, but because he was worried about you.

You press the number two on speed dial. The phone rings.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Steve?” Your voice is nothing but a sob. “Steve, you were right.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, but you hear the rustle of clothes and a jingle of keys on the other side beyond the static, a sound that makes you almost cry with relief or hope or maybe just stress.

“Hold on,” he tells you. “FRIDAY is pulling up your address. I’ll be there as quick as I can. Are you safe?”

“Bathroom,” you’re able to mumble out from behind the waterfall of tears rushing down your face. “He’s locked out but—but I’m scared.”

“I’m on my way. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise you.”

And then Steve hangs up, and you wish he hadn’t because now you’re left all alone with just a flimsy wooden door, painted fucking white so the blood will show up real pretty when Danny kills you, between you and your boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend if you get out of here alive.

“Four fucking years!” he shouts from outside. “I gave you four fucking years of my life, you stupid bitch. I put up with your dumb fat ass for four years and this is what you do? Is this love? Do you think this is love?”

You figure anything is love as long as it doesn’t look like this. The ring of bruises around your upper arm from Danny’s grasp is already turning black and blue, a sight that makes you flinch.

Honestly, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. All the cash you were stashing should’ve been hidden better. You knew better. A shoebox up on the top shelf of the closet? Amateur. You should’ve cut a section out of one of your prized books or something. Danny never fucking reads. He probably doesn’t know how. He would’ve never found all the money if you’d stashed it there.

“Six thousand dollars!” he roars, punching the center of the door. The wood bends slightly. “How long’ve you been fucking stealing from me, huh? Fucking bitch. Stupid fucking bitch.”

And then it happens.

Danny’s fist breaks through the first layer of the door with a curse of pain falling from his lips. Then, a laugh. He’s laughing.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He punches the door again and then his hand is through, wood splinters shattering and flying toward you, and with a scream you shield your face with your arms and duck down. You’re sitting beside the bathtub, squished against the toilet, and you scoot back as far as you can trying to wedge yourself to safety.

But there is no safety here. Danny’s bloodied fingers find the doorknob and unlock it with a click, and it’s over. It’s over. It’s fucking over.

With a kick, the door comes flying open and you’re screaming again at the top of your lungs, throat tearing itself raw. Danny’s broad frame possesses the entire room as he shoulders his way inside, his lips pulled back to show all of his teeth in a feral grin, the overhead lights catching the shine of the sleek gun he’s carrying.

You can’t even look at him. All you can do is stare at his back in the bathroom mirror hanging over the counter, your mind completely devoid of thought.

“Fuckin’ dead,” Danny says, and you don’t see him aim the gun at you. You stare in the mirror, right in the mirror and memorize the pattern of the plaid jacket he’s wearing, how the colored stripes form new colors, how the fabric all blends. It’s a pretty shirt. You bought it for him two Christmasses ago. He looks good in it.

You are going to die.

Then, suddenly, you can’t see the plaid anymore. Instead it’s a gray shirt on a much bigger body blocking out the mirror, and when you turn your head to look, Steve’s there.

Steve’s here.

He’s got Danny in a chokehold, grappling for the pistol in your boyfriend’s hand. Ex-boyfriend. Despite Steve being completely unarmed—he’s Captain America for christ’s sake, a goddamn super soldier, he doesn’t need a fucking weapon—he easily brings Danny down to his knees and onto the floor, kicking the gun away from their bodies and out of the bathroom completely.

“Fucking whore,” Danny manages to spit out, the sound strangled as Steve’s arm buckles over his neck. “You’re fucking him too, huh? I’m gonna kill you.”

“Shut up,” Steve grits through his clenched teeth, pulling Danny toward the destroyed door. “You’re done.”

They disappear from the bathroom in a tangle and thrashing of limbs. Danny curses the whole way down the stairs, struggling to break out of Steve’s grasp you presume. He’s a fighter—that’s what he always said. Dog meets dog eats dog world, he would tell you. You can’t ever trust anyone.

And, well, he certainly proved his beliefs. You had the bruises to show for it. The scars as evidence.

Sitting alone in your wrecked bathroom, still sprawled out on the tile, you stare down at your hands. The lines run deep in your palms, fingers stubby and chubby and not at all feminine. Too small to grab Danny the way he always grabbed you. Too soft with fat to deliver a good punch.

You don’t know how much time passes before a much larger hand enters your vision, slowly, like approaching a kicked mutt on the street, and when you don’t flinch, Steve lays his fingers across your palms. Apprehensively, you grab onto his hand, and he squeezes back.

Looking up, he’s crouched in front of you, the beginnings of a bruise forming on his left temple. With your free hand, you reach out and let your fingers brush over it, but Steve just smiles at you.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here,” he says, gently tugging on your hand. You hold onto him a little tighter and let him help you up off the ground, his arm immediately sliding around your waist to steady your shaky legs.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you say. “The money I saved…”

You don’t even know what happened to it. For all you know, Danny burned the cash. Or stashed it somewhere else.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Steve says in a soft voice. “I’m taking you back to the Tower. The police are dealing with Danny right now. Can you help me pack some clothes for you?”

And so you sat on the bed among your wrecked bedroom as Steve picked through the messy drawers that had been pulled from their dresser, some articles of clothing crumpled on the floor where Danny flung them in his mad search for your secret money stash. And the gun. You almost forgot about the gun.

Steve helps you pack, his face only a little pinker than normal when you’re shoving your intimates into the black duffle bag he fished out of his car, and then he’s helping you slip on your sneakers and guiding you out of your house.

You don’t say goodbye to it, though. That house. Even after four years, you don’t call it home. In a lot of ways, you’re happy to watch it disappear from Steve’s rearview mirror, hoping you’ll never be back.

“They’re going to love you there,” he says quietly in the silence of the car, both hands tight around the steering wheel. He glances over at you, then back at the road. “You’ll fit right in. You’ll be safe. Right at home.”

But you think Steve is a bit of an optimist. Homes, you think, are for people who are loved.

(“Hey honey, just me here. Look, I remembered you saying something about how you wanted those, what were they called, the fairy lights for your room? The ones that look like Christmas lights? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You’re too short to do it yourself, girl, you know that. Anyway, give me a call if you want to, or just come down to my room and get me, anytime. I’ll be waiting. Talk soon, honey.”)

—KEEPING SECRETS—

Wanda hums a tune under her breath. “I just can’t wait to get out of this place! It’s been too long. Mission after mission after bloody mission.” She sighs and starts to apply a thick coat of mascara, eyes wide as she stares in the mirror.

“Agreed,” Natasha says from somewhere behind you. The sound of her bare feet on the bathroom tile is the only warning you have before she sidles up beside you, gracefully lifting herself up onto the counter and sweeping various cosmetics aside to make room.

You’re still undressed, standing in your panties and an old t-shirt with a stretched out neck, just finishing up your eyeshadow when Nat taps a black bottle on the marble top near your fingers.

“Want me to do your eyeliner?” she asks.

A few months ago, you would have seen it as an insult—a beautiful, dangerous woman telling you in less words that your makeup looked like shit. Now you know it’s an expression of Natasha’s unending love for you. A willing act of service. A small thing she can do for you.

“Yes please.”

Natasha motions you forward, between her legs, and when she takes your face in her hand you close your eyes.

“Pretty colors,” she says, probably about your eyeshadow.

“Thanks,” you reply, and then you feel the cool wetness of liquid liner right on your lash line as she begins to paint a wing on your lid. “You always look pretty.”

“So do you.” She blows softly on your left eye. “It’s like you never need makeup, I swear. Are you even wearing foundation?”

A smile works its way onto your face. “Nope.”

From beside you, Wanda giggles.

“Slut. You’re so perfect it makes me want to scream sometimes,” Natasha says, tongue clicking her teeth as she finishes off your right eye.

All the breath seems to leave you in that moment. Like someone punched you straight in your gut, your bones like the gel shock-absorbing layer protecting your organs. Your eyes want nothing more than to shoot open, but Nat is blowing cool air over the newly formed wing and you force yourself to relax so you don’t mess everything up.

“I’m not perfect,” you tell her. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Don’t deflect.” You hear her cap the eye liner and set it down on the counter, then her palms engulf your cheeks. Slowly, you let your eyes open, blinking gently.

She’s staring at you, eyes narrowed.

“Just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful,” she says, simply, as if it’s just easy for her to not compare herself to anyone else. “If you’re perfect, you’re perfect. Doesn’t matter if I’m perfect, too. And that Wanda is perfect. Or that anyone is perfect.”

Natasha takes your chin in her fingers and grabs a tube of lipstick—the one she and Wanda always tell you to wear because it looks so damn good on you.

“Your beauty and your worth doesn’t come from other people.” She runs the silken rouge over your lips. “It comes from who you are, not comparisons to other people.”

And, god, you want to scream at her. You want to shout and tell her that she isn’t allowed to say that to you when she looks the way she does—slim and picturesque and every human being’s wet dream. She doesn’t get to say that you shouldn’t compare yourself, with your heavy chest and your wide hips and all your soft pockets of skin, to someone like her. To someone like Wanda. To anyone else that doesn’t need liposuction with a side of diet pills, please.

You can’t be perfect, because if you were perfect, if you were enough, you wouldn’t be dying in agony every night over someone that doesn’t look twice at your too-large stomach and your too-large thighs.

They’re just trying to make you feel better, but all it does is make you feel worse.

“Look,” you say when she’s done with your lipstick, “I get what—”

In a split second, your chest is wracked with hard coughs, lungs struggling for air. It’s choking you, your own insides, and you’re hacking and wheezing and grasping at the bathroom counter and Natasha’s hands are on your shoulders and Wanda is slapping your back in hope that it will help and someone, somewhere, is saying the word heimlich and you can taste it on your tongue like old wallpaper from the 70s, floral and disgusting and toxic and ugly.

You throw your arm over your mouth, smearing your lipstick. It doesn’t help. Natasha is looking at you, eyes wild. You’re coughing and coughing and you think you taste blood underneath the overwhelming velvet on your tongue.

They’re saying your name. Shredded petals are between your teeth.

And then you break, pushing past them to the toilet, skidding on your knees until you’re doubled over and retching. It’s all burning acid and fresh flowers. Rot and fester and earth and greenery. A pair of cool hands—Wanda’s, you think—rest upon your forehead and move your hair away from your face.

Vomit and daisies leak from your mouth until your stomach is done contracting and your insides are empty. All that’s left is your sputtering coughs that taste caustic and beautiful.

It’s getting bad.

When you finally pull away from the toilet, slumped back and wiping your mouth, the toilet is full of an explosion of crisp white and bright yellow, tinged with the faint pink of blood. Wanda is glancing back and forth between you and the unflushed toilet, horror stitched on her face.

Before Natasha approaches, a glass of tap water in hand, you lean over and flush the petals down the drain. The look you shoot Wanda is pleading, but you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

Everything on the inside hurts, burning like a pit of snakes in your belly, hissing and spitting venom and biting into you like they mean to kill you. Perhaps the daisies have grown fangs. Your lungs feel chewed.

Nat places the glass in your shaking hands, her fingers holding your own as if she knows you can’t do it yourself. She helps raise the glass to your soiled lips and you gulp the water down like it’ll flood the valley unfolding in you.

“Who is it?” she asks, her voice calm but her eyes uneasy. You nearly choke, a hand pressing against the middle of your chest as if you need to feel your lungs as they work to assure yourself of your own survival.

“What?” you barely eke out, throat thick and scratchy. One of Wanda’s hands strokes down your back and she doesn’t speak, only shakes her head.

“Who is it?” Natasha repeats.

You look away.

“God.” Wanda sniffles behind you. “How could we not have realized?”

“Because it doesn’t happen,” Nat says, shifting from crouching in front of you to sitting on her knees on the floor, a hand resting on your thigh. “I’ve never known a single person—until now, I guess—who had it. I thought it wasn’t real.”

“They tell it like a fairytale in Sokovia,” Wanda says, her words just as watery as her eyes. “A story you lull children to sleep with! But I should have seen it. We should have seen it.”

A new abundance of petals tickle the back of your throat.

“All that art,” Natasha hisses, but she isn’t looking at you. She’s glaring down at her lap.

“All the daisies,” Wanda cries. Her head drops against your shoulder. You feel the wetness of her tears.

“It’s okay,” you tell them, but your voice is too small. “It’s okay,” you say, louder this time, tasting the flowers like they are the blood of your bitten tongue.

“Who is it?” Natasha asks again, a begging in her voice you don’t think you’ve ever heard before.

“It’s okay,” you say again.

And with this, Nat’s face changes from one of concern to something of realization—like she’s been struck with a thought she never considered, like she’s seen the future.

“It’s him.” Her jaw is slack, staring at you even as Wanda looks at her with confusion etched on her visage. “You have to tell him.”

“No,” you say simply.

“This is bad,” Nat snaps, as if you don’t know it already. “This is getting bad. You need to tell him or you’re—you’re going to die.”

A laugh breaks through the bathroom, echoing. “How can I tell him? How could I ever tell him that I love him when the simple fucking fact that these flowers are growing—rooting—in my goddamn lungs is proof that he doesn’t love me the way that I love him?”

You lean back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“Sam Wilson doesn’t love me the way I love him,” you whisper.

The tips of Natasha’s fingers catch the tears you don’t feel streaking down your cheeks like the screaming of shooting stars, hot and bright and dying.

“It’s sort of beautiful, don’t you think?” Your nails dig into the fat flesh of your thighs, trying to puncture skin. “To make art of your own death. To make something lovely out of something so tragic.”

You can’t swallow it back this time. A cough wracks through you, jostling your bones, and you fold yourself in half as soft white petals emerge from your esophagus and choke you. You grind them against the backs of your teeth with your tongue, trying to mash them into nonexistence, but it’s not enough. You retch another wave of daisies into your awaiting hands.

Wanda calls your name and it sounds broken.

“Death like this,” you rasp, catching your breath, “is the most beautiful way to go.”

Your finger drags over one of the downy petals, a bead of blood catching on your skin and smearing across it like a brushstroke of paint, ruining it.

“Death like this is the only way I want to go.”

(“Hey beautiful, it’s me again. I heard you were going out with the girls tonight—I hope you have fun. I just wanted you to know that if you need a ride back home, or you get into trouble and need a hero, or anything, really, I’m just a phone call away. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I’ll be up if you need anything, at least ‘till you get home. Have fun, girl.”)

—INNOCENCE—

You’re beginning to ask yourself if the mirror lies.

It doesn’t. You know that. You’ve been trying to find the lies in it for years at this point, pinching and pulling at all the places you find are thicker than the women you see on TV, the women you see floating around the Tower, the women you’ve seen on the arms of Sam Wilson. Chubby hands caress down your soft belly, poking and prodding the skin you wish you could make disappear. The mirror never lies.

But you wish it did when you stare at yourself and all you see are the bruises beneath your eyes, the hollows in your cheeks, the drained look in your gaze. The longer you stand there, the less you recognize yourself.

You aren’t hungry anymore. You never get hungry—the flowers filling up all the space in your stomach, coughed up from your lungs and swallowed back in pieces. Perfume is what your mouth tastes like now. Perfume and iron. The vomiting hasn’t stopped since the night your secret was revealed to Natasha and Wanda.

And you’ve never looked better.

That’s the part you hate. The part where when you look in the mirror and you can see the places where those daisies have shaved you thinner. It almost makes you laugh. People say you pack on the pounds when you find love. Maybe they should try having toxic flowers take root inside of them and slowly steal their lifeforce while they watch the person they love never love them back.

It’s a slow process, this death. You wonder which will kill you first—the starvation or the suffocation.

The walk down to the gala is as equally exciting as it is dreadful. You’ve never been to a Tony Stark gala before and you’re eager to dance the night away with your friends. But you’re also exhausted.

Oh well. The makeup helps you look less like a corpse and more like a dancing queen. The dress, which you’re sure someone paid far too much money for, is part of the solution. It’s all flowy and gorgeous as if you are a Greek goddess meant to be worshipped and highlights your figure while hiding all the imperfections the mirror seemed to find.

And when you finally enter the room, classical music playing from the live band and people laughing loudly and champagne twirling about the floor for people to take, the first thing you see is him.

Grin taking up his entire face, lighting up the entire ballroom, dressed beautifully in a navy suit that makes him look utterly dashing, is Sam Wilson.

He’s surrounded by people—women who are better dressed than you are—so with a shaky breath and a pain in your lungs, you quickly turn on your heel and head toward the next familiar face.

“Woah there, doll, where you hurryin’ off to?” Bucky, hair neatly pulled back and wearing a black suit, grabs you by your waist.

“Nowhere,” you blurt. “The bar. I just got here.”

He raises a thick brow at you, a silent question, but when you choose not to answer he shrugs.

“Well I can’t refuse to escort a pretty lady, can I?” With a charming smile, he holds his elbow out to you and gestures for you to grab on. You slip your hand around his arm and grasp him tightly, shooting him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

But as the two of you start dodging through the crowd of excited party-goers, on your way to the bar in the back, Bucky stops short and gets a look on his face that you’re not quite sure you can describe as mischievous, but it’s close enough to make you frown.

“Y’know what,” he says, glancing over at you with that boyish grin, “I think we should take a spin on the dance floor instead.”

“Oh no,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I can’t dance—”

He snorts. “I’ve seen you dance around the kitchen, doll.”

“I can’t dance in front of all these people.”

“Can’t is a word for losers.” Bucky closes his hand over yours, locking you to his elbow. “Don’t wanna be a loser like Stevie, do ya? Oh Buck, I can’t stop fighting, gotta teach ‘em a lesson. Oh Buck, I can’t rinse out my cereal bowl, I gotta go for a run.”

It makes you laugh, maybe a little too loud, but it eases you just enough for Bucky to pull you into the menagerie of dancing couples, and then he’s moving your hand from his arm and onto his shoulder and clasping your other in his fingers.

“There we go.” His eyes shine like the ocean sparkles under the Tower lights.

Bucky has something magic in him, you decide, after two songs of him swinging you along the floor. He has something magic that makes everything so easy, which is something so admirable after all he’s been through. He has you laughing and smiling and spinning across the room with so little effort you forget all your worries in an instant.

“See?” Bucky dips you in his arms, making you squeal with glee, collecting the stares of the people peppered around the room. “Knew you could dance, doll.”

Panting, you rest a hand on his chest, still giggling. “Only ‘cause you’re so good.”

“Song’s over, Buck,” a new, familiar voice cuts in. When you look up, Steve is standing there, eyes crinkling with his own smile. “I can’t wait for another.”

At that, Bucky rolls his eyes with such drama it has you laughing yet again.

“See? I told you. It’s all can’t this, can’t thatwith Stevie. But fine.” Bucky guides you by the waist over to Steve, passing your hand over, and then gives you one last grin with all his teeth. “I had fun, doll. Thanks for dancin’ with me.”

“Anytime,” you tell him, and then Steve’s adjusting your grip on him. The song changes from the upbeat tune Bucky was twirling you to down to a slower classical piece.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Steve asks, his eyes roaming over your face.

“Yeah,” you hum. “Bucky and I had a lot of fun.”

Steve’s grip at your waist tightens a little. “No, I mean in general. Are you doing alright?”

There’s worry there—in the wrinkles on his brow, the blue skies of his eyes, the curve of his lips. You know he’s staring at you and seeing everything the mirror told you. All the gaunt places. The hollow, haunted look you’re parading around. The weight you’ve been steadily losing. You know he sees it.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and you wonder yet again if the mirror ever lies. You know you do.

Steve sways you gently, more carefully than Bucky had. Steve dances with you like you’re made of something fragile. You still don’t understand why. You don’t know why he ever looked at you and saw something important, someone to protect. Maybe it’s just how he was born to be.

“You can tell me anything,” he says, so seriously that your heart breaks a little.

You move your hand from his shoulder and up to cradle his cheek, smiling.

“I know, Steve. I know.”

And if he pulls you into him, crushes you against his chest, and holds you like that for the rest of the song, no one mentions it. Steve lets you rest your head on his shoulder and, not for the first time, you think this must be how it feels to have a family.

But then the lights in the ballroom brighten a little and a spark finds its way into the music, changing into something jazzy and fun, and someone slaps Steve on the shoulder.

“Alright Rogers, she’s ours now.”

There, dressed like she could kill a man with her heels alone, Natasha has her arms crossed over her black satin gown. Beside her, in a red, flowy dress, Wanda has her hands on Nat’s shoulders, giggling from all the bubbly you’re sure she’s consumed.

Steve pulls away from you with a chuckle, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright—she’s all yours, ladies.”

With that, Natasha pounces on you, and the three of you start to shimmy the night away together.

You lose count of the songs you spend dancing with them, sweaty and out of breath and having the time of your life, before you wave them off and step out onto the outside patio where hardly anyone is loitering. You pass up a couple sitting on a bench, cuddled up in the cool air of New York, and leave a man smoking a cigarette to himself.

Instead, you find a lonely bench far away enough from the gala that you can hardly hear anything but the bass strings resounding through the building. There, you sit, and turn your head up to the stars you can’t really see anymore.

“You okay, girl?”

Startled, you whirl around to face the object of your affections, standing behind you with his hands shoved casually in his pockets. He isn’t wearing his usual smile. Just staring.

And then you taste dirt. Freshly upturned soil coated in congealing blood. You cough into your hands and hear him approach, laying a warm palm on your back as you choke the daisies down and down and down, swallowing as many as you can, the pungent taste still ripe in your mouth.

“Honey,” he calls out all smooth and sharp like whiskey. “Honey, are you okay?”

You lick the blood from your lips. Sam crouches before you, gathering your cold hands in his, looking up at you with such a fucking expression that you want to kiss him so solidly he can taste the vines growing up your throat. You want his tongue to taste the soil of your suffering—the flowers of your own doom.

“I’m worried about you,” Sam says, his dark eyes searching your face for something.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, just as you’ve been telling everyone.

“You’re not looking so good these days,” he murmurs, and you recoil.

“Wow.” The hurt in your voice is so palpable it makes you cringe. “Thanks, Samuel.”

You move to get up from the bench, heart twisting, but Sam grabs your arms and cages you there.

“I didn’t mean it like that, darlin’, you know better than that.” He gives your arms—too soft too wide too fleshy too—a squeeze of reassurance. “You’re not painting much anymore either. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Sam holds your gaze until it’s too much and you have to break away.

“C’mon, girl. Are you even sleeping?” Sam shakes you a little. “Eating?”

The flowers of evil root in your chest. See, you know how this book ends. You don’t need to read the last page to find out. It’s just as Baudelaire wrote, you know: “My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.”

Your organs have been replaced by daisies. Sam Wilson won’t love you—not tonight, not tomorrow, and not in time.

So you shrug, forcing your lips to curl into what you think might be a smile.

“I can’t paint. I’ve got too many flowers to press,” you tell him. Sam’s visage morphs into confusion, and he shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t understand. He won’t understand.

You take his arms from your body, holding his hands for a split second, long enough to steal their warmth and imagine what it would be like to hold them every single day, and then you pick yourself up off the bench and give him a wave.

“See you inside, Sam.”

And you leave him there, confusion still frozen on his face, the gritty blood ripping shreds in your damaged throat as you swallow it again and again and again in an attempt not to taste it anymore.

(“Hey, uh, it’s Sam. I was just calling to, uh, y’know, remind you about the gala. You have a date yet? I didn't ask anyone. I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. Try not to kill me with your good looks tonight, you hear? Save a dance for me, baby.”)

—THE SUN AND ALL ITS STARS—

Dishware rattles into your room, signaling Nat’s arrival. By the time you gather the energy to sit up in bed, she’s already entering, a tray of food in her hands and an icy look on her face.

“Breakfast in bed,” she says monotonously.

You shift and pull your duvet up as she fits the tray over your lap. There’s not much—a sweating glass of cold water beside an amber glass of apple juice, two slices of buttered toast, and some melon she cut up.

“Thanks,” you say, voice strained and weak.

Natasha doesn’t leave, but you wish she would. She seats herself on the edge of your bed, staring you down as you sip on your water. You purse your lips in frustration, but pick up the fork and begin to poke at the fruit.

“Eat,” she says.

“I’m trying,” you grumble back. “Stop staring at me.”

Natasha throws her hands up on the air. “Well if I don’t watch you, you’ll just sit here and waste away,” she snaps. “You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, hell, you aren’t even coming out of your room anymore. You go to work, you come home, you don’t talk to any of us. Steve says—”

“Steve doesn’t know anything!” you shout, interrupting her. As soon as you do, her eyes narrow into slits and you shut your mouth, gulping. That wasn’t what you wanted to do.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Steve says you’re still looking for a place.” It’s eerie how calm she keeps her tone. “Leaving isn’t going to stop them, you know.”

Even now, not doing anything but staring at the food in your lap, you can taste them like a funeral home, saccharinely floral, covering the smell of death.

“I can’t stay here,” you say.

“You’re dying,” Natasha stresses. “Please. Please, I am begging, krasavitsa. I’ve not begged for much in this life. But I am begging you to please, please tell him. Tell him or consider the other option.”

Two options in the scale, tipping weights. To die or to have the roots of true love carved out of your lungs, peeled away from where they wrap around your heart.

You stab your fork into the tender flesh of the melon. It gives way so easily, letting the tines puncture it. Natasha stares at you, her gaze heavy. Your fingers fumble with the fork and it falls, clattering, to the tray of dishes.

The blood is too hard to swallow anymore—it builds up in your mouth and stains your teeth red, the petals colored pink when they fall from your lips.

“Okay,” you whisper. Maybe you don’t even say it aloud.

“Okay?” Natasha asks. You nod your head, not looking at her.

“I’ll tell him.”

It takes you hours, it feels like, to gather the courage. With all the energy you have left in your bones, muscles only satiated a little by Natasha’s breakfast, you drag yourself out of bed and to your bookshelf. It’s memorized, the place where your book sits, and you pull it out with a gentle tug of your finger.

The Flowers of Evil, its pages nearly chock-full of pressed daisies that have ejected themselves from your body, eager to find the man you love and spill all your desires to him. You thumb through it, gaze flitting over all the damn flowers that have dried in this damn book, and you close your eyes in order not to cry this time.

You press the book tight to your chest, feeling the desperate beating of your heart echo through it, and you head to Sam’s room.

The walk is long and lonely—the Tower feels empty. Devoid of people. You’re a little glad because you’re sure that anyone could see the sickness painted on your body, the illness from inside you that’s staining your outsides. It’s not anyone’s fault but your own, really. The flowers are too beautiful to supplant.

And now, you’re in front of his door, a fist raised to knock, a loud buzzing in your head that keeps saying no, no, no. But your heart, traitorous thing still hammering away in your chest, it just keeps saying yes, yes, yes, finally.

Sam Wilson doesn’t love you.

But do you have any other choice except to take a garden spade to your lungs and dig them out of your chest cavity, to destroy your ribcage and break through the mulch that makes up your nervous system? Is the only option left to die at the hands of Sam or to wither away until your decomposition will feed the very things that killed you off?

You shudder a breath and knock on the door. And you wait. And wait. And wait.

He doesn’t come. He isn’t there. He doesn’t love you.

The tears come suddenly—unexpectedly. They are hot and stricken and fast. They drip off your chin and careen down your neck and dampen the collar of your shirt and your hands are trembling, grasping your book too tightly, to even begin to wipe them away.

You don’t know why you’re crying. You already know this. Sam Wilson could never love you the way that you love him. Sam Wilson is perfection, you know. He possesses the strength of gods, he radiates love, he’s passionate about every fucking thing he does. He’s beautiful. He’s everything and you are nothing when standing next to him, but you love him. You love him.

Sam Wilson doesn’t fucking love you.

“Well,” you laugh to yourself, “I can either die a fool or live a life without you.”

I can either die in love or live my life not knowing what it feels like to be in love with you.

Something tickles your tongue. You reach between your lips and pluck it from your mouth, letting it sit upon the center of your palm. Blood drips down your arm like a river, violent and sooth.

The daisy covers your entire hand, white petals tinged with pink reaching toward your fingers. The center, all yellow florets seeming to seek out warmth, are so bright and full and so big—these are too big, they could choke anyone, anyone, they are choking you.

