#*sighs* sleep deprivation is the only way to succeed in life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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∘◦ ღ ◦∘ Harrison Osterfield - Quarantine ∘◦ ღ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote this during the first lockdown that Britain were in. ow we’re in the third, and almost a year later, I’m uploading this onto my Tumblr from my Wattpad. And yes, before everyone says it, I am fully aware that the Holland’s and Haz were isolating in two different houses and haven’t been living together for months, but this makes it more amusing, and as I say, it was written a while ago. I do not know Harrison, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - cursing, smut, detailed sex, cockwarming, oral, kinky names, mentions of sleeping around... you know the drill by now.

Summary - Quarantine with a bunch of sex deprived twenty-odd year old boys isn’t your idea of fun, especially not when the only one you want refuses to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Taking measures into your own hands is only simple until you get caught.

YOU AREN’T SURE HOW, but in some strange twist of fate, you’ve ended up in self isolation with the Holland’s. But it doesn’t end there, no, not just the Holland’s, but Harrison and Tuwaine too.

You have a bed in the attic, the other side of Harrison’s room, but you’re hardly sleeping in it. Seeing as you’re the only girl among an entire collection of (ahem, horny) and barely adult boys, you were most certainly on their beckon call. You didn’t mind being called to Sam, Harry’s, even Tom’s rooms late at night; you simply wished that you'd be asked to sleep with the one you actually wanted. Harrison.

You and he had been friends as long as you could remember, neighbours from age 4 and friends ever since. Even through uni when you studied a double major and you had zero free time, he was still constant in your life. You’d met Tom and the boys, the twins being closer to your age, and gotten on with them all as well. It just so happened that you ended up on a job with Mr Holland, and that’s what brought all of you closer together with you being in their house often to work on this project it also just so happened that you’d been hanging around with them all when lockdown was announced, leaving you to be in trouble if you drove halfway across London to your own home, so they invited you to stay and had any and all necessary items mailed to you by your roommate. You were only trusted to stay with Harrison after your history together and nothing ever having come of you two, though Mrs Holland did not trust the other boys enough with you and therefore did a bed check every night and every morning to make sure you were alone, though it was always a deceitful check on everyone’s behalf.

You didn’t thank Tom, Sam or Harry post-sex since you’d always have to return to your own cold bed, next to a sleeping Harrison, a sleeping Harrison who wouldn’t dare use you as a booty call like the other three did. It was safe to say that Harrison also had no idea of your truancies since he slept like a light and no one would discuss your actions at the dinner table to save your dignity, and their own necks.

Tonight though, you have other plans. Harrison has some papers to look through and will therefore be sitting at his desk, procrastinating before his computer for hours, only to be left to flick through the contract at an utterly ungodly hour, and he’d proceed to sleep tomorrow, all throughout the day. You were going to help him relax: maybe a massage, a cuddle, a blunt. Or you’d sit on his lap, watch to see whether he’d tense or relax beneath your bare legs, or whether he’d pick up on whose shirt you were to wear. That was the only tell: you’d steal a shirt from each brother to wear as a mark the next day, but you’d simply claim they were more comfortable than your own tight fitting button downs and crop tops. Harrison hadn’t noticed, not yet though as far as you knew, but each brother wore a slight smirk every day that you wore their shirt.

It hurt that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell with his usual obliviousness, but you’d shower before seeing to him tonight, and wear one of his shirts so that when he got it back it might smell like you, a scent he claimed to enjoy.

As soon as dinner finishes, you leap away from the three boys all vying for your attention.

“I have work to do, and a shower to have. Plus, I’m tired.” You respond to all three on your journey up the stairs, hearing Harrison groan very loudly from the attic, followed by his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop. You smile sadly to yourself, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement expelling from your body while the water lashes at your skin, soothing any pain or fear you may be feeling. You increase the heat, allowing the steam to fill your pores as you lean your head forwards to keep your hair dry, held in a messy bun.

You imagine his touch all over your bare body, his finger tracing your jaw, but a knock on the door and a yell to hurry up snaps you from your trance, making you turn off the water and wrap a soft towel (that you know to be Harrison’s) around yourself. You scowl at Harry on your way out, in response to which he sticks his tongue out childishly.

You end up mostly dry after taking a longer than usual walk up the steps to the attic, lingering on each one until the balls of your feet become sore. You peek your head around the door, only to see Harrison in a hoodie and boxers, a grimace on his lips while attacking his keyboard with a ferocity that you’ve scarcely seen. His anger causes you to furrow your brows, silently wishing that you succeed in calming him instead of making him feel worse.