And like them—god, just like them, just like these daisies that grow from your lungs and destroy you from inside out—you are heliotropic. Everywhere you go, you’re focused on the sun, looking for the sun, stretching toward the sun.

You need the sun.

So you crumble the daisy in your hand, fist tight, blood still easing from between your fingers. You back away from his door, then turn and break away to head back to your room in silence.

You’d rather die loving him than never getting to see the sun ever again.

(“Hey girl, it’s me. Just calling to let you know that Steve and I got called for a mission. It looks like an emergency, wheels up in ten and all that. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. To Steve, I mean. Just in case. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness.”)

—FAREWELLS—

It happens faster than you think it will. You swear you have weeks, or a month at least. You swear you have time.

Four days later, your knees buckle and slam into the wooden floor beneath you, stomach contorting and contracting, balloon finally bursting. Someone is shouting your name from the common room, something is knocked over, scrambling. You barely hear it over the sound of your own vomiting.

On your hands and knees, you stare down at the lump of flowers you couldn’t swallow back. They’re coated in a mixture of soil and blood and stomach acid, but the sweet perfume scent breaks through the rest and makes you retch again. It smells so sweet. So sickly sweet. Dead people and churches.

Did churches always smell so much like blood?

There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s pulling your hair from your face. Someone is saying something—something—something you can’t make out over the blood rushing between your ears.

You’re dying. This is it.

You collapse upon the ground, rolling onto your side, arm thrown over your mouth as if that will stop the flowers from pouring out of your body. And when you blink, trying to see through the dizziness, it’s him again.

The god of the fucking sun, your sun, mouth moving frantically as he says things you can’t hear and the little gap in his teeth that makes you feel at home when he smiles at you and his eyes, oh, Sam Wilson has eyes that set you on fire and burn you alive and you’d be happy to die like this, you’re so happy you get to die like this, so thankful that the daisies chose you, so thankful you chose him.

You were right. Death is so beautiful like this.

“It might be too late.”

Helen Cho’s heels clack on the tile of the medbay’s room as she shoos the nurse out with a wave of her hands, shaking her head. He shoots to his feet, fingers already curled into fists, and he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket to hide them.

“Too late?” It’s impossible for him to keep his voice low. “How can it be too late? What even—What’s wrong with her?”

She frowns at Sam, folding her hands together in front of her.

“It’s… rare,” she says. “Some of us didn’t think it was real, to be frank with you.”

His brow furrows. “What is it?”

“A disease caused by unrequited love,” Helen says plainly, staring straight at him. “Typically, the patient finds themselves in what is regarded to be true love, but the feelings are not returned, so they build up. It’s theorized that the stress of that creates the problem.”

Sam swallows and it tastes like vomit. “Unrequited love?”

She ignores him, continuing, “The part that is normally so hard to believe is that flowers begin to grow inside the patient, the roots puncturing their lungs and creating masses that eventually will suffocate their host.”

It’s a bag of bricks to his stomach. A super soldier punch to the gut. A bomb blown up in his face. Sam doubles over, clutching his middle, trying to breathe again. He can’t breathe at all. The flowers. The flowers.

“It seems she was swallowing them in an attempt to save herself,” Helen explains. “It’s what kept her alive much longer than she should have been. But now, I don’t know. It may be too late to save her. If she’d just said something earlier, than the surgery might have been able to stop it, but—”

“Surgery?” Sam asks, still gasping for breath. “What surgery?”

“You can extract the roots,” she tells him, glancing at the sleeping woman in the sickbed. “It’s a difficult procedure but it would have saved her. But, from the very little research we have on it, removing the roots also removes the feelings entirely. The love that the patient has disappears. They aren’t able to ever feel anything for that person ever again.”

He falls back into the plastic chair, his limbs numb. Or, at least that’s what he wants to do. But Sam doesn’t. He steadies himself, crosses his arms over his chest, plants himself so firmly there in the hospital room that he doesn’t think an earthquake can move him, and looks at her.

She’s sleeping, but she doesn’t look at peace. Her eyes, lovely things, are sunken in and it makes him so mad. Her collarbones have shadows beneath them and he feels fury wracking his own bones. And how long has it been since he’s seen her smile?

“Do the surgery,” he demands.

“You know I can’t do that without her consent,” Helen says, sighing.

“Then I’ll wait until she wakes up and get her consent,” he seethes through a locked jaw.

Helen’s face doesn’t change. “She might not wake up.”

“She will.”

Sam doesn’t get it. He understands—in a way—but he doesn’t really get it. He knows why she wouldn’t want to get a surgery like that. But he loves—he loves just as fiercely as she does, and that’s why he understands. Why he knows.

So why did the flowers pick her? Why would they pick her and not him?

Helen glances down at her feet, says nothing, and turns to exit the room. He’s left there in the silence, with the crowing of the machine keeping her alive to punctuate all his thoughts. If there is one thing he hates in the world, it’s feeling helpless.

He lowers himself in the plastic seat, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.

“You’ll wake up,” he says to her, but he can’t look at her.

Or maybe he’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.

There’s a soft rapping of knuckles on the door, and it opens slowly and quietly, and Sam has to lock his fingers around the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up and sending a right hook right at Steve’s face.

“How’s she doing?” Steve has the audacity to ask, has the audacity to look worried, has the audacity to pull up another plastic seat next to Sam.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters under his breath, spite burning his tongue.

Steve glares at him. “Yeah, that’s why I asked. What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you, Rogers.” Now, Sam can’t help but stand, towering over the super soldier. He immediately grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him out of his chair, through the door, and out into the hallway. Steve stumbles, a hand on the wall, and Sam’s nostrils flare.

“How could you do this to her?”

“Me?” Steve sounds genuinely taken aback, but Sam doesn’t buy it. “What are you talking about? Helen told me—”

“I thought you loved her, too!”

He really did. That’s why Steve brought her to the Tower, didn’t he? That’s why they go out for lunch every other week and why Sam never gets a chance to take her out himself. Why he always makes sure to say goodbye to her before a mission, like he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He really thought Steve loved her too. If he had thought for one second that Steve didn’t love her...

“What?” Steve’s jaw slackens. “Not like that! She doesn’t—She’s not in love with me, Sam!”

He pants, unable to catch the breath that’s leaving him like a slow leak.

“Then who the hell is she in love with?”

Steve stares at him, a look that Sam can’t recognize, can’t name, in his eyes. Steve stares at him and smooths his hand down his beard, shaking his head.

“She’s in love with you,” he says, and Sam chokes.

Because all the pretty things in his world lead back to her and man, if she loved him, it would all be so perfect that he would never want to leave it. He would never want to say goodbye. He’d ask god and anyone else who would listen to grant him a deathless life so he could look at her forever, with no end in sight, because he would. He would. Sam would love her forever.

“No,” he says, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “That can’t be true.”

“It’s true,” Steve says.

“That’s impossible.” He backs up, against the wall, holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” Steve repeats, staring past Sam and through the window of the medbay’s room to look at her, lying so still in her bed. “I know it is.”

“Steve, I’m in love with her,” Sam confesses, an ache in his chest. “It can’t be me. I’m in love with her. I’m so fucking in love with her.”

A heavy hand clasps his shoulder, and when Sam looks up, his breathing unsteady, Steve has a look of regret smeared all over his face.

“But does she know that?”

And, for the first time in years, Sam cries.

(“It’s me. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”)

—SINCERITY—

Sam Wilson thinks she’s starlight.

When she first arrives she’s a collection of stars and their ashes, explosions and deaths, supernovas and black holes and earthbound meteorites.

What he means by that is she’s covered in bruises but she’s so beautiful, and he wants to gather her in his arms and tell her it’s going to be okay.

Steve introduces her, and Sam tries to bite his tongue, but all his words pour out of him anyway as she holds out a hand to him and he takes it, soft and trembling, and he knows she’s special somehow. She’s special.

“You’re the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” he says, and he means it, but she ducks her head and tries to hide the little smile on her face.

Sam Wilson thinks the world of you. But even when the bruises fade, you’re still left with all the land and the water and the galaxies hidden in your eyes when he catches your gaze, and he looks at you and he swears that you’re reaching into his chest and taking his heart in your small hands and squeezing him dry. You have realms inside of you, he’s sure, all the worlds and all their wonders. But you—you look at Steve like that sometimes, and then Sam is just grateful that you even let him breathe in your general atmosphere.

He can fly, sure, but he certainly isn’t an astronaut, so this is about the closest he can get to you.

(“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. This number is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”)

—TRUE LOVE—

The first thing you see is the ceiling, hazy and sleep-filtered, but it looks just like the ceiling in that bathroom, back in Danny’s apartment, back when you thought the pain of love was bone crushing, before you knew the pain of love was slow suffocation.

It makes you stutter back to life and that sends you into a coughing fit. You can still taste them—the daisies. They taste like the rawness of sunlight.

Hand pressed against your chest, your eyes dart around the room, trying to catch your bearings. There’s an IV in your arm, the bed railings are plastic, Sam is sitting in the corner, the lights are dimmed.

Sam Wilson is sitting in the corner.

You gasp, looking at him, and he’s staring right back at you, a familiar book in his hands.

Sam Wilson is sitting beside your bed, holding The Flowers of Evil, and the look on his face is far from happy to see you. It’s not anger. And it’s not sadness. It just… is. And Sam is never “just” anything.

Even if he thinks that sometimes, like the times when he calls you and says, “It’s just me,” as if he isn’t something special, so important you can’t live without him in your life.

Well, you can’t live with him, either.

After a solid minute, Sam looks down at the book between his dark hands, and he begins to sift through the pages. He stops sometimes, lingers on the sheets of dried daisies that have been pressed, their color leaking onto the text only slightly. But then he moves forward, searching for something. You don’t know what.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, throat sore when you speak.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Your teeth gnash together, bite into your bottom lip, worry a sore there as he doesn’t look at you. He just keeps flipping through the book as if he didn’t just thrust a dagger straight through your heart, as if it isn’t beating so fast and hard like it’s trying to stay alive. You feel like you can’t breathe and you don’t know if it’s the flowers crawling out of your lungs and trying to get to him or if it’s the fact that he knows.

You can’t answer him.

Sam stops on a page, his finger trailing over the script, and then he begins to read.

“And yet

to wine, to opium even, I prefer

the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself;

and in the wasteland of desire

your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.”

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” he says, shutting the book with a thump and striking his palm with it. “Baudelaire sure had a lot to say, didn’t he?”

Your mouth is suddenly so dry. There’s a pink pitcher of water next to the bed, just like a hospital would have, and you reach weakly for it. Sam grabs it immediately, pouring you a cup, and passing it gently to you. You gulp what you can down through the straw, hardly breathing.

When you finally feel like you aren’t going to cough your lungs up into your hands again, Sam takes the cup back from you, and embarrassment is a cold shiver down your spine.

He sits back down beside you, looking straight at you. “Do you want to get the surgery?”

Your lips part to speak, but he interrupts.

“Be honest.”

Chewing your lip, you take a deep breath. “No. And I never planned on it, either.” From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten.

“Why not?”

“Because what is a life without the fucking sun, Sam?” The words are spat from your mouth. “A life spent not loving you—not knowing you, not feeling you anymore—it wasn’t worth it. Because I love you, Samuel Wilson. I have loved you since the day I met you and you told me—told me I was pretty for some goddamn reason. And I’ve loved you every day since. I love everything about you and there is not a single iteration of life that I would want to live if it meant not loving you.”

This time, nothing tastes like blood. It’s all just daisies, like they’re populating your mouth, changing the way your tongue works, turning to paste in your teeth. It’s so strong that it hurts. Like you’re eating paper valentines and crying too many tears as you say goodbye to a body in a casket.

But it’s beautiful and lovely and gorgeous because you swear that, somewhere beneath it, you can taste what you think love might taste like.

Sam doesn’t speak and it hurts, but it tosses your book down on the side table and reaches into his pocket and it still hurts. He pulls out his phone. You swallow down the rising earth in your chest.

He pulls out his phone—no, it’s your phone. He turns the screen toward you and punches in your password. You furrow your brows. When did he learn your password? But it doesn’t matter, really, because he just swipes to your call log and pulls up your voicemails. And then he begins to play them.

“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Have fun, girl. Save a dance for me, baby. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”

The sobs fall from the broken seal of your lips, loud and crashing, like a waterfall. Your hand, shaking and weak, comes up to try to cover your mouth, but Sam lunges forward and catches your wrist in gentle fingers.

He’s looking at you like you’re everything—and you know, you know now that you are—to him.

“You’ve been saying that this whole time?” you ask, a laugh bubbling up from your lungs. No flowers retch up your throat.

Sam smiles, lips pulling back to reveal that gap in his front teeth.

“You haven’t been listening, baby girl. I’ve been tryin’ to tell you I love you for months.”

He rests his forehead upon yours, and as close as he is, all you can smell now is the spice of his cologne. Nothing smells floral.

“I never would have thought,” you whisper. “I was sure—so sure—that you didn’t love me. I thought because of the flowers, I thought that meant for sure that you didn’t love me. I mean, why would you? Why would you ever love someone like me?”

“Honey,” he says, so softly, “you’re starlight.”

Tears flood your cheeks and Sam cups your face in his large hands, wiping them away with gentle thumbs.

Sam Wilson is sunlight. You never considered that you could be starlight.

“Why wouldn’t I love you, darlin’? You’re so good, so gorgeous, so perfect.” He laughs and it makes you laugh too, but it comes out like a sob. Your heart feels lighter. “But you’ve never considered yourself worthy of love before, have you?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

He hushes you, soothes you, smooths his palms over the planes of your face and over your hair,

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He presses a warm kiss to your forehead and the memory of every single time he’s kissed your forehead like this flashes through your mind, an electric current, and you wonder how you never saw it before now.

“I love you,” you say, and this time, your lungs don’t feel as though they will burst from the pressure, the roots, the vines twined around them. You don’t feel choked by petals. You don’t taste blood in the back of your mouth.

“I know,” he says, “and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my days with you convincing you that you are worthy of love, honey. Because I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you.”

When he presses his lips to yours, he doesn’t taste like flowers. Not like the daisies that wrote your death sentence. He tastes like golden pools of sunlight, warm and wanting. This is your heliotropism. You are a magnet for him, Sam Wilson, god of the fucking sun.

And maybe he’s phototropic, always drawn to you, moving toward your starlight.

(“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I missed your call! I’m on my way home now, and guess what? I have a surprise for you. It’s a bit ironic, but I think you’ll like it. What do you think of the name Daisy for a baby girl?”)

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x plus sized reader #plus sized reader #sam wilson angst #sam wilson fanfiction #hanahaki au #sam wilson fluff #thanks for supporting me!#divine masterlist #the flowers of evil

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Little Bones 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness, unwanted touches

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: We got another part and I hope you love biker!Thor as much as I do. It’s lots of fun.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: Better butter your cue finger up

The bottle of wine sat on your counter and you hid away the vodka in your freezer as you resisted the temptation of both. The library made hangovers even worse with its bright lights and tedious nothingness. So you tried to ignore the tapping at your shoulder, the persistent tug of your paranoia, and pretended that nothing had changed. In Birch, nothing did change, right?

The click of your mouse and the loud tapping of keys filled the silence of the library. Colin snored with eyes wide open. It was hard to tell when the old man was awake or sleeping. You weren’t sure there was a line left between the two for him. He spent most of his working hours in the back on the other side of the windowed wall although what exactly he did there remained a mystery.

There wasn’t very much to do there outside the occasional school visits in which students walked down to complete some research project or the teacher’s held a crafting circle. You liked those days as often you could join in and help wrangle in the pupils as they explored the sterile shelves.

Melissa stood and her chair rolled back with a grumble. She stretched and bent to grab her purse from under the desk.

“I’m going down to Bab’s. You want anything?”

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin as you leaned back. “I wouldn’t mind a latte. Oh, and I think they have the banana loaf today. A slice of that too.”

You peeked under the desk and sat forward to grab your bag from the cubby beside your PC tower. “Nope,” Mel stopped you, “it’s on me today. I need a breath of fresh air anyway. Even if it is cold as hell.”

“Oh, thanks, Mel,” you smiled and grabbed a pen to click in your monotony. “We should dig out the Christmas decorations soon. It might actually give us something to do.”

“Maybe for an hour or two,” she pulled her jacket from the rack that stood against the wall between the front counter and the back room, “We could try something new this year. I saw these lights online, you can program them with your phone.”

“You think Colin could handle that?”

“Like he would even notice.” She laughed and pulled on her coat and grabbed her purse. “Latte, banana bread.” She recited. “I’ll be back.”

You watched her go then stretched your legs out as you arched in the chair. You fell back limp and closed your eyes. You could fall asleep right there. You really couldn’t blame Colin for his waking trance. This place made your ears buzz and your head spin.

You heard the whoosh of the automatic doors and sat up. You were surprised at your visitor but not disappointed. Melissa’s daughter approached the desk as she swung her bag in her hand. You could tell by the little wrinkle between her eyebrows that she wasn’t happy.

“Your mom’s just gone to Bab’s,” you rolled closer to the desk. “You must’ve seen her.”

“I saw her.” She said tersely. She stilled her fidgeting and planted her dangling purse on the desk. She sighed and crossed her arms. “I’m here to talk to you.”

“Is something the matter?”

You were nervous. You knew her as well as her mother and you got along. You shared an interest in old Hollywood and a taste for dry history and humour. You liked her, envied her even for having a mother like Melissa.

“I hate doing this. I hate when he makes me do this.” She dropped her arms and instead gripped her hips. “You want to come down to the Asp tonight? For a drink?”

You chuckled and clicked the pen. “It’s Wednesday. I have to open tomorrow and--”

“Hrgh,” she huffed. “I’m sorry but it’s… not a question.”

You put the pen down and clamped your lips together. She shook her head and looked away.

“It’s an order. From Bucky.” She tapped her toe on the carpet. “I tried to tell him that you wouldn’t want to come so late. That you know, you work. He just doesn’t listen and--” She heaved and threw up her hands in exasperation, “I tried.”

“But… me? I don’t even know any of those… people. It’s not really my scene.” You swallowed and dug your nail into your thumb.

“I’ll be there. Same with Steve’s girl from the bakery. She’s nice. And…” her eyes were dull but irritated, “look, if you don’t show up, Bucky will go and find you. Everyone in town reports to him. You don’t have to be in his club, he owns Birch.” She grabbed the thin strap of her small purse and drew it from the desk, “you don’t want to learn that the hard way like I did.”

You knew it wasn’t Bucky who wanted you there, you suspected that big blond brute who had chased you down the street. Her anxiety fed yours and made you uneasy. If she were that afraid, how scared should you be?

“I think you know my answer considering I’ve been given little choice.” You said firmly. “What time?”

“Seven. I got him to budge on at least that. You won’t be out too late.” She gave a weak smile and twisted the strap of her bag. “Stay close to me and I’ll do what I can. You know, with Steve’s girl, I really tried…” She looked away and rolled her as they turned glossy. “Sometimes, Bucky listens to me and I’m figuring out how to make him.”

“Why are you with him?” You whispered. “Why--”

“You think it’s a choice I made.” She blinked and sniffed. “No, it was made for me when I was born in this god forsaken pit.” She thrust her purse over her shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know why anyone would make up their mind to come here.”

“I can’t say I’m happy with the decision.” You returned.

She sent you a pitying look before she spun away. She marched back to the doors as her mother nearly collided with her. They spoke for a few minutes before the younger left and Melissa came over to plop her goodies on the desk.

“New latte flavour, candy cane. I figured we might get a bit festive.” She announced.

💀

You stood outside the Asp and stared up at the snow-covered marquee. The powder began to fall just after noon and collected along the small ledge below the image of Cleopatra. You wore a bright pink toque with an oversized pom-pom and tucked your chin down against the matching scarf tucked down the front of your cherry-coloured coat. You stuck out among the grey of Birch.

You didn’t put much effort into getting ready. You kept on the same polka-dot blouse from work and traded your trousers for faded jeans and a pair of knee-high boots. You took a breath and stepped through the doors, barely avoided the rush of snow that fell down behind you.

The bar smelled of beer and a stale but pungent dinginess. You looked around in the low din. The bartender, a woman named Lucy, dried several glasses and stacked them on a shelf and every man in the place wore leather.

You found Melissa’s daughter next to Bucky as he squinted at his closest accomplice, Steve. The shy girl from the bakery was tucked under his arm as she picked at the hem of her short skirt. You cleared your throat as you pondered leaving.

A figure on Bucky’s other side stood and you frowned as that man, Thor, smiled at you like a puppy. You fixed your mouth into a straight line as Bucky’s girl rose and waved you over.

“Hey, you made it,” she said. You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh.

“Yeah,” you said flatly as you rounded the table.

“Kitten,” Thor greeted as he pulled out the chair next to him in a flourish. “I’ve a seat just for you.”

You looked from the chair to his face. You made no move to sit.

“If that’s not to your tastes, you can sit in my lap.” He taunted.

Your lips parted in disgust and you grabbed the back of the chair. You wrenched it away from him and backed up steadily as you dragged it around the table. You stopped it next to Steve’s girl and unzipped your jacket. You sat and shrugged out of the coat then crossed your arms. You tore your eyes from the large man and smiled at the baker girl.

“The banana loaf was good,” you said. “Sorry I didn’t make it down.”

“Oh, it’s ugly out there,” she turned in Steve’s hold and his arm slipped down around her waist.

You could feel Thor’s constant gaze as you humoured the girl about the weather and listened to her story about how Mrs. Deeton sent back a blueberry scone for not having any blackberries. You did your best to blot out the rest of the bar.

“Kitten, you want a drink?” He interrupted and you peered over at him. You glanced from him to Lucy as she stood and awaited an order.

“Do you have ginger ale?” You asked her directly.

“We have club soda or iced tea right now.” She said with venom.

“Iced tea, thank you.” You fished through your purse for a fiver.

“Put it on my tab,” Thor insisted.

“No, it’s fine, I--”

You held out the bill and he reached across to snatch it from your hand. “On my tab.” He repeated and the barmaid stomped away. He tossed the five back to you and smirked. “Keep it, kitten.”

You swiped it up and turned back to Steve’s girl. She looked frightened as she stared at the blonde man and slowly returned her attention to you.

“Um, so, I was going to tell you the secret ingredient to Bab’s banana bread but you have to promise not to tell.”

“Sure,” you leaned in and she whispered it in your ear and giggled.

“I’m not supposed to tell.” She uttered as she touched her cheeks guiltily.

“I’ve been telling her she don’t need to worry about rules,” Steve intoned as his fingers danced on her hip.

“My mother made the best banana cream pie,” Thor interrupted. “She handed the recipe down to me. My sister was never much into sweets.”

“Oh?” Steve’s girl turned to Thor. “We don’t serve that at Bab’s but we have lemon meringue.”

“Mother made that too. She showed me the trick to perfect peaks. I could show you.”

Steve growled and pulled his girl closer. She looked at him as he sent a heated glare at Thor. She touched his chest and cooed at him to relax. Lucy returned with your iced tea and you took it eagerly as the tension burned at your face.

“So, kitten,” Thor scooted his chair around the table as you set your glass down, “what trouble did you get into today?”

“I work at a library.” You uttered dryly.

“And did you enjoy your wine last night? I always heard it’s better with company.”

You jutted out your jaw in annoyance and looked at him. He was painfully persistent.

“Excuse me.” You stood and nearly gave him a face full of your chest. You looked to Bucky’s girl as she listened to his incessant grumbles. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Just down there,” she pointed along the far side of the bar.

“I could show you,” Thor offered and you waved him off.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yes, you are,” he purred and you backed up as his eyes grazed your hips.

You were all too eager to hide in the bathroom and closed yourself in a stall as you tried not to scream. You had dealt with perverts before. Often you were the butt of some joke. The wingman settled for the chubby girl so his pal could get laid. Those types thought you were desperate and had no qualms with getting handsy on the dance floor. But college was long ago and Birch wasn’t known for its nightlife.

After a moment, you were able to steady yourself and you left the stall. You stood by the grungy sink and stared at the mirror. Why you? Why was this idiot bugging you?

You went back out with reluctant steps. You passed a drunk man at the bar talking about some feat of machismo in his foregone youth. As you neared the table, you froze in the spot as you listened.

“...she’s fat anyway.” Steve snarled and laughed meanly.

His chortle was curtailed as a chair scraped on the floor and the baker girl cried out. Thor forced Steve to his feet but the front of his tee shirt. He pulled him past his girl and brought him close as he growled down at him through flaring nostrils.

“I like you, Rogers, but your mouth makes it real hard.” Thor sneered.

“What the fuck?” Steve struggled against him, “let me go.”

“I’m not sitting here shit-talking your woman, eh. You might have little respect for them, but I do.”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve was on tip-toes as he was held up by the other man.

“Apologize.” Thor demanded.

“Wha--”

“Dammit, Steve, say sorry.” Bucky snapped.

“S-sorry, dude.” Steve stuttered.

“Not to me,” Thor turned and to your surprise, he thrust Steve around to face you. “To her.”

You stared in shock as Steve straightened his shirt. He was like a petulant child as he looked you in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“For…” Thor prodded.

“I’m sorry I called you fat.” Steve looked away.

“I…” you didn’t know what to do or say as you glanced past him to the other girls. “Well, I am so it’s fine.”

Thor shoved Steve back and his thick brows drew together. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “I like a little extra.”

“Hey,” Bucky’s girl interrupted as she stood suddenly, “the table’s free. How about I get Wanda and we can play some doubles, just us girls.” She touched Bucky’s shoulders, “leave the men to their business.”

Thor’s shoulders fell and he shook his head. He grinned at you even as his disappointment shone through.

“Sure,” you answered as you stepped around him. “Sounds fun.”

💀

You focused on the felt. It didn’t help block out the blazing heat of Thor’s leer. You refused to look over at him and instead pretended to be enthralled with the game of solids and stripes.

When you were a kid, you went to the youth centre and played with the rest of the kids desperate for a distraction. In uni, you enjoyed your plastic cups of cheap sambuca and coke at the campus bar and chalked up the cues. You were no expert but you could hit a good shot now and again. Your mother used to recount tales of her hustler father. Maybe it was his blood that kept your hand steady.

The other girls played as a pair as you handed off to Wanda. She wore the cut of the Birch’s club and her dark lipstick was the same shade as the leather. You saw her now and again with the men. She smoked her cigarettes out front and watched the town with indifference.

Wanda took her shot and clicked her tongue as she scratched. You shook your head as Steve’s girl scrunched her nose at the table. You were even; three stripes and three solids. She went around the far corner and awkwardly positioned herself over the side. She reached back to tug down her short skirt, she was clearly uncomfortable in the revealing outfit.

She sunk her mark but her next stopped short of the pocket. She shook her head and apologized to Steve’s girl who assured her with a pat on the shoulder. You took the cue from Wanda and walked around the table. You walked back and wondered if you could sink two in one. It was a possible angle but could you hit it?

You tilted your head and sighed. You bent and brought your foot back as you squinted and carefully positioned the cue. You couldn’t decide whether you should try to spin it to the right or hit it straight on. You knew the power you needed but you couldn’t afford to hit a stripe.

You almost tapped the cue ball as you felt a warmth over you and suddenly a hard torso was against your back. You went rigid as Thor bent over you and put his hands over your as he adjusted your aim. His hot breath wrapped around your neck.

“Almost, kitten,” he pushed his crotch against your ass.

You pulled the cue back so that it hit his ribs and he grunted as his hands fell to the edge of the table. You took the shot and pushed out of his grasp. His hand dragged over your ass as he stood straight and touched his side with a wince.

“I got it.” You said as both balls rolled and dropped into opposite pockets.

He chuckled and bit his lip. It was almost a snarl as he watched you across the table and you sensed the bated breaths of the other women.

“I like a woman with a firm grip,” he winked, “And confidence.”

You looked back to the table as he loomed on the other side. You sunk the last solid and lined up for the eight ball. A straight, easy shot that even the most amateur could get. You ended the game and Wanda clapped as the other girls grumbled their congratulations.

“Best out of three?” Steve’s girl asked.

“I’m sorry to disappoint but I have to work early.” You leaned the cue on the table. “I showed up and now I’m done. It was fun, girls, but I’m gonna turn in.”

You smiled at each of them and your face fell as you passed them and went to grab your coat from the chair where it still hung. Thor was less than subtle as he followed you to the table and watched you zip up your coat over your chest. You slung your purse over your arm and pulled your hat on as you braced for the chill that awaited you.

“You shouldn’t walk alone.” Thor intoned.

“It’s a small town. I’m fine.” You spun away and again, he followed.

At the door, you turned back and crossed your arms. “Look, I can handle myself, buddy. Now leave me alone.”

“I’m just being nice.”

“You’re being a pest.”

“You love it.”

You huffed and closed your eyes to keep them from rolling back into your skull. You looked at him again and bit down on your words. “Do you ever give up?”

“On you, never.” He grinned.

“Well, be a good dog and stay.” You jabbed your finger in the air. “Stay!” You repeated as if he was a hyper dog. “Good.”

You quickly slipped through the door and booked it across the street. The door didn’t hit the frame but was instead caught as his boots scuffed out behind you. You peered back as you reached the other side and kept up your steady jog. He watched you but did not give chase.

“I’ll sniff you out one day, kitten,” he called out. “Pussy, pussy, pussy.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #biker!thor #chubby!reader #fic #series #birch #biker au #biker!au #au #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #threequel #sequel

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pradaksj · 3 years

Text

Safety Net || part two (final). (m.)

↳do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

❧ summary ⟶ on new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together.

❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader

❧ genre⟶ enemies to friends, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, pining, smut, boxer!jungkook. two-part series.

❧ word count ⟶ 16,000+

❧ warnings ⟶ descriptions of an anxiety/panic attack, character death (non-major), smut which includes ... passionate to rough sex, oral (female receiving), penetration, fingering, unprotected sex (please have sex responsibly lol).

❧ music⟶ safety net, selfish, stuck on you, exile, +more

❧ a/n ⟶ I am still fairly new to writing smut so sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations 😭 also to all my people who don’t like smut “*” signals where you can stop reading as the smut is really just a bonus scene at the end. and remember dark purple = entering/still in the past, light purple = present

01 | 02 (final)

“God were we dramatic,” you laugh, glad that the recollection of your big fight with Jungkook was something that could by now be laughed at rather than seen as something you’d dearly regret, “Don’t you think?” you ask Jungkook, concern immediately washing over you once you see the sad look on his face, “Jungkook?”

Jungkook stares blankly at the lake in front of him, surprised at the resurgence of the same heavy feeling in chest he had felt several months before, “Did I—Did I say something wrong?” you worry that you’ve hurt his feelings, that being one of, if not the, last thing you wanted to do tonight.

Quietly he nods his head no, “I just—” he struggles to voice his thoughts, “I was—” he shakes his head and you grab his hand in comfort, giving him a small smile.

“Hey,” you giggle, “what happened is in the past,” you reassure.

“I know but—” he sighs, pushing his hair back with his other hand, “I just still feel bad, you know? I mean we went a whole month without talking…. practically hating one another…”

August 2019.

It had been about a month since your explosive argument with Jungkook, and despite living together... the two of you had never been so far apart. Not only were you not on speaking terms, but it was as if neither of you existed in each other's proper world, completely avoiding each other at all costs.

One would think that because you two lived with one another, you’d be bound to have some kind of awkward bump ins from time to time, but somehow the two of you managed to steer clear of each other. From eating breakfast and dinner at separate times, to talking to Hobi at your own respective times, and of course the first thing Jungkook did the next day after your fight was move his things out of your restroom and into Hobi’s. You weren’t going to lie, it did sting just a little , but you were quick to get over it. The part that made Hobi roll his eyes even further back than they already did, was how quickly you two scrambled around each other whenever you did happen to coincidentally be in the same place such as the kitchen.

Originally Hobi tried any and every method possible to get you two to make up, knocking on doors and trying to trick you two into talking, faking handwriting, stealing personal belongings, and of course begging. Hell, he even tried confronting you two in one of the rare times you guys were in the kitchen at the same time, but all you two did was remain silent and go back into your respective rooms. Not bothering to even spare a glance at one another.

He had given up about two weeks in of trying, deciding that it was up to you two to figure out how you guys would make up. But it wasn’t until this Friday morning when he saw a certain letter stick out of the mail that he found himself loudly sighing.

“Oh Jungkook…” he whispers to himself, shaking his head as he read the letter in front of him. What was he going to do now?

It didn’t take long for Jungkook to get used to being the lone wolf in the apartment again, in fact it was easy for him to completely ignore your existence. It was easy to watch you struggle opening a jar full of kimchi. It was easy to catch a glimpse of you and Hobi watching One Piece on the couch whenever he was making his way out of the apartment to go and party. It was easy to hear you sing along to some new girl group song and not join along whenever he passed by your room. And it was very easy to hate you. Very easy indeed.

Gosh, who was he kidding? It was the hardest freaking thing in the world to do. Especially because he didn’t hate you at all. Pretending to? Yes. Actually? Fuck no.

If he was being honest, any hatred he had felt in the moment of the big argument had been rapidly washed away the moment he slammed his door shut. Instead it had been quickly replaced by the feeling of hurt and sadness. He even found himself sneaking into the kitchen that night to grab an extra pint of ice cream from the freezer and watch some stupid K-drama from his laptop back in his room. Even shedding a small tear when the male and female lead had to break up due to unforeseen circumstances. But of course if you asked him if it was true, he’d deny it in a heartbeat.

He’d often find himself zoning out and replaying the fight in his head. God, was he an idiot. What was he thinking destroying your painting like that? Did he really think you weren’t going to react the way you did? Sadly, the answer was a mixture of both yes and no. Yes, he wanted you to feel as hurt as he did, but he didn’t expect you to go fully ballistic on him. Did he blame you for it? No, of course not. You had every right to be mad at him as he had acted out in completely blind rage. Not bothering to stop for one moment and ask himself, am I okay with the possible outcome of what I’m about to do? Had he known it was going to be this, and well … he would’ve never done it.

It just happened so quick. One moment he was staring at the floor covered with broken pieces of glass and the next he had his fist going through the canvas of your painting, destroying the very thing he convinced you to work on. No wonder you hated him…

You hated him and you had every right to. He just wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to take it anymore. Having to only catch glimpses of you from time to time and not being able to say anything because he was too ashamed to even look at you was truly killing him. And he could only imagine how you felt having to see him every day and night. Knowing the person you hated most was living under the same roof as you. Hell, if the roles were reversed he probably wouldn’t want you around at all.

Which is why as Jungkook currently stares aimlessly at the ceiling of his room, he knows he’s made the right decision.

The night of the fight between you and Jungkook, you had felt a range of emotions that honestly were quite overwhelming. Whenever you’d stare off into space you’d find yourself feeling very sad and reflective, but whenever you even caught a glimpse of your then destroyed painting on the floor you’d feel the rush of anger return all at once. It was like that the whole night, not even an episode of One Piece could cheer you up. If anything it made you feel even more confused because you were on the episode where (spoiler alert) *** dies, and well not only were you mad at how it happened, but sad because it was happening. Hell, that was probably the best way to describe how you felt about the whole argument.

The first couple of days had been hard to say the least, the dynamic between all three of you drastically changing in the matter of a couple days. No longer were there grocery shopping trips together, nor were there laundry days where you and Jungkook would compete to see who could fold the fastest, and of course there were no longer Netflix movie nights where Hobi would complain because you and Jungkook kept cracking too many jokes during the most intense scenes. Your laughs always echoing across the living room walls thus ruining the buildup of the scene.

You were good at pretending you didn’t care, in fact you were great at it. Maybe because a part of you actually didn’t care. You had long been fed up with Jungkook’s moody antics, and him destroying that painting was the final straw. Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have gone into his room after he specifically told you not to, but you only did because you were worried about him and actually cared about him. Couldn’t he have seen that before he went full on rampage mode and destroyed your painting? He was wrong for what he did, and at the end of the day he had no right to hate you. Right?

These days you found yourself doubting it. It wasn’t like you were in the entire right, you mean you had invaded his privacy … you shake your head, begrudgingly getting out of bed before dwelling on your thoughts for any longer. The re-do of your painting, which currently sat on its easel, serving as reminder that you weren’t planning on talking to him anytime soon.

“Good Morning to you,” Hobi greets, watching you stomp your way into the kitchen, clearly running on an empty stomach. Jungkook was currently out, either working out or …. Hobi sighs recalling what he saw in the letter this morning.

“Good morning,” you mumble, the grouchy mood that Hobi found himself a little too used to making its morning return. In all the years he’s known you, to see you always this …. down …. was very unlike of you to say the least.

Whether you liked it or not, your fight with Jungkook had definitely changed some aspects of your personality, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself yet. Because no matter how good you were good at faking it, and trust him you were good (a professional indeed), behind that tough wall you had put up in the last month was a person who was hurt. A person who had their heart crushed right in front of them.

Grabbing two slices of bread, you place them in the toaster, preparing to make yourself some avocado toast. You sigh when you hear Hobi’s footsteps getting closer, not wanting to hear the whole “You need to talk to Jungkook” speech this early on a Saturday morning.

Turning around to face him, you’re prepared to protest against his usual lecture, “Hobi I don’t—” the sound of an envelope hitting the counter catching you off guard, stopping you from continuing any further. Furrowing your brows, your eyes glint with confusion. Hobi stares at you with a stoic expression, waiting for you to grab the letter from the island’s counter.

Slowly you grab the white envelope, extremely confused as to what this had to do with. The name on the recipient line reads, “Jeon Jungkook” and for a small second you feel your heart stop, but you’re quick to shake it off.

“This isn’t mine, if you can’t tell,” you scoff, preparing to hand the envelope back to Hobi.

Pushing your hand away, he says, “Read it,” his tone telling you that it wasn’t exactly an option.

Rolling your eyes, you pull out the single piece of paper that’s inside, unfolding the tri-folded letter. Your eyes quickly gaze over the subject line which reads, “Application Approval,” catching your attention. From there you continue to read…

Dear Jeon Jungkook,

We are pleased to notify you that we have received and accepted your application for the lease property of **** Jangsin-Ro, Apartment 32. Your lease will begin on September 28, 2019 and your rent amount is ₩**** for every 1st of the month. Any cancellations will result in a ₩*** fee. I want to thank you for your application and anticipate that you will have an enjoyable living experience in your new home.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.

Sincerely,

Bang Si-Hyuk.

Wait what? Your eyes reread the letter that’s in front of you because clearly you were reading something wrong. Your eyes must’ve been deceiving you because there was just no way…. Looking up at Hobi, you hope this was another of his attempts to get you to talk to Jungkook, but there he stood, straight faced as ever.

“He’s—” your voice whimpers like a little kid, “He’s moving out?”

“Ow!” Jungkook squirms, the feeling of your fingers pinching his arm hurting him, “What was that for?!” he yelps.

“For trying to move out without telling us! And don’t you dare ever pull something like that again,” you scold him, tempted to pinch him again.

Garnering a laugh out of him, you cross your arms like a kid and huff a loud breath of air, “Ah I won’t, I won’t,” he giggles, “Maybe…” he mumbles, but he’s quick to raise his arms in defense once he sees you ready to pinch him once again, “I’m just kidding,” he sings and you roll your eyes.

“Serves you right,” you mutter, letting out the hurt you felt that day to him because honestly, you had never gotten the opportunity to do so…

September 2019.

“Jungkook is moving out. Jungkook is moving out. Jungkook is moving out,” you think to yourself, having to come to terms with the fact that in exactly 48 hours from now Jungkook was officially going to be out of your life … for good.

You were shocked to say the least, when you saw the application letter, not exactly sure about what you felt. You mean, yeah you were definitely mad at Jungkook, but enough to the point where you wanted him officially out of your life? Hell no.

So then where the hell did he even get the idea to move out? It wasn’t like you two were being mean to each other, nor was there blatant hatred being shown on your part. All you two were doing were ignoring each other like two little kids. That should not be cause for someone to move out. Not at all!

A knock on the door catches your attention, “You ready?” Hobi asks, dressed in business like attire. His all black suit made him seem almost intimidating, that was until your eyes landed on his newly dyed cherry-red hair only causing you to stifle a small laugh.

Nodding your head, you look at yourself in the mirror one last time. Tonight was the night of the art exhibition, and you were very very nervous. You had turned in your piece a couple of days prior, but to have to later unveil it in front of everyone along with giving a small speech was nerve wracking. Especially considering you hadn’t involved yourself in the world of the arts for several years now, if anything you were used to constantly talking about accounting numbers and different business statistics.

“It’s either now or never,” you whisper to yourself, not knowing what awaited you.

“I just don’t get it Hobi,” you rant in the car, on your way to the galleria’s location, “he didn’t see me trying to move out when he was being nothing but a complete dick to me those first couple of months!” you pout, still not having accepted that Jungkook was moving out, despite constantly reminding yourself that he was.

Hobi sighs, feeling as if he’s heard you rant about this since you’ve found out … oh wait … you have! “Y/N—” he begins.

“No listen to me Hobi!” you interrupt, “Can he really not stand the sight of me that he feels the need to move out?? Was me going into his room really that big of an issue,” your voice wavers a bit, but you continue nonetheless, “And the fact that he hasn’t even bothered to tell you! So what? He was just planning on disappearing this coming Monday! Thinking no questions were going to be raised? I mean imagine you hadn’t seen that letter, he would’ve left thinking I hate him!” And to that Hobi lets out a scoff.

“What do you mean?” he scrunches his face, “He still is!” Hobi raises his finger before you could talk, “My turn,” he firmly states, only causing you to drop your defensive shoulders and roll your eyes.

“You two have not talked at all since your stupid little argument where clearly both of you were in the wrong!” he rants, repeating what he’s been saying for the last two months, the topic becoming tiresome, “And now one of you is leaving because neither of you can get over yourselves and just initiate some kind of freaking conversation! Just one conversation and I am one hundred percent sure everything will get cleared up and we can all go back to our daily lives, but nooooo both of you think we’re in some freaking K-drama, actually no, even K-dramas make up faster than the two of you!” he ends his rant on an insult, and you’re left there momentarily speechless.

“You are so—”

“I’m what?” Hobi glares at you, and you only narrow your eyes at him in return.

“You are so wrong,” you state, refusing to now look at him, instead looking out the window.

“I’m right and you know it,” you mumble something under your breath in response, “You invaded his privacy after he repeatedly told you not to, but for some reason you just felt the impulsive need to go into his room and find out what he was hiding. You know, I’m sorry Y/N but if Jungkook’s the biggest dickhead in existence then you my friend are the pushiest one,” he complains, finding his grip on the steering wheel becoming tighter. God, did the two of you get his blood pressure boiling up.

“You don’t get it, I had to go into his room,” you mutter, not exactly happy with the fact that Hobi is reading you for filth.

“No you didn't,” the two of you begin to go back and forth, voice raising with every sentence.

“Yes, I did.”

“No you did not.”

“Um yes—”

“Um n—”

“Yes, how else was I going to be able to find out what was hurting him?” you interrupt, turning to face Hobi, feeling the migraine in your head about to pop.

“And why would you need to know that?”

“Because I lo—” you quickly catch yourself before you could complete the sentence, crossing your arms and pouting. Like hell you’d confess in front of Hobi.

Hobi looks at you knowingly, “Because you what,” he taunts, knowing exactly what you were going to say,

“Just drive,” you mumble, your attention back to the window beside you, focusing on the view of the city streets.

“Ah Y/N, there you are!” Jimin greets you and Hobi, having barely walked in from your argumentative car ride, “You’re on in like ten minutes,” he nervously chuckles, worrying only minutes ago that you were going to be a no-show.

“That quick?” you ask in complete shock, barely having taken off your dress-coat. The churns in your stomach begin to make you feel physically sick and there’s now a certain dryness to your throat that you could only accredit to the tension you were now feeling. Your palms were even beginning to get a little sweaty. Why were you doing this again? Oh yeah … Jungkook.

“Come on let’s go and get you set up,” Jimin tugs at your hand, pulling you to follow him. With your other hand, you attempt to look for your flash cards, wanting to remind yourself of the specific points you needed to cover.

“What the—” your heart drops, unable to feel the flimsy piece of paper anywhere near the coat that hung against your arm, “Oh no,” you murmur to yourself, not wanting to panic Jimin, “No, no, no,” you repeat to yourself.

“Okay here we are,” he stops you two in front of your draped-covered painting, pulling out a lapel mic from his pocket, clipping it onto the collar of your outfit. Now that you weren’t moving, you were now barely taking note of just how many people filled the galleria, and it was a lot. There had to be at least 200 people, minimum. Each and every one of them slowly looking around at the already unveiled art pieces, their eyes doing the judging for them.

“Jimin I don’t know—”

“Hey, you’re gonna do just fine, it’s just a bit of stage fright I’m sure,” he reassures, and though you appreciate the gesture, coming from him it just didn’t mean much. You see, Jimin has always been what's called an optimistic person, similar to you in a way. Always trying to find the good in the bad. But in order for his words to really have some effect, it would’ve been better if he was a pessimist, someone who always saw the negative in everything because then to hear that you would do just fine would come more as a shock rather than as something expected, someone like—

You shake your head,“I’m just,” your outfit suddenly begins to feel as if it's squeezing the life out of you, “I’m really nervous,” you whisper to him out of breath, watching as people begin to crowd around your area. Were the walls closing in or was it just you?

He begins to test the mic, “Jimin—” you repeat his name, a cry for help, “I can’t—” but it’s too late.

“Hello everyone,” he speaks into his own microphone, and you scan the audience to see if you can spot Hobi. When you do, you notice the look of panic he has on his own face, probably aware of your distressed state, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it, “This artist I’m introducing to you, has been a personal friend of mine for years. I’ve known her since my first year in college, and I can vouch for just how talented she is,” Jimin glances at you, unaware of just how truly panicked you were, “So without further ado, y/n take it away,” he steps away, leaving you under the sole spotlight.

Remaining silent for a moment, you stare at the several pairs of eyes that had their gaze solely focused on you. “H-Hello,” you stutter into the mic, glad that it wasn’t a handheld one as you were sure that you would’ve been a jittering mess, “Um my name is y/n l/n,” you nervously smile, trying to find something to focus your attention on. Originally you planned on staring at Hobi the whole time, only to find out it made you even more of a stuttering mess. God, was it getting hot in here.

“So um I think we should um reveal the painting first,” you sputter out, signalling to Jimin that it was time. Slowly he removes the drape, the sound of clapping providing you a bit of a soothing effect. People liked it. People freaking liked it. It felt as if a brick or two had been dropped from your shoulders.

You gulp continuing with your speech, “So I um—” breathe y/n, “I call this piece safety net,” you turn sideways towards the painting, ready to explain, “I call it that because as y-you can see in the painting,” you mindlessly point to it as if the audience couldn’t see it themselves, “There’s the um the figure falling into what I call a safety net of flowers and—” you stare at the painting along with them, finding yourself getting lost in your own work, “well I painted this after—” you pause, the room completely silent, “after finding myself wanting to be someone’s safety net,” you mumble to yourself, a certain person coming to mind.

There’s an awkwardness to the room, the kind of stiffness you only find in tense moments. You weren’t sure if it was because the audience was trying to be respectful or you were just making a complete mess out of yourself, but either way Jimin awkwardly coughs, “So um we will now take questions from the audience,” Jimin hesitantly says, by now noticing the extremely panicked state you were in, but unsure of what to do.

A woman raises her hand, a volunteer for the galleria handing her a mic, “Hello,” she politely greets, giving you a warm smile, “So I was curious as to why you chose two colors that don’t conventionally go well together, I was wondering if you did that on purpose or…” and though you know her question means no harm, the voice in your head was convincing you that this was some kind of an attack.

“I um—” your breathing becomes heavier, “I—” Just speak, you keep telling yourself. Tell her that you chose two colors because they represented two different personalities. Say something you freaking idiot. “I um c-chose—” you begin to hear the sound of people murmuring all around you, their voices echoing loudly through your head. What were they saying? Did they hate your painting? Did they think it made absolutely no sense? Was it really that bad? What were you thinking when agreeing to do all this? How could you have been convinced to do this? You didn’t paint anymore for this exact reason.

With every thought that races through your mind, the sudden sense of impending doom only becomes stronger and your rapid breathing becomes louder. You had to be sweating because God did it feel like a fucking sauna in here. The tightness in your throat wasn’t helping at all as well only making the feeling of nausea further overwhelming. You needed to get out of here. Now.

And so without thinking… you run.

You yank out the mic and begin to run to God knows where, ignoring the shouts of your name along with the small number of gasps that could be heard.You needed to breathe again, and you desperately needed this feeling of danger to be gone.

Trying not to bump into too many people walking the dark city streets of Seoul, focusing on the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement, tuning out everything around you. “Just run,” you tell yourself, “Run until no one can find you.”

Soon the sound of your heels clacking against the pavement becoming the sound of your heels crunching against leaves. The pitch blackness of your surroundings causes tears to begin to well up, the trembling of your fingers along with the chills running down your spine making you feel as if you were running in an endless loop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

You come to sudden halt, pushing your arm against a nearby tree, desperately trying to catch your breath. You were alone now, isn’t this what you wanted? So then why did you still feel as if the world was crashing down on you. Why couldn’t you breathe? Why were hot tears spilling from your eyes? What the hell was wrong with you?

By now your sobs are in full force, your heaving chest only adding to its force. Because of your crying, you fail to hear a voice, “There you are!” Jungkook catches his breath, surprised at how fast you could run in heels. For a small second he thought he had lost you in the chase, with the way you maneuvered around everyone, he was thankful he hadn’t.

“Y/N,” he calls out, expecting you to turn, but he’s met with silence. You were having a panic attack, a bad one at that. Making his way closer to you, he’s careful in how he approaches you, grabbing your hand before you could run any further, “Y/N,” he repeats, this time turning you to face him, but you continue to cry in hysteria, your vision blurred by just how fast tears were falling from your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me y/n,” he cups your face with his hands, a worrisome but firm look on his face, “I need you to breathe with me, okay?” your chest continues to heave, the rapid breaths of air coming from your mouth at an alarming rate, “Y/N!” he shouts, causing you to go silent, “Y/N…” he softly repeats, knowing he’s gotten your attention. You stare at him in silence, “One,” he inhales a big breath of air, “Two,” he exhales out, “Inhale,” he repeats his actions again, “Exhale,” he breathes out.

Slowly you begin to follow. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

In no time, your heartbeat begins to slow down, your mind focused enough on the task at hand that you begin to forget why you were ever panicked to begin with. “Hey,” Jungkook whispers, caressing your cheek with his hand, “You’re doing great,” he reassures you, providing you the words of comfort you so desperately needed to hear right now.

It had been so long since you’d gone through having a panic attack, almost forgetting just how bad they could sometimes get. But for now staring into Jungkook’s eyes and practicing some breathing exercises was enough to remember that no matter how bad they got, you’d get through them.

His fingers gently graze your cheeks, continuing to mumble small phrases of reassurance while you were getting control of yourself. “Has anyone ever told you,” you place a finger to the corner of his eye, quietly breathing your words out, “you have very round eyes,” you say and Jungkook lets a huffed laugh out in response.

He scrunches his nose and smiles, “Yeah, a lot of people have actually,” he laughs, a toothy grin spreading across his face while he uncups your cheeks, feeling a sense of tranquility wash over him as he knew you were going to be just fine, “I’ve been told they look like a doe’s eyes,” you quietly nod your head yes, agreeing with his statement, a warm smile on your face.

“Come on,” he intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you to follow him and leading you to a park bench that was near. But the thing was, it wasn’t just any park bench, it was the park bench from the night Jungkook was drunk and the two of you had gotten into the fight with that drunk man. What were the odds? You hadn’t even noticed that you ran this far till now...

He exhales a large breath of air once you two sit, allowing a neither comfortable nor awkward silence fill the air. Despite the heartwarming moment that happened only minutes ago, there were still things that needed to be talked about. Things that simply couldn’t be forgotten. It was the sole reason he had gone to the art exhibition because he wanted, no, he needed to talk to you.

He just hadn’t expected to see you running out in complete panic right as he walked in. The tears that were slowly rolling down from your eyes, causing him to feel a sudden sense of heartbreak. For the only reason you’d ever cry would be if your hard work were to be destroyed, whether physically or emotionally. It was the same despaired look you had given him that fateful day he decided to throw everything good that was becoming of his life out the window.

And so to see the scene in front of him play out had definitely caused both a mix of anger and sadness to boil within him. His urge to defend and protect you, almost overcoming his need to go out and make sure you were okay. That was until he found himself running out the door, signalling to Hobi that he’d handle it.

And so now here the two of you were, quietly sitting on a park bench with your hands being the only things physically touching, a comfort of its own for the both of you. It didn’t feel weird nor did it feel wrong because if anything it just felt right.

A part of you thinks and hopes it could remain like this forever, scared that if it didn't, you’d have to return back to the world where you and Jungkook were nothing more than strangers who were once friends. The world where acting as if one or the other didn’t exist was completely normal. The one where you’d find your heart selfishly longing for him despite stubbornly not wanting to. And so whether it be for a small second, a minute, or an hour, for now at least you just wanted to savor the moment because who knew what would possibly happen if he decided to leave and never come back.

“Y/N…” he begins.

“Shh,” you whisper, your puffy eyes softly gazing at the view of the trees in front of you, the silhouettes of trees as well sound of the wind softly pushing against the branches, a view you were once so scared of, not so scary anymore, “Just one more second,” you close your eyes, taking in one final breath of air. Jungkook feels his heart swell at the sight, remembering the scene from only months ago where it had been you doing all the staring. You pull his hand when you’re ready, your soft gaze now directed towards him.

“I just—” he begins to stutter, “I wanted to—” he feels his eyes get watery, the rush of emotion he was beginning to feel almost overwhelming him, “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” his voice slightly cracks, “for everything,” he whispers, allowing a tear to fall from his eye, feeling the weight he had been holding onto his shoulders now falling. The small leaks of vulnerability that you had occasionally seen now completely flooding through his walls of defense, that single tear becoming several, until soon you hear a sob emit from his mouth, but by then you have him wrapped in a hug, the sound of his sobs being muffled by your shoulder. Slowly you caress his hair, gently stroking and twirling the locks of his wavy hair in between your fingers, deciding that this time around silence was the best way to go.

“I’m so sorry,” he hysterically cries, holding onto you tighter, as if you’d go anywhere. He begins to shake his head, struggling to find the words that’d best describe how he felt at this current moment, “I’m—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” it’s your turn to say the words, gently pushing him off you so he could meet your gaze, “I know,” you reassure, “and I forgive you. The same way I’m sure you’ve forgiven me for snooping around your room like that,” you jokingly assume, and he smiles despite having red bloodshot eyes, “We were angry, and we said and did things that we shouldn't had but that doesn’t mean we have to hold them over our own heads for the rest of our lives,” you grip his hand tighter, “you made a mistake, and I made one as well. And rather than explode on one another and ignore each other, we should’ve talked about where we went wrong, and yeah,” you repeat your words from months ago, “maybe we didn’t get to do this as early as we hoped, in fact we’re quite late,” you giggle, “but we’re here nonetheless. And so let’s talk,” you say, ready to listen to the boy you had fallen in love with.

Jungkook stares at you in silence, a million thoughts racing through his mind, wondering how you always knew exactly what to say at the exact moment, “I,” he hesitates before continuing, “I need to start from the beginning,” he says, wiping any residue from the tears in his eyes, ready to open up the book he had kept closed for so long.

You nod to him, signalling that you were listening, “When I was a kid, I um,” he gulps, “I guess you could say I had a knack for boxing. Originally, my dad had taught me as a way to protect myself if I ever came across a situation that’d require me to defend myself,” his fingers begin to fidget within yours, a sign that he was nervous. Quick to soothe him, you rub small circles on the palms of his hands, his gaze occasionally avoiding eye contact.