You slip into a pair of panties and grab your favourite of his shirts off one of the hangers. You pull out your phone under a guise if he spots you, absentmindedly scrolling through your feed while eyeing Harrison. He slows his typing and begins clicking his mouse at the screen slowly, intently reading the reams of white on his laptop.

It’s time, you tell yourself, standing up from the bed and walking behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, splaying your fingers and digging your thumbs in. Harrison’s body goes lax, his hands falling from the laptop to the desk, laying his hands flat on the wood. He lets out a groan and rolls his head back, falling right onto the pillow of your chest. You continue to rub his shoulders, enjoying the way he’s slowly relaxing under your therapeutic touch, that is until he swats you away with a small, sad smile. You sigh, having none of it, and crawl your hands down to the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone dripping with boredom. “I have this contract to read, you know I do.”

“Exactly.” You reply after thinking for a moment. You want to say the right thing, you want this to go seamlessly, so every word has to be perfect, not to mention every action.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t battle against your bid to remove his hoodie, and obligingly lifts his arms up over his head so that you can pull his jumper off. You toss it to the side and hear something fall to the floor, but that’s somehow the least of your concerns. You reward Harrison with a kiss to the soft, unblemished skin of his neck - but it won’t stay that way, not for much longer.

You thread your fingers into his beautiful brown locks and tug a little, just to let him know that you mean business. His lips part as though intending to let out a groan of some kind, but it doesn’t come, so with disappointment you continue to play with his hair the way you love to. He doesn’t stop you, so that’s something, right?

When he hasn’t given you attention for too long, albeit about five minutes, you walk around in front of him. His eyes are forced to retrain from his screen to where your breasts show in his top. Apparently, going braless in one of his tops has its perks, not talking about your nipples.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs. He pushes his chair out and gestures for you to drape yourself over his legs and lap, which you do more than willingly while wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging at the wonderfully soft curls at the nape.

“I know this isn’t ideal, you need to do proper work and be having contact with your girls, but I’ll get you out soon, I know the boys are a lot.”

You simply hum in acknowledgement, adjusting your seat on his bare legs. Skin on skin, electrifying in every sense of the word.

“That is why you’re doing this, right?” He asks, nervously almost, and you instantly feel as though you’re molesting him, until he wraps his strong arms around your back. You could moan at the contact, his muscles tensing all around you, the feel of Harrison and his smell radiating around you, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to massage again, just from the front this time, a feeble attempt to procrastinate against your goal. Harrison’s gone back to reading his screen, so while he’s still gathering what he’s reading, it’s your only shot.

You twist on his lap until you’re completely straddling him, your forehead pressed to his. The beautiful blue-green of his eyes sends you into a trance, melting your insides. You can swear that you see him nod a little, so you begin to move your hips. You grind and swirl on his lap, undulating your hips in a perfect figure of eight when you feel him harden beneath you.

With your ministrations paused momentarily, you take a sharp intake of breath and say, “This was never about attention because I’ve been stuck with the boys, this is because I want you.”

Harrison’s face instantly melts into an expression of relief, a goofy smile on his (what you hope to be) soft lips.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you were sleeping with the others,” he says, and you shake your head, tears of relief and happiness almost spilling from your eyes. You feel warm and fuzzy despite the guilt, shame and anger bubbling from your truancies with the Holland boys.

“You knew then?”

“How couldn’t I?” He remarks, “you’re all they talk about when there’s no adults and no Paddy in the room. What they did to you, how many times they made you cry out their names, the marks they tried to leave on you until your own dominant side came out. Every conversation I had to excuse myself out of mainly respect from you, because what they said upset me but I just couldn’t say so, but then I just came up here and imagined what you’d be doing to me.” Your heart hitches in your throat, butterflies filling your stomach and travelling into your every limb, making your skin tingle. Your stomach rises in goosebumps, as does the skin of your thighs, and you notice that it’s because Harrison has his hands underneath your (his) shirt, and he’s skimming over your waist and legs, holding you and savouring the feel of your skin beneath him. He kisses your neck, once, twice, and it’s gone.

He turns back to his computer and continues his work, looking over your shoulder and letting his eyes train every tiny black line of script on his screen. Your neediness is at an all time high, one hand resting absently on your hip, just above your bum while his other hand clicks at his keyboard and mouse like it’s second nature. The speed of his fingers makes you even needier, craving for him to be inside you already, so you climb onto his bare thigh and trap it between your own.