“But I also think it was because my dad, who once wanted to be a boxer himself, saw me a way to vicariously live out his dream. Because soon he noticed that the knack I had for it was more of a talent,” a small smile appears on his lips, “and well by then he had begun to seriously train me… I remember always coming back after school and dulging right into practice, waking up on weekends and running laps at the park with my dad in order to gain stamina, and just,” he exhales a breath, “and just thinking to myself how proud I wanted to make him,” uncontrollably a tear falls from his face once again, and he tries to gain his composure before continuing, not wanting to begin the sob fest too early, “Once he thought I was ready, my dad had begun to sign me up for amatuer competitions, and well I did amazing,” Jungkook laughs.

“And soon boxing would become the sport I’d find myself building my life upon, but one day—“ he sighs, knowing the conclusion to his own story and well this was only the beginning, “one day during high school we had this um career day I guess you could call it, and well long story short after going around and listening to how passionate some of spokespersons were of their careers, I remember thinking, is boxing something I was doing for myself or for my father?”

A sad smile appears on his face, “I think the most confusing part for me was that I wasn't exactly passionate about anything else but I also just knew deep down in my heart that boxing wasn’t for me, you know? To this day I don’t know what exactly it is I'm passionate for,” he laughs, “and I certainly don’t see myself making coffee and flipping pancakes for the rest of my life,” he jokes around, an attempt the make the atmosphere a little lighter, “but I think with the help of someone I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s okay to be a bit of a late bloomer,” he winks at you, “one day I’ll wake up and just know…”

You give him a small reassuring smile, happy to know that he’s learned his own lessons along the way, even if it required a bit of pushing.

”But back to my story,” he awkwardly laughs, the small feign of happiness gone, “Though I had realized it already… maybe it was because I was scared, or maybe it was just—” he shakes his head, unable to find the words, “I just,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t tell my dad because for me telling my dad would feel as if I was telling him that all the years of hard work were going down the drain. That the endless nights of working out and exhausting ourselves to sleep were all for nothing. And so when my dad told me that managed to get me a spot at some training camp in the states, I took it. I mean it wasn’t like I had anything going for me here in Korea, and well I needed to guarantee my own future,” he shifts uncomfortably, remembering everything a little too vividly.

“I did pretty well for a couple years, slowly began climbing the ranks, and the natural talent I had for the sport was beginning to really shape itself, even catching the attention of prominent sport reporters. Long story short, I’d find myself surrounded with nothing but yes men and leeches who wanted nothing more than a piece of my so called success,” he gazes off to the distance, ashamed of the ego that had been built as a result of such people, “and well when you get told that you’re the best, that no one can stop you, that you’re untouchable, you truly begin to believe it,” he lets out a chuckle, “so when Brandon Star, a man who was nearly out of my weight class, began to provoke me for a fight on television after winning some match and I kept hearing from my so called friends that it’d be an easy match or that it was a guaranteed win, how could I say no? Of course at the time I didn’t know that they would be betting against me… so I said yes.”

A momentary silence fills the air as Jungkook had never told this whole story to anyone, the revealing of everything somewhat freeing for him, “A part of me knew I was way in over my head, it was like a gut feeling, you know? But I needed someone, anyone, to tell me the truth and to confirm what I was thinking. I needed someone who was going to criticize me instead of nodding their head yes and pretending that everything was going to be just fine. I think that’s why when I first met you, you reminded me so much of the people who were around me in the states, faking a smile in order to spare my feelings.” Sadness clouds his features, ashamed of how he took everything out on you when all you were doing was simply being the person you always were... kind. For that, he was truly sorry.

“Anyways,” he continues, “that night of the fight, the feeling I had in my stomach was overwhelming. I told my dad, who was helping prep me backstage like he always did, that I felt nervous. That I was scared,” his voice cracks and he closes his eyes, remembering the scene as if it was yesterday, “and my dad well...he’s always struggled with separating being a father and being a trainer,” Jungkook tries to contain the sob that’s begging to come out, “but at that moment I just needed my dad. I needed him to tell me that win or lose everything was going to be fine. That he’d be proud of me no matter what,” he finally cries, and as you’re about to pull him into another hug, he vigorously shakes his head, stopping you from doing so.

“No, I need to finish thi—”

“Jungkook,” you softly interrupt because it wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear anymore, you just weren’t sure if you could hear anymore without at some point sobbing yourself, “you don’t need to, especially if you’re not ready,” you stare at him with a sad look on your face.

“No, you deserve to know,” he firmly states, “you deserve to know,” he quietly repeats to himself. You nod your head in understanding, waiting for him to continue as he wipes away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, composing himself.

“He told me that I’d do just fine, that the son he’s trained so long for wouldn’t fail him now,” he mumbles, the words of his father still echoing in his mind, “When you go and box, you’re supposed to enter that ring with no concerns of the real world, you’re supposed to put any negative or anxious thoughts you had outside the ring to rest. Because the moment you let just one of those thoughts seep through, you might as well hang up your gloves right then and there,” his expression hardens, “I went into that ring knowing I was going to lose…”

“From there I don’t remember too much,” he bitterly lets out a laugh, “I just remember being on a gurney and feeling the heaviness of Star’s punches beginning to weigh down on my chest, clearly having done some damage to my ribs,” he sighs, “but the moment I remember so clearly is my parents trying to make their way to me, doing their best to push their way in an effort to see me. I don’t know if it was because I was just so mad at myself,” his voice shakes, “or because I confused the look of sadness on my dad’s face with disappointment, but at the time—“ his voice falters again, “At the time I thought how ashamed he must’ve been of me,” he fights through his tears, trudging through the story, “And so as I was being lifted into the truck, I kept yelling how this was his fault, that it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be in this position,” Jungkook lifts his head up, combing a hand through his hair.

“When I got to the hospital, I refused to let my parents see me, I was just too—“ God, did he sometimes wish he could go back in time and change everything, “I was too stubborn, too ashamed with myself to even look at them. So I ran,” he says, catching you by surprise, “I needed time alone so I ran,” he repeats, “I ran before they could find me, I just got up and ran,” there’s a haunting emptiness that lingers in his voice, one that brings chills down your spine.

“I called Hobi, and I told him that I needed to redeem a favor,” your mind flashes back to the night Hobi told you what he knew, “And I thought this is what I needed. That I’d be okay with starting anew, and that if I could firmly plant my feet in Seoul then I could visit my parents in Busan, and tell them how sorry I was without them having to worry too much about what the future would hold for me… and explain to them what happened, what I felt, and why I ran. That was my plan,” his voice cracks, “I was reaching a point in my life where I felt so content, so happy. I’d wake up to see you and Hobi making breakfast while imitating some random girl group dance and think to myself how things had managed to turn out so well for me despite my failure in the states. Or when we binged on One Piece episodes that whole night while stuffing our faces in tubed ice cream and I just felt like a little kid again without a worry in the world. But then …”

Jungkook feels the heavy feeling in his chest grow, “He passed away,” and just like that Jungkook feels as if the air has come out of his lungs, the same way it did the night he found out.

You feel your heart break at his words, recognition dawning over your face as everything was beginning to make sense. “My mom had managed to find my number in order to tell me there’d been an accident, and I just couldn’t believe it at first,” he attempts to hide his grief by stifling a sob, “I didn’t want to get up from bed at first because getting up would mean facing reality, it’d mean accepting that it wasn’t some kind of twisted fucked up nightmare but that it was real. That the last sight my dad saw of me was on some gurney,” his face twists, “that the last words I ever said to him were so—“ he breaks down, sobbing once again and this time you feel your own hot salty tears fall from your eyes, wrapping in such a tight hug that you weren’t sure if it was for his or your own sake.

He cries a sound so raw that it was almost as if the wound was still freshly cut, his hand clasping tightly onto your clothing for support. Any last defensive wall he had up was washed away by his salty tears, finally facing the final waves of grief, loss, and devastation in the arms of the person he had taken everything out on. The person he didn’t deserve at all, but had stayed nonetheless. You whisper sweet comforting words to his ear, wanting more than his grief to subside so that you could see the smile you loved so much appear on his face again.

“I just wish there was something I could’ve done differently,” he shakes his head, “so that he could know just how much his son loved and appreciated him,” he lifts his head up from your shoulder, wiping his tears away, and practicing his breathing as his chest had been heaving so bad because of his sobs, “And so that was why I completely changed that June and became cold. That was why I got so mad when I saw you in my room with the broken trophy I had gotten when I was a kid because I was just so reminded of everything,” he frowns, “and it had hit me like a freaking truck. To see my current world and the past one collide was just—“ he pauses, “overwhelming to say the least,” he concludes everything and you’re left there completely speechless.

You could’ve never in your wildest dreams even guessed that this was why Jungkook had come back to Seoul and why he had acted so cold for so long. His grievances had happened in such a short period of time, that all it took was one wrong move to set him completely off. No wonder he had kept himself so isolated … he knew he was ticking time bomb waiting to finally explode at any given moment.

The two of you stare at each other in silence, his words processing in both of your minds. You want to say the words that are currently repeating themselves in your mind, I love you. Three simple words that could make him forget his past, even if it was for a small moment in time. “Jungkook—” he looks up at you, “I—” you stutter, the words clinging onto the tip of your tongue, “I um,” you feel your chest become heavy as he stares at you in curiosity, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” you force out instead. He furrows his eyebrows, ready to protest against your apology, but you’re quick to interrupt before he gets the chance to.

“Since you’re being so honest with me, I feel like it’s only right I’m honest with you,” you bite your lip, disappointed with your cowardice, “So that like that we get a better understanding of one another,” you feign a smile.

“There’s a reason why I got so um…” you pause, “anxious before and during the galleria,” you narrow your eyes, it was now your turn to open a book that’d long been left incomplete. “I told you right? That I was an art student at Busan’s Art college but that I ended up transferring after an incident occurred…” He quietly nods, allowing you to continue, “and well I think I’m ready to talk about it,” you let out a breathy chuckle.

He stares at you in silence, ready to listen as well. “Growing up, I really liked painting,” you laugh, recalling the memory of you painting on the walls as a kid, “for some reason it was something I found myself falling further in love with every calendar year, but my parents, well they were on the more skeptical side of making a career out of it. I mean I don’t really blame them,” you sound unsure, “I mean I know that it’s hard these days to find success in the world of arts, or at least the level of success most people want to obtain but originally for me it didn’t matter,” you chuckle, remembering how naive you had been.

“Before entering college, I’d sell my little paintings and merchandise on those small-business centric websites like Etsy and stuff,” you say for example, “and you’re right, when you get told that you’re good at something, you really begin to believe it…”

Jungkook wants to interrupt and tell you that whatever your situation was, was much more different than his. That you were actually good at what you did, no, you were amazing at it. He wasn’t sure if he could listen to you talk down on yourself, but nonetheless he continues to listen.

“My first year of college I met people like Jimin who were so passionate about what they do that it really cemented the idea I had in wanting to turn my water painting into a career,” you sigh, “but in the back of my mind I always did have tiny doubts that lingered, and I always made sure not to feed them too much, but when you’re surrounded by people who are just as talented or even better than you, it gets hard not to.”

Jungkook completely understands where you’re coming from, having been in a similar position himself before. “And it didn’t help that my parents were constantly breathing down my neck about finding a different career to focus on,” you shrug “anyways,” you continue, shaking your head, “In Busan’s Art College, like many other colleges there are departments, like STEM and Business for example, but in this case things are separated by like dance, art, film, et cetera. And well if you can’t tell I’m a bit of a … pushy … person,” you laugh and Jungkook softly smiles, neither agreeing or disagreeing, “I think it’s due to me always feeling a need to overcompensate my insecurities, I guess. Like when you first moved in, in order to reassure myself that you didn’t hate me, the pushy side of me came out,” you explain, and the same way you began to understand Jungkook as he was explaining his story, Jungkook was beginning to understand you as a person.

“Well back to the focal point, I was a part of a committee club for painters within the art department, thinking that if I took charge of something, it’d increase my chances in succeeding in my career once I graduated. But the thing is, is when you join those committees I guess you could say there’s like a hierarchy of some sort, a cliché come to life,” you try your best to keep the conversation as lighthearted as you can, wanting the energy in the air to become one that was positive, a reflection of just how much you two had grown, “and well during my second year we were all assigned a project for some city poster in which we’d present to the committee’s leader, Nari, and where she and a couple of others would then choose which one was going to be used. And let me tell you, this was a career making project. The people who were going to be at the unveiling were names like Ji Hye Yeom, Haegue Yang, and more,” you sigh knowing you were coming to the rough part of the story.

“Nari had specifically told us that we were to only use materials she had chosen for us, and limited us to certain color schemes that in my opinion were the ugliest schemes I’d ever seen,” you scoff, “So me being the pushy person I am, I went ahead and continued with my original plan, which was making a watercolor painting because at the end of the day if my painting did happen to get chosen, I wanted it to be a genuine work of mine, not something that was limited by someone who was no more superior than me all because of some flimsy title,” you softly shake your head, “And so I poured my heart into it, working on it every chance I got during that school year in order to make sure that the committee would be so amazed , they’d have no choice but to choose it even if it didn’t exactly follow Nari’s regulations.”

A feigned smile graces onto your lips, refusing to cry at a situation from years ago, “I was so nervous that day to present it, but I was also so excited. Excited because I knew I created a piece that was so beautiful I—,” for a quick second your voice falters, but you’re quick to catch yourself, “I was just so sure they’d choose it,” you whisper, voice sounding frail and defeated.

“That day I presented it, I thought the silence that filled the room was because they were amazed,” you close your eyes for a moment, trying your best to push back any tears that wanted to make their way out, “God I still remember the extra specks of white and gold I added to it the night before, thinking those extra touches were really going to tip the scale in my favor,” you mumble, the embarrassment you felt that day coming back.

Jungkook feels his jaw harden, at this point an automatic response to the thought of your feelings being hurt. He didn’t know why, but to see someone as kind as you act out of character whether it be because you were mad or sad, always caused a heavy feeling in his chest. The only thing you deserved to feel was happiness and comfort, and though he wasn’t sure it was something, he, himself, could guarantee you … he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

“After what felt like 20 minutes, of complete silence she slowly got up in front of everyone,” you blankly stare at the trees in front of you, “I remember my heart beating out of my freaking chest for some reason, and the sweat beginning to form at my palms. And the moment she started speaking, I just went blank—” you turn to face Jungkook, who had a worrisome look on his face, “She started to berate me in front of everyone, insulting my hard work and telling me that even despite me breaking her guidelines, the painting still wasn’t any good,” you gulp, “But in fact, her words didn’t bother me at all,” you pause, “it was the comments from my supposed peers that really twisted the knife for me,” you scoff, “and then she did the unthinkable...”

Jungkook feels the heavy weight in his chest drop because he knows what you’re about to say. He knows what that woman did. And he knows why you were so hurt when he destroyed your painting, “She grabbed the canvas from the display board, and she ripped it,” you say, managing to muster up the smallest of smiles, but Jungkook knows that it's nothing more than a facade. An illusion so that he could think that you were no longer hurt by the actions of that woman.

“Once she did that, it just triggered everything else that followed after,” you furrow your brows, refusing to look at Jungkook, “I was being laughed at while having a panic attack,” you scoff, “I felt like I was in a scene from a high school movie,” you attempt to mask your hurt by making a joke.

“I ended up running out of the building, feeling as if my heart was going to explode from how fast it was pounding, and the compression in my throat was almost unbearable,” your voice cracks, “in just 20 minutes she took away any confidence I had in my artistic abilities, In just 20 minutes she made me question everything I knew about myself,” a tear finally falls from your eye, speaking the words you’d never said out loud before into the world.

“I attempted to stay at the school for a couple more weeks after that, but every time I picked up a paint brush, I just kept hearing her words along with the rest of my peers’ as well, second guessing every stroke I made on canvas. I had lost my spark,” you stifle a sob, “After that, I decided to transfer out and follow the plans’ my parents had always set out for me… and well, you know the rest,” you laugh in between your tears, wondering just how pitiful you must’ve looked. But soon enough you feel Jungkook's arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug so tight, you never wanted him to let go.

“Don’t leave,” you mumble into his chest.

Jungkook reassures you by cooing a small, “I won’t”, but gently you pull away once he does, holding onto his hand instead. A look of confusion washes over his face.

“No—” you shake your head, realizing he’s misunderstood, “I mean don’t leave our apartment,” you sniffle, giving him a small warm smile, leftover tears still brimming the corners of your eyes. His mouth gapes slightly open, taken back by your statement. He had completely forgotten that he was supposed to be moving out by Monday.

“We—” you shake your head, deciding that “we” wasn’t the right word in this case, “I need you,” you state, nothing but sincerity behind your words. Jungkook feels his heart skip a beat, the close-eyed soft smile that covers your face only making him smile in return.

He doesn’t need to say anything because you know … you know that he needs you just as much as you need him. You know that he’ll never leave your side from this day on because tonight was the start of a new chapter in your lives, one that included each other. Gently he pulls you into another hug, the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest being a feeling he could get used to.

“How did you even know where the venue was, or what the time the whole thing was?” you ask Jungkook, questions that hadn’t crossed your mind that day now forming.

“Hobi sent me a text that same night, very um … straightforward?” Jungkook chuckles, “It read, Art Exhibition. **** Namgang-Ro. 7:30 PM. Formal attire. You either go or you don’t. Up to you. Just don’t go crying later on that you regret not going. And well I had debated for several hours, originally chickening out and deciding to use me not having any formal suits as an excuse. That was until I walked into my room to find that Hobi had ironed one of his own for me to use,” Jungkook explains, “And well luckily I grew some balls and went and well now we’re here,” he smiles at you.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cut off too much of the story. We still have to remember all the good that came afterward,” you giggle, and he only flashes you an even bigger smile.

“Ah you’re right, you’re right. How could I forget?”

October 2019.

“Happy Halloween!” you and Jungkook wave to the kid dressed as Iron Man, glancing at the clock which currently read 10:00PM. Mm you’d give it one more hour before permanently closing your doors and calling it a day even if Jungkook protested for more time.

You see, tonight was Halloween, and for the first time since you and Hobi moved to your guys’ apartment, you were giving out candy to the little kids of your apartment complex who usually went floor to floor trick or treating and it was all thanks to Jungkook. You were surprised really, you would’ve never taken Jungkook as being someone who was such a kid at heart.

After weeks of begging, he’d finally managed to convince you and Hobi to not only dress, but distribute candy. Usually you and Hobi would turn off all the lights and ignore the knocks you’d receive on the door, choosing to have a movie night than to participate in Halloween festivities.

Realistically speaking, you sorta expected Jungkook to go out and party tonight which is why when he notified you weeks prior that all of you were going to be participating in giving out candy, you couldn’t find it in you to say no. Hobi on the other hand required a lot of convincing and though he wasn’t exactly helping with the distribution of candy, watching him dressed as Batman while lazily sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand was a gift in its own.

Jungkook, who desperately wanted to be a male version of Harley Quinn, had made you help him with cinching his crop top, exposing his toned lower abdomen every time he even stretched the slightest bit. It was…. quite a site … even causing several moms with their kids to “accidentally” stumble on your apartment floor again after only being there 10 minutes prior, your own little green monster finally making its appearance ….

But besides that, your favorite part of his whole costume was definitely the face/eye makeup he had done. The smoky blue and red along with the fake tatted heart under his left eye truly acting as the selling point of his costume. It just made him look very hot, more than usual. Hobi had even caught you staring at the boy on several occasions, teasingly nudging you whenever he did.

With Hobi dressed as Batman and Jungkook dressed as Harley Quinn, that of course only left you, who was currently dressed as none other than a female version of the Joker from Suicide Squad because despite how shitty the movie was, the style in which they made the Joker was still indeed very cool. Jungkook had even lent you his own natural artistic abilities to draw the tattoos where your dominant hand couldn’t firmly paint, laughing at the “twinsies” jokes you made in reference to his own tattoos. It had even given you the opportunity to ask him what each one of his own real tattoos meant to him.

Most of his tattoos, he explained, were done out of impulse. A majority of them being done in the states on a complete whim, but a couple of them held significant meaning to him. For example, his tattoo of a bandaged hand clearly represented his history with boxing. He explained that rather than get the overused boxing gloves as a tattoo, he’d get a simple bandaged hand done, deciding that it looked cooler and that you agreed with. Another example was the tattoo that translated to “Life Goes On” which was pretty self-explanatory, but meaningful nonetheless. Jungkook explained that it was one his favorite mottos growing up, and well recently it seemed to weave perfectly into his life.

But your favorite tattoo? The small One Piece manga strip he had across his left forearm. The story behind it almost caused you to shed a tear, had it not been for your white powdered makeup, you probably would've cried. You see, when Jungkook was a young boy he’d always watch One Piece as a distraction from boxing, falling in love with the story and its characters.

His dad, who’d always scold him whenever he caught him late at night watching the anime, never understood why Jungkook liked the show so much. It wasn’t until one night he somehow managed to convince his dad to watch the episode he was on, and despite not knowing anything about what was going on nor the characters’ names, his dad ended up loving the show just as much as him. The show had acted as a new bond between the two, from buying the latest manga volumes to staying up late at night to watch the newest episode. And well the strip on Jungkook’s arm was from the exact episode he had managed to convince his dad to watch with him that night. The tattoo serves as a representation of a memory he holds dearest to him, a memory of his dad.

“Ah I think that’s the last of it,” Jungkook looks into the last bag of candy he had bought, absolutely nothing left inside, “Wasn’t this fu—”

“Let’s go get a tattoo,” you interrupt, the idea coming to you out of nowhere. Jungkook tilts his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. A tattoo? You? Ms. I do not even have a dot of ink on my skin?

“A tattoo!?” Hobi turns from the TV, now having got his attention.

Both men stare at you in silence, thinking this was all some big joke until you begin to nod, reaffirming your choice, “Yes! All three of us! Matching roommate tattoos,” you smile, not exactly sure what had gotten into you, but surprisingly... completely okay with it.

Jungkook, noticing just how serious you were about this, begins to feel a smile form on his face. It wasn’t like he minded, he just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to regret it the next morning, “Y/N, you sure you one? I mean … you’re not someone I picture getting a tattoo, I mean think of your job,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, think of your job!” Hobi butts in, clearly not in favor of getting a tattoo.

Vigorously, you nod your head, “I’m one hundred percent sure,” you laugh, “I promise you, I won’t regret it,” you stick out your pinky finger, and Jungkook is quick to hug it with his own.

“W-What the?” Hobi stutters, unsure if it was the alcohol or shock in his system causing it. Probably both.

You turn to Hobi, “If you really don’t want it, then you don’t have to get it,” you shrug, “But at least come with us,” you smile, hoping that once you were there at the parlor shop you’d be able to convince him.

Sitting on the leather stool with your forearm displayed, the tattooist begins to prep your skin placing rubbing alcohol on the area in which you had chosen to get your tattoo. Now that you are here, you couldn’t lie, you were a bit nervous. But mostly because you were skeptical of the pain the needle would give you.

Jungkook had described it as “a cat repeatedly scratching a sunburn”... as if you were supposed to know what that means. He also said that depending on your pain tolerance you’d either like the feeling, get used to it, or absolutely hate it. It just varied from person to person as well as the placement where you were choosing to get it.

Supposedly the inner wrist didn’t hurt, but with the sudden stinging sensation you were feeling, you were a bit unsure of that now.

“So is that your boyfriend out there?” the woman tattooing you suddenly asks, catching you completely by surprise. If she didn’t have a pricking needle against your skin , you probably would’ve jumped at the accusation.

Trying your best to keep your cool, you respond, “Oh um—” you shake your head, “No,” you awkwardly laugh, “I wish”, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” she hums, the same smirk Jimin once gave you appearing on her face, “Sorta seemed like it out there, I mean I’m sure if he had the option he would’ve chosen to sit here right next to you and hold your hand,” she teases, and a blush appears on your cheeks.

“Oh that’s just how he is with everyone,” you reason, not wanting to feed into the delusions that Jungkook could possibly return any feelings for you, “He’s a very protective person, sometimes a little too much, but it has its benefits,” you joke around.

She shrugs, continuing to work on the small tattoo, “”Mm I don’t know, I mean the way with the way he looks at youuuu,” she sings, “because you clearly like him,” she laughs.

“No I don’t!” you pout, “We’re just close friends, that’s all….”

“Close friends don’t look at each other like that, and they’re certainly not as touchy as you two are,” she says, only causing you to scoff.

“You don’t know what you’re ta—”

“All done!” she smiles, wiping over the fresh new ink on your skin one last time, “Look how easy it was for me to get you to stop wincing so much,” she winks at you, and suddenly everything begins to make sense. She was trying to get you to relax. Was the topic she chose really the best one? No. But it worked didn’t it?

She places the plastic wrap over it, “So what do you think?” you stare at the new permanent piece of work on your skin, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Ah I—”

“Love it so much!” you flash Jungkook the two-month old ink on your skin, the digital numbers “00:00” acting as a permanent reminder of the day all three of you officially became roommates. It was small, yes, but to you it meant so much.

Jungkook pulls his own sleeve, showing you his own matching ink, “Zero o’ clock,” he hums, recalling a song he heard not too long ago on the radio.

“Ah too bad we couldn’t convince Hobi to get one,” you sigh, remembering how firm he was that night, “but we’ll get him next time,” you laugh.

Jungkook quirks his brow, “Next time?”

You nod your head, “I can see why people get addicted to these things,” you joke, “they’re like their own pieces of art,” you smile.

“Design mine next time,” he suddenly says, his statement coming off more as a command than a question. Turning to face him, you look for any small sign that he was joking.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’, “I think a watercolor style painting would look amazing rightttt,” he points to the side of his ribcage, “here.”

Eyes widening in shock, you’re in complete disbelief, “You—you’re crazy!” you laugh, refusing to take him seriously.

“Ah I’m being serious Y/N,” he pouts, “Come on you know you want toooo,” he sings, softly nudging you.

You stare at him for a moment, “Are you sure?” you ask, skeptical about his seriousness.

He nods, “As sure as you were about getting that tattoo that night,” he teases, and you only roll your eyes in return.

“Mmm,” you hum, “I’ll think about it.”

“Think?! I’m your roommate!” he dramatically complains, throwing his head against your shoulder, suddenly in a clingy mood. Maybe the tattooist was right… maybe you two were a little too touchy….

You mean, just last month during friendsgiving, Hobi just had to complain in front of everyone claiming, “If you two don’t get your own room—”

“Then I think at some point this turkey is going to come back alive just to tell you two himself,” he slurs his words, wine glass in hand.

Drunk Yoongi tags in, “How do you know it’s a he?” he squints his eyes, gearing up for a debate.

Hobi rolls his eyes and makes a dismissive motion with his hand, “Not now Yoongi,” he says, causing everyone sitting at the table to laugh, and he turns his attention back to you and Jungkook, currently sitting next to each other, “Are you two going to continue playing footsies or are you finally going to—”

Seokjin interrupts by awkwardly coughing and tapping his champagne glass with his fork, getting up from his seat in the process, “I think it’s the perfect time to do our annual “What am I thankful for” toast, so I’ll begin,” he laughs, all eyes on him, “So um this year I am thankful for all of my friends who continuously stick by side throughout the years, and for the wonderful woman I’ve grown to love more and more every day,” he warmly smiles at his girlfriend, the two already seeming like a married couple despite having only met this year. Seokjin turns his attention to Yoongi, signalling that it was his turn.

He groans before getting up, peeved as to why Seokjin always insisted on doing these things, “Okay okay—”

“This is gonna take a while,” you whisper to Jungkook, Yoongi’s speech now fading into the background.

Jungkook quietly chuckles in response, “You think? How long do you think it’ll take before he starts with his “back in my day” speech?” he jokes around.

Suddenly Yoongi’s voice becomes more audible, “Back in my day we didn’t use—”

You and Jungkook snortle a laugh, “Not long,” you respond, the two of you trying your best to keep your snickering at a low.

“So … got anything prepared?” he asks, this being his first year and all doing this kind of thing, he was a bit nervous as to what to say.

You shake your head, “Mm no, you just sorta say what’s on your mind? I guess?” you awkwardly laugh, “Trust me, as long as they have their bottles of soju next to them, whatever you say will go in one ear and out the other,” you reassure, remembering the first year you did this and gave a heartwarming speech, just for it to be ignored because Namjoon could’ve sworn he’d seen the “turkey move”. From there it led to an hour debate on whether a dead freaking turkey could still possibly be alive after having it in the oven for several hours.

He nods his head, noting what you’ve said.

After going around it was now the last toast of the night,“Ah and lastly onto our newest member in this friend group,” Namjoon, who had just finished his own speech, turns to Jungkook and pats his shoulder, “take it away,” he gives him a dimpled smile before sitting back in his seat.

Jungkook awkwardly blinks at him for a moment, not getting up until you nudge him to do so. “Oh yeah…” he forces a laugh, “Um so where do I begin,” you almost feel second hand embarrassment, if you thought you weren’t any good under pressure, Jungkook might take the crown.

“So… The first thing I want to say I’m thankful for are the new friends I’ve made since coming to Seoul,” he spares a glance to the boys, “um..” he bites his lip, “The second thing or person may I say, that I want to thank is Hobi…” he smiles at the drunk man, “well for giving me a second chance per say,” he chuckles, “I know I don’t say it often, but I’m truly grateful for you picking up my call that night,” Hobi gives a small warm smile, “And well the last person I want really want to mention that I’m thankful for is … you,” Jungkook suddenly turns his attention down to you, catching you by surprise.

Raising your eyebrows, you wonder where this is coming from, “I um—” he feighs a small laugh, “I know I wasn’t exactly the nicest person when I first moved in, but—” he exhales a breath, “But you gave continuously gave me a chance to prove otherwise every single time until I finally got it right,” he smiles, “and well last year I had a pretty rough year,” he jokes around, “and honestly I thought coming in 2019 it’d be just bad, but you single handedly proved me wrong and made sure this was going to be a year for me to remember and well for that I’m forever grateful,” you silently blink away any tears, not wanting to get teased at for crying after this his speech was done. He breaks away the gaze he held on you in order to finish his speech off, “So with that I say … cheers everyone!”

Everyone raises their glasses of whatever it was they chose to drink, clinking it all in the middle and repeating “Cheers!” before gulping down whatever was left of their drinks. The rest of the night is filled with nothing but laughs and joy, as well as the remainder of the month, every single day creating a new memory for the three of you, until you were left with nothing but...

“The present day,” you whisper to yourself, unable to believe that the year had gone by so fast.

“What a year it’s been huh…” Jungkook softly smiles, glancing at the time on his phone which reads 11:50. 10 more minutes until the new year. 10 more minutes until zero’o clock.

“Yeah…” a comfortable silence fills the air around you, how had the hour gone by in the blink of an eye? You wonder if it’s the effect Jungkook just naturally has on people because never did you find time going by so fast unless you were with him.

“I—”

“So—”

Your cheeks become a tinge of pink , “Oh you go first—” he shakes his head.

“No, no, go ahead,” he laughs, insisting that you go instead.

This was the perfect chance, the chance to tell him about the feelings you’d grown to have for him in the past year. You just needed to grow the courage to say those three letter words that were itching to be said. It was either now or never.

“I um, I just wanted to say thank you,” you chicken out once again, “I didn’t get the chance to say it on friendsgiving, but,” you gulp, “your speech it um meant a lot to me, and well I’m just as grateful for you,” you chuckle, “I think maybe even more.”

Had you noticed, you would’ve seen the slightly disappointed look on Jungkook’s face, “Oh..” he says, a small pout appearing on his face.

“What were you going to say?” you ask, faking the pep in your voice, ready to eternally scold yourself for being a chicken once you got back to the cabin.

He sighs, “It’s nothing really,” he shrugs, but you nudge his shoulder before he could divert the conversation elsewhere.

“Come on, just say it,” you tease, “because you either speak now or forever hold your piece,” you look at the time, “5 minutes till midnight.”

He stays silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should say what had been on his mind for quite some time, “I um—” fuck it, it was either now or never, “You know how I told you that I couldn’t sleep right? That it’s why I came out here…” you innocently nod your head as he continues, “well it’s cause I had already sorta been thinking about everything that’s happened this year…” he lets out a small chuckle.

“I mean isn’t it crazy?” he pushes his hair back with his hand, “Someone who was nothing more than a stranger before the clock hit twelve that night is now someone I can’t picture not being in my life,” you feel your heart flutter at his words, “And I mean to think we didn’t get along at first,” he lets out a breath of disbelief, “All because I was a person who was—” he pauses, unsure of how to describe himself from that time, “angry,” he decides to say, “I was an angry person who mad at the world,” he bites his lip in retribution for his attitude back then.

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head, “you were just someone who was… hurt. That’s all it was,” you say.

“You think?” you nod your head yes, “I never really thought about it like that,” he mumbles, “Would you do it all over again?” he suddenly asks, and you find yourself quirking your brow at his question, “Like if you had the chance would you do it all over again…” he further explains.

Without a second thought you say, “Yeah I would,” you giggle, “And you?”

He remains silent for a moment, pondering on his own question before nodding his head as well, “I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again because then I’d get to relive the process of falling in love with you all over again,” he finally says, “I’d get to pinpoint the exact moment this year that I fell in love with you.”

“In ten, nine, eight…” the families around you begin to shout the countdown, and all you can do is stare at Jungkook in disbelief of what you just heard come out of his mouth.

“Y-You love me?” you manage to stutter out, a smile now forming on your lips.

“Seven, six, five…..”

Silently, he nods his head, a loving smile on his face as he leans towards you, the flutter in your stomach only intensifying.

“Four, three, two, one….”

And as if time had stopped, his lips finally meet yours and the only thing you could feel were the placement of warm lips against yours, giving you a New Year’s kiss that would be remembered for years to come.

“Happy New Year!” the sound of fireworks popping are echoed in the background because the only thing you could focus on were the soft lips that were moving with yours. His fingers curl around yours, creating such an intimacy that you were sure you had to be dreaming. It wasn’t until you found yourself kissing him back that the reality of everything finally set in. Jungkook loved you.

Slowly he pulls away, savoring the kiss till its very last moment, “Happy New Years Y/N,” he whispers, a grin plastered on his face.

Laughing in return, you smile, “Happy New Years Jungkook.”

Once you and Jungkook returned to the cabin, you were met with several complaints from Hobi, “Finally! We’ve been freezing all night!” Hobi exclaimed the moment you two walked in, harshly grabbing the firewood from Jungkook’s hands. It wasn’t until he peeped your linked arms that everything began to make sense, “Ahhh,” he gives you two a toothy grin, “You guys, look who’ve finally confessed to one another,” he yells, catching the attention of everyone in the living room.

Suddenly the room is filled with several “finally’s” causing both of your mouths to slightly agape open. “What do you mean “finally” ?” you furrow your eyebrows, looking at Hobi for an explanation.

He scoffs, “Don’t act dense you two!” he laughs, “It was so obvious you two liked one another, you two were just too blind to see it yourselves,” he scolds both you and Jungkook by flicking your foreheads, “You just didn’t have to go confessing while all of us were freezing in here!”

Both you and Jungkook awkwardly laugh, a guilty look on one another’s face. “Well choo you two before I make you two clean everything up and babysit our friends!” Hobi makes a motion with his hands, and the two of you are quick to make your way upstairs into Jungkook’s room. Thankful that he didn’t punish the two of you.

Jungkook is quick to take off his puffy jacket, plopping himself onto the bed like a little kid, a loud breathy sigh following after. You stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to do, that is until you see him open his arms wide with a pout appearing on his face, “Come onnn,” he sings, “Let’s cuddle,” he shoots you a smile.

Playfully you roll your eyes before taking off your own jacket, plopping onto the spot next to him. Small feverish giggles escape your lips once he begins to give you tiny kisses all over, enveloping you in a hug so tight, it would’ve been impossible to ever doubt his feelings for you.

“Jungkook stop,” you laugh, the tickles he was now giving you making the sides of your stomach hurt, “Jung—” you attempt to push his hand away, face becoming red at just how much you were laughing, his own high-pitched laugh echoing across the walls of the room with you. From there he does a mixture of both tickling and kissing you, the two of you truly in your own world.

Soon though, your little game of tickles becomes a full on makeout session, not that you were complaining. Currently you lay under him with Jungkook leaning against you, using his arm that rested on the bed as support.

Slowly he slips his tongue into your mouth, gentle but demanding, nothing less than pure love behind the kiss. “Jungkooook,” you quietly whine once he begins to move onto your neck, every suckle lasting a little longer than the last. His hand interlocks with yours as he continues, you’re hand subconsciously playing with his hair from behind, making small twirls with the brown wavy locks of hair.

“I love youuu,” he cooes, a certain gleam to his eyes. Soon enough, his fingers were teasingly playing with the waistband of your leggings. And God, were you dripping. “Can I?” he innocently looks at you, licking his lips in the process. You’d be crazy to say no.

Nodding your head yes, he nudges your legs apart and begins to pull off the cotton fabric from your legs. You help him along the way, desperate to receive your own pleasure.

Teasingly, he swipes his index finger over the fabric of your underwear, continuing to pepper you with warm kisses on the underside of your jaw. The grip you had on his hair became tighter with every swipe, “Aren’t you wet?” he slyly chuckles, rubbing small circles with his placed finger.

“Stop teasing,” you whine, only causing him to muffle a laugh against your shoulder.

“I just wanna take my timeeeee,” he hums, placing a kiss to your cheek, “Can I take my time?” he pouts, only causing you to roll your eyes, agreeing nonetheless, “That’s my girl,” he whispers, pecking you on the lips before continuing, cupping your cheek with his … unoccupied … hand.

“God you’re beautiful,” he says staring at your pleasured expression, a result of the friction between his finger and your underwear becoming more intense.

“Jungkook,” your voice shakes, wanting needing him to do something before the muscles in your leg spasm any more.

“Shh shh not too loud,” he softly mumbles, because considering how drunk the boys’ were, any loud noise and you’d have someone idiotically stumbling into the room in order to find out whatever the noise was. Not wanting you to complain any more, he slips his finger under your underwear, pressing both his middle and index finger to the centerfold of your sex, “Look how wet you are,” he smirks, coaxing another moan from your lips.

Jungkook couldn’t lie, he’d envisioned this moment a couple of times before, but to have it becoming a reality was completely different than what he imagined. It was indeed better.

“I bet you’d love for me to take these off,” he teasingly pretends to pull down your panties, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Please Jungkook,” you cry, how was it possible to already be on the verge of releasing when he hadn’t even done anything explicit yet? He begins to move his fingers up and down your clit, coating his fingers with your wetness, preparing to insert his fingers in your aching hole, “Please—” you attempt to whimper his name again, but his lips passionately kiss you before you get the chance to. It’s once he does that, that the energy in the room shifts, becoming one of playful teasingness to one of passion and love. It’s while he kisses you that he finally sinks his single finger into your pussy, your wetness helping him in gradually picking up the pace until soon enough he’s able to slip in another. Your moan being suppressed by the pressing of his lips against yours, softly nibbling on your lower lip.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters, the squelching sounds coming from your pussy bringing him a sense of pleasure, “Can’t wait to make love to you,” he whispers watching as your eyes lazily roll back, the sight being one he’d remember for a very long time.

“J—Just like that Jungkook,” you manage to stutter out, your arousal dripping in and out of your pussy as he continues with his motions. By now you feel his hardened member kneading against panties, his self-restraint holding on by a string. God, did he wanna fuck your brains out already. Had you been some kind of one night stand and he probably would already be doing so, but you, well you were different. You were his. And he was going to make sure you knew it to.

With his other hand he begins to slide his way under your shirt, caressing your breasts while fingering you, “Take off the shirt,” he mumbles while planting kisses on your neck, and you’re quick to obey, pulling the shirt over your head and uncaringly throwing it onto the floor.

By now you were dressed in only your underwear and bra, which to you seemed a bit unfair and so purposely you begin to play with the hem of his shirt, in hopes that he’d get the message. When he doesn’t, you momentarily stop him from kissing you any further, mumbling a tiny, “Mm take off your shirt,” causing him to let out a breathy laugh. He does as told, exposing the toned torso you’d find yourself frequently gawking over for in the past year. Because truly, his body proportions were insane.

Gently pulling him from his hair, you deepen the kiss by running your other hand across his bare back, the warm skin to skin touch providing another level of intimacy. “Let me eat you out,” he murmurs against your lips, waiting for a simple three letter word so that he can finally pull off your panties.

Instead you give him a small “MmHm,” with a small nod which in this case would suffice as he was sure you were too lost in your own world of pleasure to properly respond. Delicately he removes your underwear, parting your legs in between before lowering his head.

Without saying a word, he runs his finger against your slit, licking and sucking on the fluid that dripped from his finger. What. A. Fucking. Tease. “Jungkooook,” you whine like a brat, the heat you felt below almost unbearable at this point.

“What a pretty pussy,” he rasps, gives your clit a gentle kiss before suckling against it, his saliva mixing with your fluids. Immediately you feel a wave of pure bliss, your fingers slightly trembling at just how good the sudden sensation felt.

“Oh God Jungkook,” you needily whisper once he slips his finger back inside, pushing it deep into your core all while eating you out. Your breathy moans along with the sound of your wet pussy being toyed around with, fill the room. With your eyes half-open, you manage to look down at the sight of Jungkook licking through your folds, his messy hair covering most of his face until you use your hand to push it back, wanting to savor the view in front of you.

“Just look at you,” he groans, admiring the view of your back arched along with your thighs which slightly quivered at the flicks of his tongue, “All fucking mine, you got that?” he asks.

When you don’t respond, he inserts a second finger, catching your attention.

“Yes!” you cry at the sudden jolt of pleasure, his fingers scissoring inside of you, “I’m all yours,” you answer and to that he smirks, curling his fingers inside you. His ego at a level unthinkable. From there he continues to suck and slurp any remnants of your wetness, ignoring your warnings that you were about to orgasm.

It isn’t until he feels a quick rougher than usual tug to the hair followed with a gentle release that he knows you’ve came. Only then does he stop, quickly making his way to sweetly kiss you as you ride through your orgasm. You barely manage to kiss him back, too overwhelmed by orgasm he just brought down on you.

He cups your face once again, making out with you once again even if you were lazily kissing him back, “Jungkook,” you croak out, “Make love to me,” you dazedly whisper, recalling his words from earlier, and without a single word he begins to kiss you again, this time even more passionately (if that was possible) your words triggering a certain fire within him. And despite being in a post-orgasm state, you kiss him with just as much passion as he is doing to you.

By now the two of your hands’ were entangled with each others’ hair, Jungkook roughly pressing his clothed erection against the barity of your pussy. Releasing one of his hands from his hair, he smoothly travels down your back, removing the clasp of your bra with his hand. Deciding not to question his skills, you help further remove it until you’re only left completely nude. Your tits now on full display for him.

He soon begins to tenderly suck on your hardened nipples, one hand caressing the opposing tit whenever he was sucking on one, providing equal attention to both. You begin to play with the button of his black pants, desperately ready to have Jungkook completely inside you. Jungkook notices your lack of patience, deciding that just this time he’d give you what you want.

Pushing himself off you, he begins to unbutton his pants, your heart now beating out of excitement once you see the band of his black boxers. This was really happening. And though you’d seen Jungkook’s cock before, specifically with a woman having it wrapped inside her mouth, to see it this time around was definitely much more shocking than the first…. Was he always this big? The veins that run along his fair-colored cock only add to it’s intimidating appearance.

Pushing himself back on you, he sloppily kisses you all over, from your mouth to the side of your neck, slowly making his way downard. His cock teases the slit of your entrance, coaxing along the delicate folds of your pussy. Intertwining his hand with yours, he looks at you one last time, “You ready?” he breathes out.

Biting your lip, you slowly nod your head yes, his head then slowly pushing into your tight entrance, a groan coming from both of your lips, “God I fucking love you,” he breathily moans beside your ear.

“I love you too,” you whisper in return, his gaze never leaving yours as his cock tortuously enters you inch by inch, the grip you have on his hand tightening with every passing second, “Oh my god,” you whimper, his pre-cum along with your prior wetness making the push inside more bearable.

It isn’t until you’re completely filled up by his cock that he slowly begins to move. Each and every deep thrust garnerning both whines and mewls from you, “Fuck,” he moans, his voice raspy from pleasurable sensation he was feeling. Somehow he manages to continue to plaster kisses all over you, his hands tightly wrapped around your waist as he continues to grind his hips against yours, making nothing but love to you.

Your hot walls now take him with ease, the small pressure you had originally felt having slowly faded away. He keeps his thrusts at a moderate pace, wanting to savor the moment.

“J—Jungkook,” you cry out, feeling your second orgasm coming as you wrap your legs around his waist. He begins to pick up his pace, “Faster,” you moan, remembering that he was definitely okay with having rough sex, considering how many times you’d have to hear other woman moan just how harder they wanted back in the beginning of last year. Who said he couldn’t do the same for you?

“Faster?” he questions, a certain spark now in his eye, “You sure?” eagerly you nod your head yes, too lost in the idea of your possible orgasm to think of the repercussions of your answer. Because soon you find yourself getting completely fucked out, the pace of his thrust becoming almost uncomparable to the pace he was going before, this time not caring at all for rhythm. By now you're sure that your different number of cries and moans could be heard from downstairs, but honestly you could give less of a fuck.

The sound of your skin slapping with his echo against the wooden walls, your eyes screwing shut as you felt your high come. His rapid thrust continuing as he fucks you into oblivion, “Just look at you, creaming on my fucking cock,” he groans, by now sweat was forming on the creases of his forehead, “and to think I get to have you like this all to myself, every single day,” he chuckles, the tight feeling in his abdomen signalling to him that his own release was coming.

“Cum in me Jungkook,” you whine, and with that he does, his white milky cum coating your walls from the inside and out. He admires the view in front of him, the sight of you completely fucked out with his cum dripping from the entrance of your pussy, wondering how he got so lucky.

Out of breath, the two of you cuddle with one another, your eyes half closed, ready to knock out at any moment. But before you do, Jungkook peppers one last kiss onto your cheek, mumbling a final “I love you,” ready for the new memories this year would bring for the two of you.

a/n : ahhhhhh! finally finished with my finals so i was able to finally get this done! for some reason i sorta got attached to this couple, i think it’s because we got to see literally every month of their forming relationship so i just ended up really loving the dynamic between the two lmao. butttt all stories must come to an end :( and i’m very happy with how this story came out, but who knows maybe we’ll this couple again in the future. anywayssss like, reblog, comment, message me an anon or even directly! anything is appreciated (I swear im not a mean person) and ill see yall next time! 💞

mini taglist: @ggukkieland @unicornbabylover

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nishisun · 3 years

Text

best part ☁️/ 002. first breakfast together

masterlist | previous | next

Kuroo places his phone on the side next to him and stretches his arms a bit, noticing that your head is placed softly in his chest. She’d kill me if she woke up like this right now.

He can’t help but stare at your sleeping figure, admiring the way you’re sleeping so peacefully. His arms are placed awkwardly by his sides on the bed, scared that you may wake up if he places any arms around you. He doesn’t want this moment to end.

He knows he’s the reason why you two aren’t together and yes, he does regret it. He regrets it so much. He’s never one to do something so impulsive but with the way things ended for the both of you, he’s just grateful you’re even talking to him again. Lord knows he wouldn’t be as kind as you have been with him.

He wants this moment to last forever.

But, the truth hurts, and so does reality because when he feels you shift, his heart nearly stops.

Not only do you shift, you’re awake now, barely awake until you look around and realize you were sleeping on Kuroo. You look up at him and he already knows he’s a dead man.

You’re glaring at him now, he’s trying to muster up the courage to even explain himself because your death stare has that much of an effect.

“You pervert!” you nearly screech.

“I woke up and this is how you were! I didn’t want to bother you. I know you had a long day yesterday!” Kuroo raises both of his hands up in defensive, and you roll your eyes at him before rolling to the side of the bed so you were finally off of him and laying down facing his opposite direction.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’re not mad..?”

“What time is it?”you ask, still facing the opposite direction. He glances at you before reaching for his phone to check the time.

“It’s 7:04”

“Perfect. I need to make Takeru breakfast before he wakes up.”

“Why does he eat so early?”

“Kuroo, what does that even mean?”

“Smells good in here,” Kuroo walks in the kitchen, a towel draped on his shoulders with slightly damp hair caused from sweat. He walks over and hugs you behind the waist, it would’ve been a romantic gesture if you were actually together, but you’re not, and you nearly screech at him.

“My God, go take a bath.” you mutter, he doesn’t ignore the way your cheeks are turning into a bright shade of pink. “Where’d you go anyway?”

“I see you’re still acting cold towards me.” You glare at him, and he raises his hands up before laughing. “I’m kidding, I went for a run.” He shrugs, grabbing a piece a banana. “You live in a pretty nice neighborhood, so that’s good for the kid.”

“What do you even know about kids?” you scoff.

“To be honest, absolutely nothing. I know they need food and shelter. And clothing too, I guess.” he looks over at you and notices you’re scrambling eggs and he admires how you look so concentrated even when doing the simplest task. “But I wanna learn more about kids, more about Takeru. He seems like a nice kid.”

“Oh, he is. I raised him right.”

“I mean, of course. It is you we’re talking about.” He agrees, he doesn’t even know how much of an effect that had on you. “While I was running this one lady stopped me and asked for a photo so she could send it to her son.”

“I always forget you’re famous.” you huff a laugh as you continue to fry the eggs.

“Well, not famous, just rich.” you roll your eyes, “To others, I’m a young and successful CEO, but to you and friends and family, I’m just regular Tetsuro.” He takes a bite into his banana. “Remember that one time in college, when we planned on majoring in the same subject just so we could have the same job?” You immediately chuckle, remembering the event.

“We were so naive.” It’s Kuroo’s turn to chuckle, he looks over to you and grins when he sees you smiling to yourself. It’s the first time in a while he’s seen you even let out a laugh in front of him. You usually keep to yourself. “Things were different, back then.”

“They were,” He crosses his arms with the banana still in his hand. “Hey, what do you do now, by the way?”

“Well, I’m a finance manager for a museum. I just file reports and long-term financial goals and other stuff.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing, Y/N! Heard they pay really well.” He sounds so genuine, you can’t even look him in the eye.

“Yeah, it’s nothing really.” You shrug off, but you can’t help the way your heart swells. He’s always been so supportive.

“Are you kidding me? That’s literally like boss girl shit. You’re literally bad ass.” You laugh at the nickname and he joins in with you. You look up at him and smile again, about to thank him until you hear a small pair of footsteps walking down the halls.

It was Takeru, he was rubbing both of his eyes while walking, which was blocking his vision, He’s just about to run into a box, thankfully Kuroo swiftly picks him up and places him in his feeding chair.

“Woah there, bud! You gotta be more careful, okay?” The boy nods shyly, still very unfamiliar with Kuroo. Kuroo grins at the toddler brightly and Takeru smiles back and you could’ve sworn right then and there your heart melted. You turn your head quickly, acting as if you didn’t just witness the scene that has just made you soft.

This man is going to be the death of you. It’s been less than a day and you’re already softening to him.

“Good morning, baby. How was your night?” You coo, walking towards your son with his plate of scrambled eggs and toast with sliced apples on the side. You had cut up the bread into small pieces and didn’t put any spread on it because Takeru is a picky eater.

“Good!” He nods aggressively, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “Thanks for the food, mama!”

“You’re welcome, honey.” you give him a quick peck on the cheek. You turn to Kuroo, who’s gives you a smile and you smile back. “I made pancakes and kept them in the oven so they’d be warm.”

“Why oven?” he laughs and you playfully hit him on his chest.

“Because, Kuroo. I read it somewhere. And,” you open the oven lifting the pan from the oven to reveal the pancakes, which were still steaming hot. “It obviously worked.”

“I’m impressed, you used to suck at cooking.”

Now all settled at the dining table, it’s quiet, Takeru speaks up every now and then to ask you a question to which you reply to and it’s as if he’s completely ignoring Kuroo’s presence. Kuroo has already texted you, asking why Takeru wasn’t asking Kuroo any questions and you simply explained that he’ll come around since he’s a shy kid.

“You should come stay at my place. The both of you.” He says suddenly, you nearly choke on your food, shaking your head in disapproval before Kuroo interrupts you. “Wait, let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“I feel like it would be more convenient, you know? You have to drive an hour to your job, which is literally like a 10 minute drive from mine, I’m literally always home, so I could watch Takeru, so it would be son and father bond—“

You cut him off with a loud cough, and motion your head towards Takeru, who cocks his head to the side and Kuroo silently apologizes.

“I need to be there when you’re with him.” you state, taking a bite of your eggs.

“Why?”

“Do you trust yourself with kids?”

He opens he mouth to say something, but then closes it.

“Exactly.”

“So.. You’re gonna move in?”

“Can you not word it like that.. and no, That’s too fast. Not to mention, it’s weird. I work at home aswell, Kuroo. I only go for meetings once or twice a week, so it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Okay,” He swallows the food in his mouth “Who babysits Takeru?

“Kenma, when he can. It’s either that or I hire a babysitter.”

“A babysitter? You don’t have like.. one who’s long-term?”

You glance at Takeru for a brief second and then sigh “No, there’s not many of those types of babysitters near us.” you mutter.

“Perfect! See? Another reason why you should just move in. It’s nothing more than two parents co-parenting.”

“Kuroo, I understand your intentions, but it’s just not going to work.. I can’t.” you sigh once again and Takeru looks up at you with concern and you smile reassuringly at him. “That’s too much..”

“Well, I don’t see what the problem is here.”

“This,” You motioned your hands between you and Kuroo “This is the problem. I’ve been taking care of Takeru by myself, and I’m not saying I don’t want you guys to have a bond, but it’s not a smart idea for me and Takeru to practically move in with you. I honestly don’t feel comfortable doing that. Besides, I love it here. I worked hard for this house.”

“Right, I’m sorry.” Kuroo looks at you in awe before giving you a small nod.

“It’s fine, I know you just want to get closer with him, but it’s gonna take time. We can’t rush things. So let’s take things slow between the two of you, okay?”

“Okay.”

taglist: @coconut-dreamz @maadaaaa @mkkhaikyuu @tekushiii @callmekda @samkysnks @wild-strawberry-fields @crazysocklovingfangirl @jesstetsuro @xo-lovelyreign-xo @lilith412426 @erensnubs @syaziahvg @tsukkiswifeey @ysatrap @candybabey @rinsangel @elianetsantana @calumsfringe @rintarovibes @emsdesu @sailorstrawberi @its-the-aerieljeane @succulentmom @heroesfan101 @moonhere @geektastic84 @emiyummy @bakudummy @schleepyflocci

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fiveisnumber1 · 3 years

Text

The Vortex That Takes Me To You - "Me, Lu, and Five Times Two" Side Story

Main story parts:

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32

_________________________

"Wait!" Five called out as he tried to hand you the briefcase

It was too late though as Luther pushed him into the vortex to 2019. As Five held the now-defunct half of the briefcase he fell through time for what felt like a matter of seconds before hitting the ground of the courtyard behind the academy. With a giant flash, the spot in the sky where the blue used to be was now gone. From afar the five known living Hargreeves siblings slowly approached the person who dropped from the sky. Slowly, Five got up from the ground throwing the broken briefcase away as he dusted the dirt and leaves off his clothing. Approaching closer the group looks on in confusion as Klaus asks,

"Does anyone else see a slightly older version of little number Five or is that just me?"

Five took a look down at himself. His suit was too loose now and when he looked at his hands he saw no more wrinkles or signs of old age. There was a leftover puddle nearby from rain that must've occurred early and as he bent over it he saw the version of himself that he had left only moments ago. Bringing a hand up to his face, he stared at his newly youthful reflection.

"I'm young again." He whispered to himself

At the same time that this was happening you were making your way to the florist to pick up flowers that Pogo had ordered. As you walked to the shop you felt that something was wrong. No, not wrong, but different. From behind you, you felt a molecular disturbance and a giant one at that. As you continued to walk to the shop the physical pain grew so much that you had to stop and bend over. It felt like your insides were being torn apart bit by bit. Somehow managing to turn around you felt the direction it was coming from. It was coming from back towards the house. The pain of the disturbance went on for a few more seconds but then abruptly it stopped. Catching your breath, you stood back up but something felt familiar in a way. It was like an odd chill of deja vu but you had never experienced this before. But if the disturbance was coming from the house then the flowers could wait. Reginald didn't deserve flowers anyway. Quickly, you started sprinting back towards the Academy trying to get there as quickly as you could.

Back at the house, the five Hargreeves siblings sat around the kitchen table as they watched the newly returned Five make a sandwich. It had been years since they had last seen him and a lot had changed in that time. Everyone had their own thoughts and feelings on the matter and some were more upset than others. Five wasn't exactly sure what to say to them after all this time. It was quite a complicated situation to be in. Trying to not let his uncertainty show, Five stoically questioned,

"What is the date? The exact date."

The group stays quiet for a second before Vanya states,

"The 24th."

"Of?" Five pressed

"March," Vanya replies

"Good." Five comments

This was exactly the time that he was planning to be here, on the day of his father's funeral. Thank god that man was dead. If he was alive he would never hear the end of it.

"So are we gonna talk about what just happened?" Luther asks

It was no surprise to Five that Luther would speak up. Even after all this time, he was trying to take the lead on things. Instead of responding to his brother, Five puts two slices of bread down on a cutting board and focuses on his desired food item. He hadn't eaten all day and apparently paradox psychosis was a real energy drainer. He needed a second before he was going to explain anything. Standing up, Luther looks down to Five and states firmly,

"It's been 17 years."

"It's been a lot longer than that." Five replies immediately jumping behind Luther to find marshmallows

"I didn't miss that." Luther comments

While Five looks around the kitchen for the marshmallows, Diego asks accusingly,

"So where'd you go?"

Of course, an accusatory tone. How could Diego not have one? Five could just tell that Diego was upset not because he had disappeared for years but because he was the one that made you disappear for years. If only the siblings cared for each other as much as Diego cared for you, maybe things would be different. Five didn't have time for Diego's older brother shtick though. Jumping back to the table with the marshmallows, Five bluntly replied,

"The future. It's shit by the way."

"Called it!" Klaus exclaims

Five turned towards the refrigerator to get peanut butter for his sandwich, his mind wandering as he thought back to his time in the apocalypse. 45 years. He was so arrogant to think he could time travel. Grabbing the peanut butter jar, Five talks aloud,

"I should've listened to the old man. You know jumping through space is one thing, jumping through time is a toss of the dice."

Unscrewing the lid of the peanut butter jar Five looks up from the sandwich he was making and at his siblings before him. The last time he had seen them all together was as corpses. And before that, they were all still children. It was a lot to take in but he was focused on his task of stopping the apocalypse. He had the information he needed on what caused it, but he needed to find the right time to discuss it with everyone. Keeping a stoic look he tries to deflect his mind to something else by commenting to Klaus,

"Nice dress."

"Oh, Danke," Klaus responds playing with some of the loose straps

As he starts to assemble the sandwich he was making Vanya questions him,

"So how did you get back?"

"In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time." Five responds

"That makes no sense," Diego says confused

"Well, it would if you were smarter." Five remarks

Diego angrily stands up and stares down Five attempting to get towards him to attack him. Instead, Luther stands up puts out an arm to hold him back. Honestly, it didn't matter if Luther was there to stop Diego or not. He was all bark and no bite.

"How long were you there?" Luther asks

"45 years." Five states bluntly "Give or take."

Luther and Diego both sit back down in unison. All the siblings stare at their brother with wide eyes in shock at his statement. 45 years?

"So what are you saying? You're 58?" Luther asks

"No. My consciousness is 58. My body is 18 again." Five retorts

With his sandwich put together, Five walks off to the side of the table they all sat around and faces away from his siblings.

"How does that even work?" Vanya inquires

"I used the improper equation when I was forced through time." Five replies

"Improper equation?" Vanya questions

Electing to ignore Vanya's question, Five turns back towards his siblings at the table. There was no reason to explain all that had happened before he came here. It was unnecessary and would probably worry his siblings more than they needed to be, or perhaps even enrage them and there was no way he was going to stop the apocalypse if his siblings weren't willing to work together. Picking up a newspaper detailing the death of his father, Five takes a look at it before commenting unamused,

"Guessed I missed the funeral."

"How did you know about that?" Luther asks

"What part of the future do you not understand." Five remarks to him, his eyes not leaving the paper "Heart failure, huh?"

"Yeah," Diego says

"No," Luther adds

Ah, yes. One and Two still fighting to be the leader of the family as if it hadn't been years since the dissolution of the Umbrella Academy.

"Hmm. Nice to see nothing's changed." Five comments

The Hargreeves looked at their newly returned brother and as he stood there quietly, holding his sandwich he stared back awkwardly at his siblings. The prior self that he left in the '60s said that you would show up when the conversation with his siblings felt over. It felt pretty over right now and there was no sign of you. Five's heart started to race, everything had been laid out for him, and now nothing was going according to plan. Panicked, Five decided it was best to leave. Keeping a serious look on his face he started to walk out of the kitchen.

"Uh, that's it? That's all you have to say?" Allison questioned

"What else is there to say?" Five responded

When he was out of sight of his siblings he once again noticed how his suit didn't fit him properly anymore. He needed to change. Flashing upstairs he looked in the closets of his siblings but was met with academy uniform after academy uniform. Reluctantly, he took an academy uniform from Klaus' closet since it looked like it would fit best and put it on. He stared at himself in the mirror for a bit before deciding to head back downstairs.

Making it back to the house, you looked around, and only felt faint traces of a disturbance. Maybe you were going crazy? Heading through the front door you looked around the foyer and some other rooms on the main floor and upper floors but found no one. Maybe they all got in an argument and left, it's not like they enjoyed being here anyway. Letting out a small sigh you made your way back downstairs to the parlor. Someone would probably show up soon enough. You stood in the doorway for a second and stared at the portrait above the fireplace. You had hated the painting at first, but you tolerated its presence after years of coexisting with it. Carefully, you made your way over to the fireplace and looked up at the portrait that loomed over you. It was nothing like him. No light in his eyes, no cocky smile on his face, no personality. Just an emotionless and unrealistic replication of who he was. You wanted him to come back.

As you stared at his portrait, Five had made his way downstairs and took in what had become of his home. As he approached the parlor he saw a giant portrait of him on the wall and below it stood a familiar figure. Five stopped in his tracks and his heart began to race. This was his (Y/N). Five readjusted his jacket and tie and took in a breath before slowly starting to walk over to you. Hearing footsteps behind you, you stopped looking at the painting and turned to look where they came from. Seeing the figure before you, your eyes went wide with shock as the world around felt like it was slowing down. Carefully, you moved forward towards him almost as if in a trance, worried that if you moved too fast he would vanish. You extended your hand out and Five moved to meet you in the middle. When the two of you were close enough your fingertips lightly brushed his cheek, but you quickly pulled back, shocked by the feeling of something there.

"I think I'm hallucinating again," you whisper

Five reaches out and gently grabs the hand you had retracted. Bringing it closer to him he places it on top of his heart, holding your hand there. You can feel his heart beating rapidly beneath your hand as your own started to catch up to match his. You looked up at his face and gazed into his eyes. Tears prick your own as you softly ask,

"Five?"

Five smiled at you as he looked upon your face. You were so beautiful. Not that you weren't in the 60s but the way you looked at him now was different. It was soft and welcoming and felt like it was only for him. Leaning in just a little closer Five whispered to you,

"I'm here."

You let out a small gasp. He was here. This was real. Flinging your arms around him you held him tightly as Five wrapped his arms around to hold you back. No wonder his other self was so protective, who would ever want to let this go? You looked up at Five. A question had loomed on your mind ever since the day he vanished and you had to know the answer.

"Are you still mad at me?" You questioned nervously

Five saw the nervous look on your face. He knew that you had wondered if he was mad at you for a while. It was one of the last things you had said to him before you...died. Five took your face into his hands. Looking gently into your eyes he answered,

"I was never mad at you, to begin with. I was mad at my dad and one of my biggest regrets will always be taking that out on you and then leaving you all alone."

With his response, a weight fell off your shoulders. For so long you had thought you were the one that drove him away. You thought he was mad at you all this time, but to know that wasn't the case made you feel so much better.

"So you didn't purposely stay away?" You asked

"No, how could I ever choose to be away from my best friend?" Five added

You looked off to the side as best as you could, given that your face was held between his hands, and hoped that he didn't notice the blush rising to your cheeks.

"I don't know, but I missed you." You mumbled

Five took his hands from your face and hugged you once more responding,

"I missed you too. Not a day went by when I didn't."

You smiled knowing that Five had missed you as much as you missed him. Day after day, month after month, year after year, you thought of him as you waited for him to come back. And now here he was before you telling you he felt the same way. It was all that you needed to hear. Well...there were other things you wanted to hear but those were more so desires than necessities. You were just happy to have him back.

"Pull that shit again and I'll kill you." You joke as you give him a small shove away

"I promise I won't." Five replies with a smirk "Although I don't think you would kill me anyway."

"Perhaps." You respond

Five threw his hands into the pockets of his academy shorts and looked at you.

"Care to walk and talk around the house?" Five offered

"Of course. Would you like me to turn invisible so you look insane for old times sake?"

"I already look insane in this uniform." Five joked

"You always did. C'mon, let's go." You say extending your hand towards him

Five looks at your hand, almost hesitant to take it because none of this felt real. Even though he had been around you not too long ago back in the 60s, this truly was different. This version of you hadn't seen him since the day he left. Unlike prior you who had experienced being around him, you had waited every day for his return. There was an excitement and awe that he got from you this time around that made him nervous. As Five thought more about the situation before him he froze up. As much as he trusted you when you said that you loved him the way he loved you Five still couldn't help but wonder if his other self just had better circumstances. He still worried that maybe that version really was just lucky. Five didn't want to get this wrong, but nevertheless, he took your hand. Fingers intertwining, there was electricity you both felt but would not tell the other.

With a smile, you started to walk around the house as you had done many times before, both of you trying your best to catch the other up. The conversation came easy as if the two of you were never separated. Five took in the sights of his old home. Nothing had really changed since he left, minus the small presence you had created. There was a newer piano in the parlor and you had shown off your wonderful room to him. He remembered your description of it from your diary and how you changed it from being Diego's to yours but it was even better in person. As you two exited your room Five looked down the hall at a shut door. It was his room. Five made his way there and you followed behind. Carefully, he opened the door to it and stepped inside. Once more you followed behind and thinking that the sight of his childhood room might be tough for him, you shut the door.

As you shut the door though Allison who had been heading to her room happened to pass by and noticed the two of you in there. Something about you two being together again reignited the feelings of her youth. She remembered the times when you and she had traded secrets about your crushes. The gossip in her immediately needed to tell someone else. Turning back around she went downstairs and noticed the rest of her siblings in the parlor again. Approaching them all she said,

"I don't want to alert anyone but Five and (Y/N) went into Five's room and shut the door."

"WHAT?!" Diego shouted as he angrily turned to face her

"Oooh, juicy," Klaus commented "I remember being 18 and hormonal. Horniness levels are through the roof, I mean-"

"NOT ON MY WATCH!" Diego yelled cutting Klaus off

There was no way his baby sister was going to be in a room with a boy alone. Especially not with the boy who had left her alone and broke her heart. What was he going to do? Break it again? Not if he had anything to say about it. With his fists clenched tight Diego started to march his way out of the parlor. He was going to protect his little tiny princess, but as he attempted to go, Luther, with his superior strength, held him back.

"Let me go, Luther!" Diego yelled

"We shouldn't just barge in there Diego." Luther criticizes

"That's MY little sister!" Diego retorts

"There are better ways of approaching this," Luther replies

"I want to know what's going on though..." Vanya comments

"Me too," Allison adds

As the group stands around debating Ben leans over to Klaus and says,

"Klaus."

"What do you want?" Klaus replies annoyed

"Is that camera we bought as kids still in Five's room?" Ben asks

"Yeah, we never took it out. Why?"

"The tablet to watch the video feed on is in my closet." Ben states

Klaus looks at him confused for a second before realizing what Ben meant. Getting excited Klaus exclaims,

"Guys! Guys!"

The rest of the group looks over to him confused and with all of their attention grabbed Klaus continues,

"The video camera we got as kids is still in Five's room and the tablet is in Ben's closet!"

"Do you think it still even works?" Allison questions

"It's worth a try," Luther says

The group looks at each other before silently nodding in agreement. Together they head up to Ben's room and search for the tablet in his closet. Finding it they turn on the switch and to their surprise, it works. The picture quality was not as great as they remember but clear enough that they all can see what is going on. As they all stand over the tablet Diego says annoyed,

"Alright Five, what are you hiding from me."

"From us." Luther corrects

The two brothers glare at each other before turning their attention back to the tablet and the two of you in Five's room. Five stepped into his room quietly taking in the surroundings. Nothing had changed, it was as if his room was frozen in time. As he looks around you slowly approach his side. Standing next to him you looked around the room as well and comment,

"It's an odd feeling. Knowing that time has passed but everything looks the same."

Five looks towards you. Of course, you knew the feeling he was going through.

"No worries though, we'll get you everything you need to make this place feel like home again." You mention

"I already have everything I need to feel at home." Five replies, his hand holding yours just a little tighter

Five gazes in your direction but as he does so he notices something behind you. Letting go of your hand he steps around you curious and makes his way over to his desk. Looking down at the object placed there he realized that it's the radio he had taken from Allison all those years ago. Confused as to what he was looking at you followed him towards the desk and saw the radio.

"I can't believe it's still here after all this time." Five comments

"Well we never gave it back and I'm guessing nobody wanted to come take it after..." You mention trailing off

"Yeah..." Five replies before questioning "I wonder if it still works?"

You shrugged your shoulders and gestured to the old electronic encouraging him to see if it worked. Leaning down Five plugs in the old radio before pressing the on button. The sound of static blasts loudly through the speakers causing both of you to flinch back a little in shock. After a moment Five started to turn the knob to tune the radio, searching through for a station that was clear. Soon the static started to fade and in its place music could be heard.

As the camera continues to spy on the two of you, the rest of the Hargreeves siblings watch what goes on from Ben's room. Seeing the working radio Allison exclaims,

"Hey, it's my radio! I never got it back!"

"Allison, it's been years and still no one cares about your radio." Klaus comments "We want to know what's up with Five and (Y/N)."

Allison lets out a huff and crosses her arms. Just because it was old and she hadn't been in possession of it or thought about it for years didn't mean it wasn't hers. Even with her pouting, the siblings continued to observe. As they did so Diego aggressively says,

"Alright Five what shit are you going to pull now?"

"I don't think he's going to do anything." Vanya comments "I mean there's nothing wrong with them being happy."

Back in Five's room, music flowed through the air as Five leaned against the edge of his desk, watching you look around the place. He was absolutely enthralled by you. The most mundane of things seemed extravagant just because you were there with him. A wide smile appeared on his face as he remembered a similar time he had spent with you. You took in the room silently as the upbeat music played. It had been a bit since you'd last been in Five's room, but for the first time in a while it felt warm and bright again. Looking over your shoulder you looked back towards Five and noticed the smile on his face.

"What?" You questioned

"Nothing." Five replied with a shake of his head

"Nothing? The mind of Five Hargreeves is completely empty?" You joke sarcastically "This is something I'd expect from your brothers, not you."

Five rolled his eyes at you but he missed your quick wit. No one at the commission could keep up with him like you could. As you walked back over to him, Five could see the look on your face waiting for him to elaborate.

"I was just thinking-" Five starts to explain before being cut off

"Ah, so you were thinking!" You comment back

"Yes." Five replies letting out a small laugh "I was thinking about how this reminds me of our friendiversary a bit."

"Yeah, kind of, minus the food and flowers." You reply

You were right, there was no food and flowers. How could he even think to compare the two times when this time wasn't as perfect? Quickly standing up from the desk, Five starts to make his way over to the door as he states worried,

"Do you want food and flowers?"

Reaching out, you grab his hand preventing him from going any further. Stopping in his tracks he looks back towards you confused at your action. Gently, you pull his hand back towards you, causing him to come back close to you. With his hand still in yours, Five asks confused,

"Do you not want food and flowers?"

"No, Five." You replied with a smile "I just want you."

For a moment, Five could feel his heart stop. Although his expression seemed calm and collected, internally he had no clue what to do. He was so preoccupied trying to figure out how to get back to 2019 so he could stop the apocalypse that he never stopped to think fully about what would happen when he actually did so. And it wasn't until he met himself that he even found out being a teenager again was a possibility. This was the most unprepared he had ever been and the nerves he felt on your friendiversary were nothing compared to the nerves he felt now. If you didn't want food or flowers then what could he do? And then from the radio, he heard the voice of the announcer,

"This is Arlo Vegas with 103.5 WKTU. I hope that even with all the doom and gloom outside today everyone can stay high and dry. Up next, a throwback to 2017 this is Adore by Dean Lewis."

I'm just gonna stand with my bag hanging off my left arm I'm just gonna walk home kicking stones at parked cars But I had a great night, 'cause you kept rubbing against my arm So I'm just gonna stand with my bag hanging off my left arm

Five looked towards the radio as the sound of a soft guitar slowly playing and the lyrics of the song enveloped the room. As the music played he remembered the part of your friendiversary that he could never forget. He remembered how the two of you danced that night and the joy he felt in that moment. Looking back towards you he nervously asked,

"Would you like to dance...with me?"

"I'd love to." You replied longingly

Five guided you the few steps towards the center of his room taking a quiet breath as he tried to calm his nerves. How did he do this so easily as a child? Oh right, he didn't realize he was in love with you then. Turning back to face you he saw as your eyes lit up and your smile widened. So much for breathing when you took his breath away so easily. Gently, he took one of your hands in his as he wrapped his other arm around your waist. You wrapped your free arm around his neck as the two of you slowly started to dance to the music.

Get me a drink, I get drunk off one sip, just so I can adore you I want the entire street out of town just so I can be alone with you Now go when you're ready My head's getting heavy, pressed against your arm I adore you

"So is this what your prom was like last week?" Five asked

You looked up towards him slightly confused. How did he know about your prom? It took you a second to remember but you then recalled that he had come from the future so he had to have found out about it somehow. You recalled your prom only a week ago, it was fun to be with your friends but it was definitely not the same experience as dancing with Five. With a slight chuckle, you answer.

"No, it was not like this."

"Oh, why not?" Five questions

"Well dancing with you is quite different than dancing with Dean, because neither of us had dates and we pitied each other." You explained

"I wish I could've come a week earlier then. I would've saved you the pity by dancing with your brother." Five joked

"Wow, okay." You laughed

"I'm joking." Five explained, his expression softening as he added "I'd never pass up a chance to dance with you."

"Neither would I." you replied quietly

All of my money is spent on these nights, just so we can hang out Spacing in and out of your dresses, I wanna be found by you Found by you

As the two of you swayed you couldn't help but rest your head against his chest. A small smile appeared on your face as you closed your eyes and comfortably melted into the moment. Unconsciously, you started to stroke the hair at the back of his head casing Five to lean into your touch. It was so gentle and soft. Five could feel his heart start to pick up its pace. He hoped that you couldn't hear so because he had no clue how he would explain it to you. Granted, he knew all the words he wanted to say to you but he didn't know if he'd even be able to get them out.

As your head rested on top of him a thought came to your mind. It was something that you hadn't done in a while and something you had desired to do. Lifting your head up, you look towards Five who looks back down towards you. Had he done something wrong? Did you hear how fast his heart was beating? Quietly you ask,

"Will you spin me?"

Relief washes over Five's system as he gives you a soft smile.

"Of course I will," He replies

Slightly breaking away from you he helps to twirl you around, the smile on your face filling his heart to the point he felt it was going to burst. Your laughter filled the room as you enjoyed your time with your best friend. You couldn't think of anything to make the moment better. Five spins you back in towards him before spinning you out once more. As you spin out quickly your grip on his hand slips and you start to fall back. Quickly, Five flashes over and catches you. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist as yours find their way around his neck.

She kicks the gutter in tight shorts, basketball courts Watch me, watch her talk to boys I'm known as a right-hand slugger Anybody else wanna touch my lover?

The two of you look at each other both trying to catch your slight breaths from the burst of adrenaline that just occurred.

"I told you I wasn't going to let you fall." Five comments

It was too late for that though. You had fallen for him years ago in a situation exactly like this one. There was something different about it this time, an energy you had never felt before. Your eyes were still locked on each other he slowly brought you back up. The soft bridge of the song played in the back but all either of you could hear was the beating of your own hearts. Wrapped up tightly in each other's arms there was no space between the two of you. Each of you wanted to say so many things, wanted to shout the thoughts that raced in your mind, the ones you always had, but no words came out. As Five stood there with you in his arms he finally started to understand what you meant back in the 60s when you said the pieces would fall into place. Everything about this moment felt right like it was meant to be. Like he was meant to be here with you. As you continued to look into each other's eyes there was a magnetism that pulled you closer. Your faces inched closer as the space between you lessened more and more. For a moment you both wondered if you were dreaming but no, this was real. You were here with each other. And as the climax of the final verse hit, your eyes closed as your lips gently pressed against each other.

Tenderly, you both expressed everything you wanted to tell the other without saying any words at all. The years of pining and longing to be reunited had finally culminated into something beautiful. Something you both had desired for a very long time. The world around you faded away leaving only the two of you and your newly acknowledged love for each other. Removing his arms from your waist he took your face in his hands, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. He never wanted to leave this moment. This was all he ever wanted, this is what he survived and fought for and now to have it? It felt unreal to him. But it was real. He had you, and you had him, and nothing would ever take that away now.

I adore you

Neither of you wanted to be the first to part from the kiss but as the final lyric of the song ended the two of you slowly separated. With eyes still closed, you rested your foreheads against each other, relishing in the beautiful moment. As Five held you close, he knew he needed to tell you something. Even if he had expressed it in his kiss to you, he wanted to verbalize it, to make it know and make it real. Moving one of his hands from your cheek to your chin, he tilted your face up to look at him. As he gazed into your eyes, with adoration in his voice, he whispered,

"I love you, (Y/N)."

You could feel your stomach flutter with butterflies as you processed his words. There was nothing you wanted to hear more than those words. Finally getting to express how you felt, you replied breathlessly,

"I love you too, Five. You know what this means now though."

"What?" Five questioned

"You can never leave me again." You answer

"I promise nothing will ever tear us apart again. Not people, not distance, not time, nothing."

The two of you looked at each other lovingly before leaning in for another kiss. As you did so the siblings in the other room saw everything.

"Awww," Vanya said as she placed a hand over her heart

"They're so cute!" Allison exclaimed

"They are not!" Diego remarks angrily as he tries to make his way to the door "I'm going to go in there and stop him."

"Luther, stop him." Allison requests

Doing as she says, Luther wraps his arms around Diego from behind and picks him off the ground. Kicking his legs and wriggling around, Diego fights like a child trying to escape Luther's grasp.

"That is my little princess! I need to put a stop to this!" Diego complains

"She is 18, you need to let her live her life," Allison replies

"Not with him! The one who ruined it." Diego retorts

"I don't think she sees it that way," Vanya interjects

As the other siblings argue with Diego, Ben leans over to Klaus and states,

"If I was alive you would owe me $20 bucks right now. I told you they'd come back and get together before Allison and Luther would."

"Oh, shut up," Klaus replies

The rest of the group looks over to Klaus before looking back at the still flailing Diego.

"Klaus makes a good point. You need to drop this and shut up Diego." Allison states

"I will not!" Diego replies back

"If you don't calm down, drop the issue, and let them be happy I will rumor you into doing so." Allison threatens

It takes a moment but Diego soon stops his fighting. He was not going to be rumored into ignoring the situation but for now, he would put it off. Letting out a huff, Diego relents,

"Fine."

"Good, now let's shut down this camera and just leave them be. We can talk to them later." Luther commands as he puts Diego back down

And so as the siblings tried to quietly file out of Ben's room and go off to do other things, this version of Five and you stayed happily together ready to take on whatever the future threw at them.

____________________________________

Taglist: @xplrreylo @joebob15274 @insatiable-ivy @fruitsaladtree @angelpeachamber @academy-umbrella @lizziel1410 @ir3neeee @faith-quake @aliens-with-colas @sunsetcurve-1995 @lady-celeste25 @im-dead-and-hurting @nerdypinupcrystal @cherry-ki-d @anapocalypseinmymind @vicassa @2cuteforyourlies @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @shadowycreationcupcake @emily-hargreeves @metor-showers1994 @fivehargreevesforthewin @rinko-san @supernovavision @cicilisthebest @flickbix @hi-v-juice @magykal-777 @zosiaduda @thethirdwheelfriend @mysticracoon @isnt-it-loverly @officiallydarkgeek @lady1505 @always-the-very-worst @tinypandagirl @libidinexx @lemongrabbuns @itwasallred @deadandoverit @shlokage @keksi249 @theoriginalkat @we-stan-fiction @bi-idiot-fanfics @annnagennnie @izzyjojo4 @megasimpleplan4ever @flowertoty @grabthemoneyandletsgo @itsametaphorbriansblog @vanillacaramelhoney @satvaldiva @disaster-magician @margotsfandoms @emily-b-m @bluechildrenlickmytoes @soft-slytherin-sweetie @oceanspray5 @im-here-for-fanfics @thebloodrobin @freestarlight @starcurrent @lilacs-lavender @moatsnow @give-the-boy-a-hug @narikyuwu @whenyouregrungeaff @gabriella-aesthetic @xxtwizztedxx

#The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #umbrella acedmy #tua #tua2 #UA #number five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy five #umbrella academy five

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musclesandhammering · 3 years

Note

I'm not fond of the pairing but from what I've seen General public actually loves Sylki very much. Even the trade reviews called the relationship "genius" which,,,ok. Someone did a poll on various platforms, yt, reddit, fb, twitter etc comparing which ship is better (Lokius or Sylki) and it was Sylki who won by large margin in the end. I suppose mostly they just don't care because it's sci fi and a pairing in a totally unrealistic show, and after Wandavision I guess weird ships are 'in' but yeah it makes you think. But the writers already said they won't give in to the fan pressure bc they have their own story to tell (which ok, valid, you do you) but idk. I guess we will get even more Sylki in second season. Tom already said Loki won't stop searching for her

Sometimes I think casual fans are the most irritating thing about being in a fandom :/

Just as a disclaimer (bc I don’t want people coming for me): I think lokius is really cute, and I love fics/art/headcanons about them, but I never thought they were canonically romantically interested in each other. I never thought lokius was gonna be canon, and I never wanted it to (because I didn’t want ANY romance in the series), so I don’t even include it in my argument against s*lki.

Ok so….. listen. This is gonna be a long ass post, so I’m putting it under a cut. Sorry, anon, but you’re the one that opened the Worm Can.

The viewing public, in general, tends to heavily skew towards heterosexual-presenting ships. Partially because a portion of the general audiences are homophobic, and partially because a lot of non-tumblr fans are so sick of hearing tumblr stans go on and on and on about how they were queerbaited by certain gay ships not becoming canon, when in reality, said ships are trash.

Listen. I sympathise with that. I get that. I know I’m beating a hornet’s nest with this, but…. D*stiel? J*hnlock? St*cky? None of those were written in any way to invoke queer undertones, they were always supposed to be platonic, and tbfh even as platonic relationships the first two are literally toxic and abusive as hell, anyway.

So I definitely understand how a casual straight fan on Twitter or Instagram would see some of those same crazy “we were queerbaited” tumblr stans ranting about lokius not becoming canon and how much s*lki sucks and……. it makes sense that they’d be like “These people are just pissed that their gay ship isn’t canon, that’s why they hate s*lki.”

But here’s the thing. I don’t think those people realise how callous it is to say something like that when the only reason queer kids are so quick to ship any two male characters who express a modicum of affection for one another, is that they’re so fucking starved for representation in the first place, they’re willing to see queer romance in any same-sex interaction. They’re just that desperate. That’s where the whole crazy gay stan thing comes from. And yeah, it’s annoying that these people put their whole chest into defending gay ships that are total trash, but you have to realise why they do it.

So, what I’m saying is, for s*lki shippers- who are already winning, because their straight ship had the privilege of easily becoming canon despite all its flaws- to look at queer people who are frustrated to the point of tears that they were once again conned out of any form of queer rep (for the mcu’s first canon queer character, for gods sake) after actually genuinely being queerbaited this time (with his bisexuality/genderfluidity)….. and to essentially gloat that their straight ship became canon and taunt queer people by saying “oh you’re just desperate for two men to kiss”………… idk, man. It just seems real cold to me. Reeks of straight privilege and heteronormativity.

Ok, so with that being said.. let me respond to your actual ask lol.

I’m not surprised at all that s*lki won the popularity polls. I think a large reason for that is the fact that it was pitted against lokius, which sorta rubs a lot of casual viewers the wrong way for reasons listed above. I’m also not surprised that casual viewers liked it outside of its opposition to lokius- because, um, casual viewers aren’t very smart.

They tend to analyse exactly nothing, they don’t look any deeper than the surface, and if the writers of a show stick a hot man and woman together under a blanket, they eat it up. Because the narrative tells them it’s sweet. Just like the narrative tells them Loki is a greasy asshole who had no character development up until this point, and they eat that up too. Just like the narrative tells them that sylvie’s the best thing since sliced bread, and they eat that up too. Just like the narrative tells them it’s completely in character for Loki to try to subjugate a group of 3 random Mongolians in the middle of the dessert for absolutely no reason other than his “narcissism”, and they eat that up too. Just like the narrative tells them that one throwaway line about liking “a bit of both” is somehow this groundbreaking example of lgbt representation, and they eat that up too……… See the pattern here?

And as far as being concerned about the pseudo-incest angle, I don’t even think casual fans even dug that deep. They literally just saw two main characters- a pretty white woman and a hot white man- doing cool fight scenes together and giving each other goo goo eyes, and they were automatically sold.

And the writers saying “we won’t give in to fan pressure, we have our own story to tell” is honestly complete bullshit. What the hell is the POINT of working for a corporate film company and telling a story on screen if not to please the fans??? They do what they do to get people to watch their shows to get lots of money. That’s literally what they’re there for. Mike Waldron must have a pretty damn inflated sense of self importance if he thinks his own “artistic vision” or what the hell ever is the priority here lmao.

And I wanna be mad about Season 2, I really do. But at this point Season 1 ruined the character so much for me that I legitimately don’t even care what direction they take him in.

#this is probably all over the place and semi-incomprehensible but oh well #sometimes ya just gotta rant #topic: queerbaiting in cinema #loki deserved better #antisylki #anti mike waldron #anti sylvie #@marvel I hate you #anti casual fans #frosty bby #queerbaiting #anti loki series #loki series critical #loki series negativity #ask #anon #language tw

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The Sacrifice: Part 1.5 (Geto Suguru x Fem! Reader)

synopsis: you meet your captors, but why are you really here?

wc: 1.8k

tw: none

masterlist

Giggling.

Giggling?

Do people giggle in heaven?

When you finally come to, all you can hear are muffled whispers and excited chatter around you.

“Mom? Dad?” You slowly open your eyes and take in the blurry shapes surrounding you, blinking multiple times so that they would take form.

“No mom or dad here,” a soft voice whispers, and cold fingers touch your forehead.

“No,” another voice echoes and finally, you can see who is circled around you. A gaggle of women surrounds you, each one having an unusual skin color - rose pink, cerulean, blood red, hunter green, and mauve - and sporting a set of unfamiliar-looking ears that came to a small pinched point at the tops.

“We’re glad you’re awake!” A woman with short black hair and green skin exclaims, clasping her hands to her clothed chest. “Everyone is shocked when they come here at first, but we’ve never had someone pass out,” she giggles and the other women do as well.

“You made quite a spectacle,” another woman sighs, shaking her rose-pink head. “We had to get the men to help us get you up here.”

Here? You look around the room you’re in, fully noticing your surroundings. You’re still in the clothes from the ceremony, and the pendant hangs neatly around your neck still, untouched by the women. But the room… it’s immaculate.

Every piece of furniture is either gold or white, and to your left, a set of open-air windows are covered by gauzy curtains that blow in the invisible wind. You’re laying in a four-poster bed, covered in white sheets and white fur that looks expensive. And when you run your hands over it, it feels expensive.

“Wait…” you exhale, looking around at the room again. “Am I in the Dragon God’s--”

“You’re not dead if that’s what you’re asking,” The blood-red-skinned woman answers, fingering her long braid. “But I’ll let His Holiness explain.”

“His Holiness?” you mutter, right as a sharp ripple runs through the curtains. All of the women turn to the archways and in one motion begin to scramble there.

“Move, Ariadne!”

“Serena, scoot over!”

“Danai, I can’t see!”

You cautiously slide out of the bed and pad over to where the women have thrown open the curtains and are leaning over the banister to look left and right.

“Do you see them?” Someone asks, and one of them replies,

“Up there!” Your eyes follow to the point in the sky where the mauve hand is pointing, and you can see two figures dancing about in the sky, flashes of gold and white passing between them. As they get closer, you can clearly make out that they’re...

“Dragons.” A black one circles around a white one, both of them exchanging fire in turn. All of the women begin to squeal, their excited chatter like the sounds of birds in the morning light.

“You came to just in time,” the tall, blood-red woman nudges you, smiling widely. “His Holiness and His Highness like to spar during the day, and it looks like they’re putting on quite the show.”

“Ah,” you answer, looking back up at the dragons, who were getting even closer, almost right upon the place where you all stood.

“What’s your name?” she asks, raising a brow at you.

“Y/n,” you reply, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves.

“I’m Clymenestra,” the woman offers her hand to you, and you take it, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Cly. I’m the head of household affairs, so if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“Household affairs?”

“Food, drink, sheets, anything you associate with households, I’m in charge of it.”

“So… you’re not the Dragon God’s… wives?”

Cly laughs, tossing her head back and holding her stomach as her fox-like features slide into a wide grin. “Oh, y/n, you are so funny!” You turn back to the spectacle in front of you and watch as the two dragons engage in a death-drop, wrapping around each other in an endless loop.

“They’re going to do it!” Someone squeals and you all watch as they drop into the water right below them, neglecting to emerge for what feels like eons. As you scan the shoreline for any signs of re-emerging dragons, you wonder why two dragons - fire-breathing creatures - would descend into the depths of what appeared to be an ocean. But when two male figures emerge from the sea, you’re suddenly aware that it was just what Cly said: it was all a show.

“Oh! Cly, we have to get their robes!” One of the women shouts and the women break into a frenzy again, scurrying about and opening drawers and shutting wardrobes, hands suddenly filled with different articles of clothing. Clymenestra stands beside you, arms folded over her chest as she oversees the chaos, then opens a set of doors that leads to a large, long hallway. The doors at the end of the hallways open out to the outdoors at the same time, and you watch the women file neatly into the hallway in two rows. Cly tugs you to her side at the end of the line, holding your hand with an iron grip.

“Say nothing until I introduce you.”

When the two men who resurfaced from the sea stride through the doors, you swallow hard, feeling your palms become clammy at the sight of the muscles on display.

Oh, no. They’re hot.

“Your Holiness.”

“Your Highness.”

The women coo these words interchangeably as a black, long-haired man and a white-haired man take the clothing offered to them, wrapping the towels and silk robes around themselves. As the white-haired man gets closer to you, your knees begin to quake under your dress, his blue eyes piercing your soul.

“Clymenestra, it seems we have a new guest here,” he purrs, placing a hand on his hip. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m--” Cly yanks on your hand surreptitiously, which stops your speech.

“Her name is y/n, and she’s the newest addition to His Holiness’ household, your Highness.”

“Ah,” the man sighs, looking away. “I was hoping they would send me a new plaything this time.” The black-haired man catches the end of this conversation, tying his black robe around him and raising a brow.

“Have you asked for a new plaything, Gojo?” he wonders as his black eyes slide to you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you catch his gaze, which is tender and curious. Not at all like the devouring gaze the man with the blue eyes gave you.

“No,” the blue-eyed man mumbles, walking down a different corridor and disappearing.

“I’m sorry about my friend, he’s a little touchy around this time of year,” the black-haired man mentions, and Cly bobs into a small curtsy.

“Your Holiness, this is y/n.”

“What a beautiful name,” he muses, and you bow your head slightly. “You can refer to me as Geto.” When he speaks to you - and so familiarly at that - you feel a shiver run down your spine and rest in the pit of your stomach. “You’re my guest here and I will treat you as such. Have you fully recovered from your episode?” he wonders, and you nod in response, words unable to be formed in your mouth. “Fantastic. Let’s have dinner, I know you’re probably famished after losing your horse.” Cly urges you to follow him down a separate corridor, and you follow obediently.

_____________________________________________________________

Two pairs of eyes are on you as you try to politely scarf down the food offered. When the smell of loaves of bread, meats, cheeses, fish, delicacies you’ve only dreamed of having for the past five years wafted into your nose, your rational mind switched off and your self-preservation kicked in. Now, you were sitting at a table for four in the middle of a large dining hall that could possibly hold twenty couples total. The room is the same white and golden color scheme, only this time, the chairs and table cloths are black.

“You would think the villagers would have fed her,” Gojo - his highness - grumbles as you shove a slice of bread into your mouth. Geto just chuckles, picking at his own food with little interest.

“No, Satoru. They were cruel enough to send her up the mountain, certain she would die. Why would they waste food during a famine?” The famine. You look up from your plate at the black-haired one and frown, mouth full of food.

“We sacrifice women to you so that you’ll send rain.” You mention, and he shrugs, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what the elders tell us.”

“He’s not a rain god,” Gojo replies, steepling his fingers together. “So there’s something wrong about that assumption.”

“But we’ve been doing it for--”

“Two decades.” Geto finishes for you, then looks down at his plate before clearing his throat. “What did you do in the village, y/n?” He wonders, changing the subject suddenly.

“I--” I stole some food. I lived on the streets. I was an orphan.

I am an orphan.

“What difference does it make? Obviously, she wasn’t valuable enough for them to want to preserve her life.” Gojo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like she’s not better off up here, Suguru.”

“But--” you try to speak, but Geto speaks over you, holding a hand out so Gojo will stop talking.

“Gojo, I know that. I just want to know a little more about our guest here. Is that okay with you?” The blue-eyed man tosses his hands up in defeat, squinting at you after looking you up and down. “Y/n, tell me about your time in the village. What did you do before you were picked?”

“I was… an orphan,” you admit, and Geto leans back in his chair, humming softly. Gojo runs a hand through his white locks, averting his gaze.

“My condolences,” Geto murmurs, tilting his head to the side so his hair dangled to the left. “Were you very close?”

“Are you going to sacrifice me?” you blurt, and Geto and Gojo both frown. “I mean, am I going to die after eating this meal?” Gojo tries his best to hold in his laughter, but fails miserably, tilting back in his chair as the sharp sounds echo around the room. You turn back to Geto, who chuckles as well and is hunched over in his seat.

“No, no, no,” Gojo wipes the tears from his eyes and continues. “You’re out guest, y/n. We would be horrible hosts if we killed you.”

“So what am I here for?” you reply, and Geto whispers:

“You’re only here to repay a debt, y/n. It has nothing to do with you personally, but just know, you’re not going to die. Actually, I would go as far as saying that you have the opportunity to live forever.”

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #geto suguru #jjk geto #getou x reader #getou suguru #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Want of a Spider

Prompt: Just reread unwanted and God I forgot how good it was also if it was a book I would buy so many copies of it also could we get a oneshot of mabye a few years later after everything happened to see how the boys are doing I just want to see them happy together

Ah, yes, don’t we all?

Read on Ao3

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

Warnings: implied/referenced panic attacks, nothing too severe, shapeshifting

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 6888

A child runs to a garden.

Five fae take the child as their own.

Slowly, the child grows into something new.

Set after the events of (Un)Wanted.

It starts slow.

Slow enough that at first, Virgil’s not even sure it’s happening. The garden is…weird, to put it mildly, and it’s not like living with a bunch of fae is going to give anyone a baseline for what’s normal.

He’s just finished baking a new batch of bread with Patton. Patton’s room smells amazing, the bread looks warm and soft and part of Virgil—a part that Roman and Janus have been slowly encouraging to speak up more—wants to grab it and rip a hunk off with his teeth, temperature be damned.

Part of him would rather not have a burned tongue for the rest of the day, thank you very much. Then he won’t be able to actually enjoy the rest of the bread, just the too-sore feeling of his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

…and part of him still doesn’t know how to eat properly. Or that it’s okay to want to eat.

Patton must catch that last thought buzzing around because he looks over with a frown, reaching out to pinch the offending buzzing thing out of the air and squash it, rubbing his fingertips together until it poofs and disintegrates. The accompanying bubble of relief works its way through Virgil’s chest.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, kiddo, that seemed like a nasty one.” Patton finishes drying his hands off and surveys their handiwork. “Well! That went well.”

Virgil snorts. “Ah, yes, I forget that throwing flour at whoever you’re baking with is always important.”

“Don’t you look at me, you started it!” Patton points his finger at him. “You’re the one who threw it at me first.”

Virgil blinks. “You bumped me while I was trying to measure it out.”

“I did.” Patton nods. “And then you bumped me back.”

“Yes. Bumped. I didn’t throw it at you.”

“You did, however, decide to wipe it off my face without getting the rest of it off your own.”

“Because you threw it at me!”

Patton throws his head back and laughs, which of course makes Virgil laugh too because have you not seen his face when he laughs you try keeping a straight face. The memory of the two of them absolutely covered in flour, barely any of it in the bowl where it was supposed to go, is enough to make him scrub his hands through his hair to make sure that yes, he did in fact get all of it out.

“Oh, I haven’t laughed that hard in a while,” Patton murmurs as their giggles slow, shaking his head and going for the plates, “but I think that’s given the bread enough time to cool off.”

“Does that mean we should call the others?”

“If you want to.”

Virgil closes his eyes and reaches, searching for the tether in his chest. It takes a few pokes and prods but eventually he feels something warm and pushes.

“Hello, yes, hi, I heard something about fresh bread?” Roman pops up first, giving Virgil a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t start without me!”

“Hey!”

Virgil giggles as Remus drops straight onto Roman, almost knocking them both to the ground. He hears an exasperated sigh behind him and turns, seeing Logan shake his head at the twins.

“You would think,” he mutters to Virgil, “the two of them would develop a little more sense of spatial awareness after the first…oh, ten times they’ve knocked things over.”

“I don’t think they’ve ever had to.”

“You’re right.” Logan shakes his head again and turns to Patton. “It smells delicious, you two, congratulations.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet,” Patton reminds, “we have to wait for—“

“Fuck.”

Virgil holds a hand to his chest as Janus chuckles, having appeared out of fucking nowhere just behind him as he turned to see where the snake was. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as Janus rubs a circle between his shoulder blades.

“Sorry, little mouse,” Janus murmurs, just loud enough for him to hear, “I didn’t mean to startle you so badly.”

“It’s fine.” He leans into the touch for a moment longer. “I, uh, I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Never, little mouse, you have my word.”

“Thanks.”

“Remus, I swear—“

“Just let me go and it’ll be fine!”

“Kiddos,” Patton scolds, all but prying the twins apart, “if you don’t stop fighting, there won’t be any bread left for you.”

Virgil has to stifle a chuckle at how fast the two of them break apart, sitting and folding their hands in their laps to patiently wait for their bread. Judging by the way Janus presses a little closer behind him, he knows what’s going to happen before Patton turns to him.

“Virgil? Would you like to do the honors?”

“Uh, sure.” Virgil takes the bread knife hesitantly and examines the loaf. It looks too pretty to cut…but it smells incredible. “How—uh, how much does everyone want?”

“If you let them,” Logan says wryly, “they’ll eat the whole loaf. Take what you want first.”

“Will not!”

“You, you absolutely will.”

“Hey!”

The knife hits the cutting board with a soft tap, the slice falling neatly onto the plate. Patton takes the knife when Virgil offers it, taking over the slicing as Virgil scoots around the edge of the counter to sit with his slice.

It looks so..perfect. And as he lifts it up and bites into it—

Yeah, he could eat this for the rest of his life and be happy.

Judging by the way the rest of them devour the loaf, they agree.

“You did wonderfully,” Logan murmurs amidst the smatterings of compliments, “this is delicious.”

“Thanks.”

“You must remind Patton to make this again with you, it tastes much better.”

When he doesn’t answer right away, Logan glances up, smiling when he catches sight of his red cheeks. Leaning closer, he places his chin on Virgil’s shoulder and turns to whisper:

“Don’t let Roman see that if you don’t want to blush any harder.”

Now that right there is a very good point. In an effort to hide it, he takes another bite of the bread, only to frown when something’s different.

Logan seems to notice and tilts his head. “Is there something wrong? Does it taste strange?”

Virgil opens and closes his mouth a few times. “It feels gummy.”

“Really?” Logan has another bit of his own. “It doesn’t taste that way to me, perhaps…?”

“Here, try mine.”

“…no, it still tastes the same. Have you had something to drink recently?”

“Not as recently as I probably should.” Before he can blink, Logan’s holding out a glass of water. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Let’s see if this helps.”

Well, the gumminess is no longer in his mouth. He’s not sure if he can still feel it in the back of his throat. He takes another bite of the bread—and oh fuck is it good—and it seems to go away.

“That might’ve been it.” But maybe it wasn’t.

“We’ll keep an eye on it, though,” Logan says easily as if he can see where Virgil’s mind wants to go, “let us know if it changes, okay?”

“I will.”

Which is why, later, when he’s sitting out by the lake to watch the moon ripple across the surface of the water, he feels it return and coughs, coughs, coughs until something flies out of his throat.

He frowns, bending down to stare at the thing glistening in the grass. He tilts his head.

What the fuck?

Something else is still in his throat. He coughs again, and more of it shoots out, sticking to the grass with a horrid sound.

Okay, nope. He’s not dealing with this by himself.

Remus? Remus, can you help me with something?

Sure. Gimme a sec and I’ll drop in. Are you okay?

Virgil takes another look at the glistening…thing on the grass.

I don’t know.

An instant later, the water bubbles and Remus rises up, propping himself up with his tentacles as he shakes the water off. Virgil throws his arms up to protect his face from the shower of droplets.

“Oh, oops.”

He waves a hand. “It’s fine, it’s just water.”

“…yeah.”

“Do I want to know what else was in that?”

“Probably not.”

Virgil sighs as Remus clambers up to sit next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder. Remus’s hand cards gently through his hair before prompting him to sit up.

“What’s the problem, little monster? How can I help?”

In response, Virgil points at the glistening mess on the grass In front of him. Remus leans forward, following Virgil’s finger, frowning until he spots the mess. His eyes widen.

“Whoa. I’ve never seen that before.”

Virgil’s heart sinks. If Remus has never seen it before…

“Where’d it come from?” Remus looks over his shoulder. “Was it Ollie? Uma? One of the others?”

Virgil shakes his head.

“Really? So Roman’s babies did that? Huh, I gotta tell him, he’s gonna get a kick outta that.”

“No.”

Remus frowns at the truly quiet noise Virgil makes. He nudges him gently. “No? No what, little monster?”

“It—“ Virgil swallows the gummy thing in his mouth— “it wasn’t Roman’s.”

Remus’s frown deepens. “Then what—“

His eyes go giant when Virgil coughs up another one. It lands on the grass with a splat.

“…oh.”

Virgil turns to him so fast he can feel his neck protesting. “Oh? Oh what, what does ‘oh’ mean?”

Remus smiles. He smiles so wide it makes Virgil’s face hurt by proxy. His eyes dart back and forth between Remus and the stuff on the ground.

“Remus, what?”

“You’re changing,” Remus says softly, still smiling as he reaches out to pull Virgil close, “you’re changing, Virgil, that’s it.”

Um, excuse me, no part of that is reassuring, thank you very much.

“What do you mean I’m ‘changing?’”

“You bonded to us, Virgil,” Remus continues, “you opened that connection.”

“Okay…?”

“That means—well, it means you’re no longer fully human, little monster.”

Wait, what?

He’s—

“You mean I’m part fae now?”

Remus nods. “You’re one of us, little monster, you’re ours. Which means that some of your magic—“

“I have magic?”

“Everything has magic, Virgil. But yeah, it means through that connection your magic’s starting to get a bit of its own shape.”

Virgil looks back down at the mess. It looks…well, it doesn’t look quite so scary anymore. In fact, as he looks at it, there are parts of it that he may actually be able to call…

…pretty.

“My own shape?”

“Jan-Jan looks like a snake, yeah?”

“Except he’s got six arms.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that doesn’t make sense to me either. But Janny’s a snake, I’ve got tentacles, Logan runs a little colder than the rest of us, and Pat’s got an impressive sense of smell.”

“…what about Roman?”

“Roman’s magic just kinda…” Remus wiggles his fingers. “Does that. You’ve seen it.”

“Yeah…yeah, I’ve seen it.”

“He spoils you.”

“…he tries.”

Remus gives him another gentle nudge to show he understands. Then he nods to the grass.

“That’s probably the start of it, little monster.”

“Will it hurt?”

The shameful question bursts out before he can stop it and he winces, curling his arms tightly around himself. Remus just wraps his arms around him too, holding him close.

“I don’t know, Virgil.” He tightens his grip. “But I do know you won’t have to do this alone.”

The dark pit in his chest softens ever so slightly. He tucks his head under Remus’s.

“I know.”

He goes to Logan next. Knocks on his door and waits patiently—okay, maybe not that patiently—for Logan to open it and tilt his head.

“You needn’t do that, you can ask for me directly if you like,” he says after he’s welcomed Virgil inside.

“I know, I just…felt better doing that.”

“I understand.” Logan smiles and adjusts his glasses. “What can I help you with?”

“I, um…” He shifts his weight from side to side. “I found something.”

“Oh? What did you find?”

“Do you remember when I said the bread tasted gummy?” Logan nods. “Well, I, um, found out why.”

Logan’s eyes widen as Virgil holds out a dish with some of the stuff on it. He takes it slowly, adjusting his glasses again as he stares down at the glistening substance. His eyes dart from it to Virgil and back.

“Remus said I was changing,” Virgil offers, “because of the bond, and I just—I just wanted—“

He swallows.

“…wanted to know if it would hurt,” he finishes lamely.

Logan takes a deep breath and sets the dish aside, reaching for his notebook and flipping it open. He scribbles something down and looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face.

“I’m incredibly glad,” he says softly, “that the bond is holding and that you are staying.”

“Wait, there was a chance it wouldn’t work?”

“There was a chance it wouldn’t be formed at all,” Logan corrects, “not that it would fade once it was made.”

“So...?”

“So you’re one of us now, Virgil,” Logan says, holding up the dish, “this proves it.”

“What is that?”

Logan’s smile grows. “I’ve got no idea. Let’s go find out, shall we?”

He beckons Virgil closes, moving across his room to…an area with machines that Virgil has never seen before. He watches as Logan carefully separates a piece of the substance to place on the bed of…what looks like a giant box but what is probably so much more complicated.

“You can come closer if you like.”

He shakes himself, looking up to see Logan considering him curiously.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Logan lets their shoulders brush together as he comes to join him. “This is one of my favorite tools.”

“What’s it called?”

“I call it the universal scanner, though I believe Roman calls it the Answer Box.”

“The what?”

“It answers most of the basic questions I can have about something, I suppose.”

“So he called it the Answer Box?”

“I don’t believe Roman’s ever claimed to be the best at naming things.”

Virgil snorts. “Then you were not there for the argument the two of them had over who was naming Oliver’s new adopted jellyfish.”

Logan shudders. “No, and I’m quite glad for that.”

The scanner begins to beep, little pulses of light going off around the stuff lying so innocuously in the middle. As it keeps going, something starts to twist in Virgil’s chest.

What if something’s wrong? What if this isn’t a sign of Virgil changing and it’s something dangerously wrong with him? What if he’s changing and it’s bad? What if they decide they don’t like him or he’s dangerous?

What if they realize the—

—the humans were right?

A rush of cool surges up his arm and he breathes, reaching out to take Logan’s hand and squeeze. Logan squeezes back, stepping a little closer and watching as the machine slows down. Across the room, one of Logan’s screens lights up. He gives Virgil’s hand one last squeeze before stepping away, going to look at the results.

“What does it say?”

“Chemical composition, tensile strength,” Logan murmurs, “as well as magical signature.”

“Magical signature?”

“Who it belongs to,” Logan clarifies, shooting him a smile over his shoulder, “you, Virgil.”

“I have a magical signature?”

“You do.”

He looks down at his hands, turning them over. “What does it look like?”

Logan thinks for a moment. “Do you remember the colors that your aura turns when the Claims are shown?” Virgil nods. “The colors are the various signatures.”

“So yours is…?”

“Dark blue, I believe. Roman’s is red, Remus’s is green. Patton’s is light blue.”

“Janus’s is yellow, I guess.”

“I believe he prefers ‘gold.’”

“He’s so pretentious,” Virgil mutters, “gold, honestly. Shut up, it’s fucking yellow.”

Logan chuckles. “You can tell him that if you’d like.”

“Maybe I will.”

“But to answer your question,” Logan continues, “your magical signature is your color.”

“…which is what?”

Logan looks at him strangely. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember?” Virgil shuffles nervously. “Remember what?”

“The day you were taken,” Logan says softly, sending a dark bolt through Virgil’s stomach, “and we brought you home, do you remember what happened in the garden?”

V jolts awake, flails desperately, against Roman, against Logan, against Patton.

“V, V, honey,” Patton tries, “you’re safe, honey, it’s just us, kiddo—“

“Virgil.”

Virgil breathes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Logan sends another calming pulse into the air, calling his name quietly until he can look up.

“My apologies,” Logan murmurs, “I did not mean to do that.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t—“ he takes a breath— “you didn’t mean to.”

Logan accepts it with a nod. “I merely meant that your aura was particularly strong that day,” he says quietly, “and perhaps you remembered it. But you did not, and that’s okay.”

“Sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Virgil, it’s alright, there’s no need to apologize.”

He blinks, looking back at the bed of the scanner. “So what is it?”

“Simply put? It’s a web.”

Virgil blinks, longer this time. “A what?”

“A web, Virgil,” Logan repeats, “your web.”

A web, that means—that means that Virgil—he’s—

“So what am I going to be?”

“I believe…” Logan turns the screen to face him. Virgil’s eyes widen.

“A spider?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“But—“

Logan raises an eyebrow when Virgil cuts himself off abruptly, all but clapping a hand over his mouth.

“But,” he prompts softly, “but what?”

“…nothing.”

He tilts his head.

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I just…” well, the more he thinks about it, the stupider it sounds. He’s trying really hard to not say it out loud, but…

“You can tell me,” Logan says softly, “I won’t be upset.”

“…but no one likes spiders,” he whispers, shame burning the inside of his throat where he can feel another web forming.

Logan is quiet for a moment. Then—

“Come here.”

Virgil’s head jerks up. “What?”

Logan holds out his arm. “Come here, little one.”

And Logan looks so sincere that he can’t help it, ducking under his arm and letting him gather him close to his chest. Logan hums gently, tucking Virgil’s head under his chin and holding him tight.

“We like you, little one,” he murmurs, “and everyone else can leave you alone.”

“…really?”

“Yes, really,” Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “you’re wonderful, little one.”

And Virgil opens his mouth to say something equally nice like ‘I like you too’ or even just ‘thank you,’ but nope, instead he has to cough out a web like a rude person.

Luckily, Logan just chuckles again and gives him a gentle squeeze. “I must say, I’m curious about how that works. Would you mind if I helped you figure it out?”

“Please.”

So that’s how he ends up spending a lot of time with Logan, figuring out how much web he can shoot, how to do it on command so it’s not happening all the time, how to hold onto some of it so he can pull stuff towards him like a frog—apparently Patton gets a kick out of that when he tells him—and how to make sure it’s not constantly living in the back of his throat. It’s a fucking blast, actually, and he definitely uses it when Logan gets into an argument with Remus to ‘accidentally’ cough a web into his face. It’s priceless.

That doesn’t mean it’s all good stuff, though.

He wakes up one night with his room covered in webs, sticking to every single available surface, tying him up so he can barely move. His mouth runs dry, his throat aches. He blinks a few times and can’t get the gummy feeling to go away.

Patton, Patton I—I—

Virgil? Kiddo, can I come to you?

Help me—

“Hey, hey,” he hears not a moment later, right next to his head, “hey, kiddo, shh, you’re okay, I’m right here.”

“P-Pat?”

“Yeah, honey.” Patton waves his hand and a little glow appears in the corner of the room. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Virgil breathes, wincing when he feels the strands of the webs again. Patton makes a sympathetic noise.

“Do you want me to get rid of them?” At Virgil’s insistent nod, he waves his hand again and they vanish. “They’re gone now, kiddo, it’s okay. Can you sit up for me?”

Patton wraps his arms tightly around him and holds him close, warm, warm, warm, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

Another kiss. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“I think—“ Virgil swallows— “I think that’s why the webs came out.”

Patton nods. “I can see they trapped a lot of it for you.”

Virgil blinks. “Wait, what?”

“The little buzzing things, the ones that love to fly around you.” He tips Virgil’s head to cup his cheeks, brushing his thumb along the curve of his face. “The ones I can dust off for you?”

“What about them?”

Patton nods toward the rest of the room. “Your webs were trapping most of them, kiddo, making it so you weren’t as badly affected.”

“O-oh.” He swallows again. “But I—I didn’t like it.”

“Making them when you weren’t in control?” Virgil nods. “I can understand that, it must’ve been scary to wake up with a room full of webs.”

Virgil nods again, shifting a little closer to Patton. Wait—

“If the webs were holding them,” he starts, “then why…why aren’t they coming back?”

Patton chuckles. “They know better than to try and touch you when I’m here.”

Virgil hums, burrowing into Patton’s chest and letting him idly flick away the few that dare get close. And yeah, that…that makes sense, but he would rather not be coughing up webs while he’s unconscious. For one, his throat still hurts.

Patton just gently lays his hand against Virgil’s neck and strokes, once, twice, three times, encouraging him to swallow. He does, sighing at the rush of warmth that comes with it.

“Good,” Patton murmurs, “do you want help to make the webs before you go back to sleep?”

“Help to make them?”

“We can set up a little bubble so they get caught, and so you won’t have to do it asleep.”

“You—you’d help me?”

Something flashes behind Patton’s eyes for a moment before it’s replaced by a soft smile. “Of course, sweetheart, I’ll always help you.”

Virgil shifts a bit closer. “Can we stay like this for a little longer first?”

“Of course, kiddo, you come here.”

The webs help. A little. It takes some getting used to, and there’s definitely still times when he wakes up and his throat is all gummy from nightmares, but it does help.

Then, of course, there are the new legs.

Virgil’s eyes shoot open as something cracks. He floats, unaware of what’s happening, as cracks continue to shake the floor of the room. His head rolls to the side. What’s happening? Why can’t he feel anything? There’s just this white-hot tinge to the corners of his vision, almost as if he’s springing up out of his body, what—

—no.

No, no, no, he made it out.

He was free, they were going to keep him safe, how—

He gasps.

Pain floods his senses, turning his blood white and his mouth opens in a silent scream. His jaw aches after the first few seconds and it aches, it truly does, and as his head lolls to the side all he can think about is how the wood at the bottom of the door doesn’t quite reach the floor.

A golden thread inside of him snaps taut and yanks.

“Virgil? Virgil!”

“J?”

“Yes, little mouse, it’s me,” Janus’s voice calls from somewhere above him, “I’m right here, darling, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It—it hurts, I—“

“Shh, shh—oh, darling.” A gloved hand touches his cheek to catch the tears. “Oh, little mouse, tell me what’s so awful, what’s hurting you?”

Another sharp crack rings out and Janus makes a noise.

“Virgil, you’re going to have to roll over.”

Moving of any sort feels like the actual worst, thank you very much.

“They’re trying to come out of your back, darling, any pressure on them is going to make it worse.”

Blinking through the haze of white, Virgil manages to stare up at Janus. He watches his mouth thin to a hard line.

“Come on, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, gently tucking his hand under Virgil’s cheek, “roll toward me, I’ll catch you, but you have to get off your back.”

At the gentle urging of the thread, Virgil closes his eyes and rolls.

“Good,” Janus soothes, cradling him as they lie down on the floor, “good job, darling, I’ve got you, little mouse, it’s alright.”

“What’s—what’s happening?”

“You’re changing, sweetie.” Janus rubs a circle into his lower back, away from the pain, “that’s all it is. Shh, shh, I know it hurts, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

“Make it stop,” he whines, burying his face shamelessly into the crook of Janus’s neck, “it hurts.”

“I know, sweetie, I know. You’re doing so well, it’s okay. You’re okay, I’m right here.”

Janus wraps his arms around him carefully, avoiding the center of his back. One hand cups the back of his neck, another ruffling through his hair. Two stroke down his shoulders, trying to get the muscles to relax. The last pair sling around his hips and hold him close.

“I know it hurts, sweetie,” Janus whispers, “but you have to try and relax. Tensing up will only make it hurt more.”

“I can’t—“

“You can, sweetie, they’re almost out, it’s okay.” He tips his head to press a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “You’re doing much better than I did when my arms were first growing in.”

“R-really?”

“Yes, sweetie, really…oh, easy, little mouse, shh, just focus on me…”

Virgil clings onto him as his back keeps cracking, over and over. Janus is right, though, holding onto him makes it a little easier, especially when he reaches a hand up to brush the tears away.

“I’ve got you, Virgil,” he promises, “it’s almost over, you’re doing so well, just a little more, now, stay here with me…”

“I want it to stop, it fucking hurts.”

“I know, little mouse, I know.”

“Don’t think—“ Virgil gasps against his neck as another crack rings out, quieter this time, though— “don’t think that works anymore.”

“You’ll always be my little mouse,” Janus whispers, “but you can also be my little spider.”

Virgil blinks. His back still aches, but…the blinding white pain is gone. He tries to stretch—

—and freezes when new things respond in ways that do not make sense.

“Jan?”

“You’ve got new limbs, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, giving his hair a ruffle, “can you try and move them for me?”

Oh, he was not meant to have these muscles in these places. Still, he manages to figure out which ones he’s supposed to flex only for another jolt of pain to shoot through them.

“Shh, shh,” Janus shushes when he winces, “I know it hurts, but you’ve got to start building up a range of motion now, otherwise they’ll get sore and stuck very quickly.”

Virgil grits his teeth and bears it, listening to Janus’s gentle instructions on how to bend, unbend, and rotate the—four?—four new limbs coming from the center of his back. He definitely sheds a few more tears into the collar of Janus’s shirt, but by the time Janus rubs the back of his neck and tells him he’s all done, for now, his back does feel a little better.

“You did so well, sweetie, I’m so proud of you.”

“Can I never do that again?”

Janus chuckles. “Absolutely, little spider.”

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Janus’s eyes widen as a brilliant blush starts to bloom over Virgil’s cheeks. “Well.”

“No.”

“But it’s been so long since I have seen you so flustered, little spider,” he purrs, gently knuckling the side of Virgil’s face, “can you blame me?”

“Stoppit.”

“Oh, darling, is it truly still so easy?”

“Well, it’s easy once I’m already here!”

“Mm.”

Virgil does not squeak, thank you very much, as Janus sits up and pulls him fully into his lap.

“And where is here, little spider,” he hums, bringing one hand up to cup his chin, “right…here?”

Well, there go Virgil’s speaking abilities.

Janus chuckles, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “It’s certainly been a while since I’ve seen you speechless, darling.”

Virgil just mumbles and throws his arms around him.

“Oh, it’s okay, little spider,” Janus murmurs, softer this time, “I’m done now, you have my word.”

“Mean.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I’ve been very rude to you.” Another kiss on his cheek. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

As an answer, he feels hands begin to rub gently at the muscles in his back, encouraging the last bit of cramps loose. An exhale tears itself out of his chest as he sags forward.

“Good,” comes the soft whisper, “good, little spider, just relax, I’ve got you.”

Virgil mumbles, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. “Hurts.”

“Still?” At his nods, Janus makes a noise of sympathy and redoubles his efforts. “It’s okay, little spider, I’ve got you, you’re here with me.”

Something dark shifts in his stomach again. He tucks his head firmly under Janus’s chin and takes a shaky breath.

“What is it, darling?”

“When I woke up,” he mumbles, “thought it was—that I—“

He swallows.

“…wasn’t sure if I was…back or not.”

Janus stills. The dark thing in the pit of Virgil’s stomach snaps.

“You are here,” Janus says, a growl tinging the edge of his voice, “you are here, with me, and you are safe.”

Arms wrap tightly around him.

“None of them will touch you again,” he promises, “I have you. I have you, little spider, you’re safe.”

Virgil just sits there, basking in the warm, golden glow, as Janus wraps the threads of Reality around them.

“Keep me?”

“I’ll keep you, little spider, I’ll always keep you.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

One last kiss pressed to his forehead. “Always.”

The limbs are…interesting. The first time Janus takes him to the mirror to see them, Virgil almost runs away.

They look like spider legs, all segmented and hairy, but they’re a little too…purple to be just normal spider’s legs. Janus walks him carefully through how to stretch them, how to use them, how to turn them this way and that until it feels a little more like Virgil’s supposed to have them. He doesn’t seem to have to build up their strength as he would a new arm or leg—well, a humanoid arm or leg—but figuring out how to use them takes…a little longer than he’d like.

And he never quite gets over how…wrong it looks.

Freak.

He does his best to hide it. It’s not like it isn’t expected, people don’t normally spontaneously grow limbs like, partway through their life anyway, let alone spider legs, so an adjustment period is expected, but…

Freak.

All things considered, he thinks he’s doing pretty well. He hasn’t lied to anyone—not that he really could—and no one’s asked him flat-out if he feels like they’re awful or anything, but…

Freak.

Then he makes his way back to his room as the sun sets one day and Roman is there, leaning up against the side of the house, waiting for him.

He looks up and smiles, waving to Virgil and beckoning him closer. Virgil goes, valiantly suppressing the shudder at how fucking warm Roman is as a hand comes up to cup his cheek.

Judging by the smile on his face, it’s not successful, but hey, he tried.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Roman murmurs, “can we talk for a moment?”

Virgil nods.

“Thank you, sweetheart, do you want to go inside, or…?”

“Sure.”

Roman lets Virgil lead him inside and pull him to sit down on the bed. He reaches out to push Virgil’s hair away from his face.

“Do you know why I’m here, sweetheart?”

When Virgil shakes his head, he scoots a little closer and rests his hand flat against his back, just below where the legs come out.

“…oh.”

Roman nods, rubbing little circles. “What’s troubling you, little honeybee?”

Virgil huffs, gesturing over his shoulder. “Don’t think that works anymore.”

“Mm, Janus said you’d say that,” he murmurs, shifting a little closer and lifting Virgil’s chin, “talk to me, sweetheart.”

Virgil shuts his eyes. A web crawls up into the back of his throat and he swallows it down, willing the buzzing things to stay away, held at bay only by the web still in his throat and the insistence that everything is going to be fine.

“…freak,” he mumbles eventually, much to Roman’s surprise, “they called me a freak.”

Roman’s hand stills on his back.

“I jus’—“ fuck, why is he crying?—“I jus’—they made sense, and I—“

“Don’t, sweetheart,” Roman says quietly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Virgil’s, “don’t do that to yourself.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he lets Roman pull him closer, fighting down the urge to sob.

“Yes, that’s it, come here—come sit with me—there,” he murmurs, sitting Virgil in his lap, “you’re not a freak, Virgil.”

He huffs. “Easy for you to say.”

Roman pulls back, frowning. “Why?”

Fuck. Well, now’s he got to explain himself.

“Um—“ and great, Roman’s not even doing anything and he’s bright red— “you don’t have any of—“ he waves to the spider legs— “you look like a normal human.”

He hesitates.

“…and you’re really pretty.”

Roman blinks. His lips part and his breath leaves him in a rush. Virgil winces.

“Sweetheart, do you think you don’t have value if you’re not pretty?”

“I mean…”

“No,” Roman growls, sitting up a little straighter and cupping V’s face in his hands, “no, Virgil, pretty isn’t some kind of rent you pay to exist in the world. You don’t owe anyone that, sweetheart.”

Virgil’s eyes widen as Roman holds him tightly.

“You have more to offer than just your outward appearance,” he says firmly, “so much more.”

“But I—I’m not—“ Virgil swallows. “I can’t do anything.”

“What do you mean you can’t do anything, sweetheart?”

“You guys, you can all—“ he waves his hands—“do things. I can’t. I’m just…here.”

“Oh,” Roman breathes as his face truly falls, “oh, little honeybee, you don’t have to be useful to be wanted.”

Wait.

What?

Virgil doesn’t—he doesn’t have to—

“What?”

Roman nods, pulling him closer still, “you don’t, sweetheart, we want you. We will always want you. You don’t have to do anything to earn it.”

Oh.

“You’re mine, little honeybee, as long as you want to be,” he murmurs quietly, “you don’t need to do anything to earn my trust or affection. It’s yours.”

Well, now Virgil feels stupid. The spider legs twitch unhappily over his shoulder. Roman catches it.

“Still not used to them yet, I see,” he murmurs, “that’s alright. I’m not trying to tell you you’re not allowed to feel upset, sweetheart, I promise.”

“I know.”

“Can I help,” he asks softly, “can I help you see they’re nothing to be ashamed of?”

“How?”

“Has anyone touched them yet,” Roman asks, “other than to help you learn how to use them?”

He shakes his head.

“May I touch you, sweetheart?” Virgil nods and Roman smiles. “Thank you. Now, come here—yes, that’s it—“

Virgil leans right up against Roman’s chest, letting him curl his arms around to scratch gently, gently at the very center of the four legs. It sends a jolt through him, every nerve buzzing.

“You don’t have to think right now,” Roman hushes when Virgil can’t find the words to say exactly how much this means, “not if you don’t want. You can just sit and feel, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Warm. Warm hands rubbing firmly up the limbs as Virgil’s frantic thoughts grind slowly to a halt. Then Roman’s hands find a spot just below the third segment and he groans, low and dark.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Roman soothes, squeezing just enough to rewire more of Virgil’s brain, “I’m right here, little honeybee, I’ve got you.”

It’s so much. It’s so much and every single hair on Virgil’s body stands. He hears Roman chuckle from far, far away and all he can do is whine. Roman shushes him, calling him ‘noisy’ in the most affectionate voice but it’s so much.

And yet, it feels like something’s missing. Like there’s an extra joint that isn’t quite sitting right yet, like there’s a layer in between the spider legs and his back. Roman keeps touching him, holding him close, but it’s not right.

“Roman,” he manages, just as Roman’s fingers slide around the base joint, “Roman—“

“Yes, little honeybee?”

“Magic.”

Roman stills and Virgil tries not to whine at the loss. “What?”

“Use your magic,” he says again, trying to clear his head enough to ask properly, “it feels—I can’t—they’re not mine yet.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “And you think that if I use my magic, it will help?”

“Please?”

“You don’t have to beg, sweetheart, you know I can’t ever say no to you.” Roman ruffles his hair. “But you know the rules, sweetheart.”

Virgil nods and sits up, leaning away to look at Roman properly. “If it’s too much or it feels like it wants me to want, I tell you and we stop.”

“And…?”

“And if I don’t like something.”

“Good.” Roman takes a deep breath. “Alright.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, little honeybee.”

“…still don’t think that works anymore.”

“Mm.” Roman tilts his head.

Virgil shifts as a smirk crawls over his face.

“Janus told me something else, you know,” he says softly as he reaches to coax Virgil back into his lap.

“…what?”

Red sparks curl up from his fingers. Virgil closes his eyes, waiting for the hand to land on his back or the legs again, only for them to fly opened, startled when Roman cups his chin.

“Wha—“

Oh.

Oh, no—Roman’s eyes darken a little, the sparks fizzing on the soft spot under his chin. He tilts his head to the side and leans closer.

“Hello, little spider.”

Virgil will deny the squeak he makes until the end of time. Roman chuckles and runs his finger lazily across Virgil’s jaw. The magic trails after him.

“Pretty little spider,” he coos, voice slipping back into that light, sweet, gentle thing that wriggles straight into Virgil’s chest, “blushy little spider.”

“R-Roman!”

“Hmm?” The finger swipes along the other side of his jaw. “What is it, little spider?”

All that comes out is a keen.

“You asked for this, little spider,” Roman reminds, tapping the tip of Virgil’s nose, “you asked for the magic.”

“The magic, not the flirting!”

“Oh, the flirting’s for me, little spider,” he coos, “just for fun. You’re so lovely, I can’t help it.”

“Mmm!”

“Is this not what you wanted, little spider?” When Virgil can’t say anything, Roman chuckles but lifts his fingers away to let him catch his breath. “What do you want, little spider?”

“You know what I want.”

“I do,” he says softly, “but I need you to say it for me. I don’t want to do anything without your consent.”

“…will you touch my legs, please?”

Roman smiles, running his finger up Virgil’s neck, up under his chin, lifting to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Good, little spider,” he whispers, reaching around to leave a small trail down the middle of Virgil’s back, shushing the light whine, “just relax, now, I’ve got you.”

Virgil melts, all but collapsing into Roman as his magic trails lightly up and down the legs, over his back, sometimes fizzling into his hair as he kisses Virgil’s head. His legs start to move of their own accord, pushing up into Roman’s hands as he rocks them slowly back and forth.

“Are you falling asleep, little spider? Does that feel good?” He feels Roman smile against his forehead. “You can sleep, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

The last of Roman’s magic fizzles away but his hands stay, rubbing, stroking, petting up and down, up and down. Roman’s so warm.

“Just rest, little spider,” Roman hushes, “you’re alright now, shh…”

He falls asleep to moonlight streaming in through the window, his head pillowed on Roman’s chest.

Somewhere, a purple thread winds itself into a braid next to a red thread, a green thread, a light blue thread, a dark blue thread, and a yellow thread.

‘Golden.’

He’s so pretentious, it’s fine.

Virgil’s home.

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#sanders sides #dragonbabbles #fic #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #fae

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justcourttee · 4 years

Note

Daminette Marinette accidental pregnancy reveal in front of the whole family

Love it. Daminette is golden. Hope you like it! @speedybakeryneckzipper

Uhm Surprise?

Marinette felt herself spiraling.

She sat in her apartment bathroom, her head buried into her hands in disbelief. They had finally done it. She was finally pregnant. Oh God, Damian was going to be so happy. Eight long months of trying and failing and here she was, sitting in a damp towel, tears of joy pouring down her face.

“Angel? Are you almost finished getting ready? You know how unreasonable Grayson gets when we are late for this cursed family night.”

Marinette wiped the tears from her face, standing as quietly as she could. The problem with marrying a former assassin was that he could always detect the slightest problems with his stupid hearing.

“I’m honestly just finishing up drying off. It’ll take another 15 at least to get dressed and put on some basic makeup.”

The pause on the other side of the door sent a shiver of fear through her spine. Maybe she hadn’t kept her voice level enough, maybe he could hear her excited undertones, maybe-

“Alright my love, but just know, you are risking the wrath of little Grayson as well.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at his nickname for Dick and Barbara’s child. He had only ever called his niece by name once, other than that, it was always little Grayson, or the spawn of satan. (Honestly though, from the stories they had told Marinette, maybe making him babysit the child was Dick’s revenge for Damian’s own childhood.)

She waited until she was sure he was no longer at the door before she released the quietest squeal she could manage. Maybe she would tell him after family night. After all, they were in every right to celebrate this victory together. . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stepping out of the portal, Marinette didn’t even have the chance to detransform before she lost her stomach in Alfred’s shrubbery. Immediately, Damian was by her side, a wary look on his face as he did his best to hold back her hair from the assault.

“Are you alright angel? Portaling has never had that effect on you before.”

Marinette nodded as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, calling off the transformation.

‘So no portalling for the next few months. Noted.’

Pulling out a can of mints, Marinette swallowed three of them before breathing out a sigh of relief. Giving an okay to Damian, he pushed open the door, offering his arm for her to take.

“About damn time!”

Marinette sidestepped at the last second as Jason tackled Damian to the ground, putting him into a headlock as he ruffled her husband’s hair.

“You two lovebirds realize that you left me in an insufferable situation right? There’s like three kids and that’s not even counting Dickie bird.”

A vague ‘hey’ echoed through the hallways followed by laughter. Marinette shook her head as she tapped out for Damian, helping him up from the ground.

“So what Miraculous did you bring tonight Mari? I’m so ready for another spar.”

“I, uh, forgot. Yup.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at her.

“You guys didn’t drive up so that means you at least have Kaalki with you.”

“I do, but-”

“Great! We’ll practice my dodging later on.”

Jason slung his arms around the couple as he led them into the living room where several more faces sat, eagerly awaiting their arrival.

“And the last to the party, for the seventh week in a row, Mr. and Mrs. Damian Wayne! And the crowd goes wild!” Tim cupped his hands over his mouth as he exhaled loudly.

Before Damian could raise his fist, Marinette reached over, plucking the fresh bread from Tim’s plate, sending him a wink.

“We’re going for a new record.”

“I’ll say, you guys don’t even have kids yet. I can’t imagine how late you’ll be when you have a third one to dress Marinette.”

Damian grumbled under his breath as Marinette bit her lip hard, avoiding looking Tim in the eyes.

“What, no comeback? You’re slacking tonight Mari.”

Jason settled into the couch, gently kicking Tim in the back of the head in the process. For a second, all eyes were on her. She felt her face flush as she tried her best to hide behind Damian.

“She’s not feeling good tonight, but she came to make Grayson happy. Now leave her be or face my wrath.”

Tim and Jason let out a simultaneous ‘ooo’ before bursting into fits of laughter. Marinette saw Damian’s first begin to curl, but before he could completely close them, she forced her hand in between, intertwining their fingers. Instantly he relaxed as he leaned down to place a small kiss on her forehead.

“Who’s ready to party?” Two more faces joined the party as Stephanie and Barbara wondered in, each carrying a respective bottle of wine. “Brucie put the kids to bed, Dick is reading them a story, and we need to pregame before they come to stop us.”

“You seriously are going to pregame with wine?”

Jason raised his eyebrow at the two girls before shaking his head in disappointment.

“I thought I taught you both better than that.”

The pop of the cork made Marinette’s stomach flip. The smell was so potent. Had wine always smelt like this? She felt herself starting to gag as she tried to shove Tim’s slice of bread down before anything could come up.

“Hey! Marinette’s cheating! She’s eating bread before drinking.” Stephanie reached over in a playful manner, swatting at the piece of bread.

Marinette took a step back, but it was too quick of a movement as she felt all the blood rush to her head. Two sets of arms darted out as Stephanie and Damian caught her before she could hit the ground.

“Angel are you okay? You’re beginning to worry me.”

She couldn’t trust herself to speak so instead she nodded, holding up the half-eaten bread.

“Dude,” Stephanie slapped the back of Damian’s head, earning a growl from the man. “Why aren’t you feeding this tiny woman. If she passes out from lack of calories again, I’m sticking Cass on your ass.”

Jason snickered, earning a smack on the back of his head courtesy of Barbara.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally showed up. They finally showed up Bruce! Can you believe your eyes?”

Bruce shook his head as Dick raced forward, encasing Marinette in a bone-crushing hug.

“Dick, not so hard, please.”

She didn’t mean to let the distress slip into her voice, but it was too late. Dick pulled back, his eyes narrowed in concern as he assessed her face. He opened his mouth and Marinette knew it was over. She braced herself for the words that were about to slip out but alas, nothing came. Instead, Barbara pulled him away, handing him a glass of wine and offering one to her.

“Oh, uhm, no thank you. I’m not feeling so good today.”

“Oh, c’mon Mari! Drink with us!”

A chorus of ‘yeah’s’ and ‘drink up’ rang through the room as they waited for her to accept the glass. Gently she took the drink from Barbara’s hands with a small smile. But it wasn't enough, they all stared at her, waiting for her to take the first sip. Nervously, she raised the glass to her lips, the smell overpowering her senses. The wine rose up to the edge of the glass as she tilted it back. It was so close to her lips, so close-

“I can’t!”

Jason stepped forward, crossing his arms as he narrowed in on the girl.

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Because why? It’s just wine.”

“Because I’m pregnant!” Instantly she slapped her hand over her mouth as her eyes widened. The room fell deadly silent, all eyes on her and Damian.

“Angel? Did you just say you’re pregnant?” She felt him gather her hand, gently tugging her so that she faced his hopeful face. She shrugged her shoulders as a sheepish smile tugged at her lips.

“Uhm, surprise?”

Damian pulled her into his chest as the group cheered behind them.

“Not wanting to spar, the portal sickness, the fainting, no wine? God, I’m so stupid.”

Marinette pulled back with a giggle as she placed a small kiss on the tear rolling down his cheek.

“No, way. Brucie, you’re going to be a grandpa, and Damian’s having a kid, big night huh?”

Jason nudged his side as Bruce pulled the couple into a hug, tears of his own falling.

“You know what this means Steph?” Jason nodded as Stephanie squatted by the bar pulling out a green bottle.

“I’m one step ahead of you. Champagne to celebrate the miracle baby of Demon Spawn and a literal Angel!”

Another chorus of cheers rang through the room as Damian rested his head on Marinette’s forehead.

“I’m going to be a dad?” his voice was quiet and lulling, his love-drunk face filling Marinette with so much warmth.

“I wanted to tell you later, away from the crazy. I should’ve known better.”

His laughter was short and loud, drawing curious looks from the rest of the room.

“I love you so much, Marinette Wayne.”

“And I love you so much more Damian Wayne.”

His face inched closer to hers as she closed her eyes waiting for a kiss that never came.

“So about that sparring?”

Marinette cracked open one eye to see Jason standing where Damian once had, her husband sprawled out on the ground, struggling to lift his brother’s foot off his chest

“Do you think demon spawn could wield the miraculous? Nine months is such a drag to go on without magical training.”

“Todd if you do not remove your foot from your chest I will chop it off and shove it down your throat!”

“Yeesh.” Jason shook his head before raising an eyebrow at Marinette. “You sure you want to have a kid with this dude?”

Marinette laughed as she watched her husband finally push Jason off sending him flying backward. Reaching down, she helped him up once more, a smile tearing across her face.

“Absolutely.”

@damianette-is-life @rebecarojas07 @ash-amg

#daminette #maribat #mlb

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project, @misssquidtracy . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing.

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it.

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves.

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?”

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?”

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly.

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely.

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs.

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag.

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk.

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

“Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.”

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed.

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table.

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all.

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly.

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her.

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?"

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work.

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought.

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more.

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?"

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay.

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room.

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project.

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him.

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him.

"What are you even doing?"

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall.

"Why?"

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop.

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best.

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name.

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay.

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite.

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance.

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer.

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite.

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest.

"So, what are you doing?"

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting.

"The same one?"

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions.

"Why?"

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done.

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned.

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes.

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile.

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey."

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon.

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong.

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him. He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all.

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there.

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John.

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to.

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job.

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand.

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.”

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all.

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy. Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect.

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin.

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!”

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain.

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?”

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation.

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted.

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday.

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed.

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!"

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed.

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted.

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding.

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones.

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time.

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?"

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper.

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon.

"A ship?" Gordon frowned.

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see.

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life.

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience.

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted.

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together.

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue.

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

“Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly.

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room.

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand.

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.”

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there.

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk.

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him.

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it.

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him.

“Never,” Gordon agreed.

-x-

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other.

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father, but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all.

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body, especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy.

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole.

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end.

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time.

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect.

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered.

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer.

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell.

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat.

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles.

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary, feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with.

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John and things had never been the same again.

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

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