You dig your hips down into his leg, grinding and aching for friction, and you already know that you’re dripping onto his skin. The fine hair on his thighs gives a delicious amount of friction - not too much but not too little. As you go further, your mouth parts a little more, allowing you to let out a strangled whimper. Your thigh brushes Harrison’s cock through his boxers, and you feel his hand grip your waist tighter, almost painfully.

Your pussy starts throbbing, aching for more of him, while your hands rake his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. Your head falls to the crook of Harrison’s neck as you approach your high, moving your hips more fervently and letting out moans is anticipation. You wonder if Harrison is even able to pay attention to his contract anymore with what you’re doing to him, but that thought is set to rest when you’re right on the edge, but both of his hands grip your hips and move you off his thigh, the skin glistening with your essence.

For a minute, you think he’ll be angry, make you clean it up, but instead he just kisses you. His lips catch yours more desperately than you could’ve dreamt, immediately biting down on your lower lip, trapped inside his mouth. You let out the loudest moan you could in the moment, but Harrison finds it heavenly, delving his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss while his hands grip your ass. He pulls away, looking at you with those puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist.

“Sit on my cock? Just ‘til I finish this section, then I’ll take you as hard as you want.”

You look sceptical, and Harrison can tell, you know because he kissed you again and moves his hands from your bum to wrap his arms around your whole body and keep you close to him. His lips pressed against your own is enough convincing, so you move your panties aside and accommodate while Harrison takes his boxers off.

When he does, you’re surprised at how big he is, bigger than any of the lads you’ve been with before. Long and substantial, you want to drool just looking at his dick standing proud against his stomach. Nervously, you slide down on him. His girth stretches your every wall and his tip hits new spots until finally you’re balls deep. He groans and exhales, eyes closed while trying to gather his bearings.

“Fuck.” He says. “Your cunt bottomed out on my cock, keeping me warm and hard, you’re an angel.”

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and involuntarily clench around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, craving to have as much skin to skin contact as is possible. Your head lays on his chest to stay out of his way, and he seems thankful to be able to see the screen but also feel you.

You stay seated on Harrison for no more than ten minutes as he taps away at his keyboard and scrolls through the pages. Occasionally he moves, stimulating you enough for you to gasp or tighten around him, and in those instances he kisses behind your ear.

You listen to his heart, slowing or increasing its speed depending on your movements. The steady heave of his chest moving with his breathing is strangely calming, making you feel closer to him, more stimulated and comforted, something like love.

Suddenly, his laptop slams shut and he thrusts up into you. You yelp a little and snap your head up, nose nudging with his and your lips grazing.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, and you’ve done it on purpose. Were you sleeping with the others to get my attention? Am I better than them already? Bigger?” You whimper, his words building a fire inside you. “You don’t have to answer, love, I can already tell by your body.”

You cling to him even tighter than before as he clears everything off his desk, breaking a pencil pot while he’s at it, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“You choose a desk to fuck me on when we have two beds up here, both of which will make a lot less noise?”

He looks downcast and releases a giggle. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, cupping his jaw and caressing his stubbled cheek, “you can fuck me harder on this and let the boys know who I belong to tonight.”

He places you down beneath him on the desk, still hard inside you, but instead of attacking you again in a ferocious kiss, he looks down at you and marvels in your beauty just for a moment, his scrutiny surprisingly doesn’t phase you, it only makes you feel treasured, so as your eyes follow the movements of his rippling muscles, he smiles faintly and kisses you softly.

“Fuck me Haz,” you whisper, those simple words being all the motivation needed, because he pulls out, leaving you whining at the emptiness of only his twitching tip inside your core, but within seconds he pushes all the way back in.

He feels heavenly, your eyes rolling back into your head and a surprised moan leaving your lips. He smiles down at you before pulling out and thrusting back inside you, setting a steady pace. Every move feels like paradise, every jolt of his hips swindling shockwaves of pleasure through your craving body, having been desperate for him for a good while.

He feels heavenly inside you, his tip grazing that special spot inside you. “Harrison!” You cry, as quietly as you can. He leans down and pulls the neck of your (his) shirt down so that he can get access to your breast, immediately latching his lips onto your nipple, biting at it viciously while pressing his hands onto your spread thighs. You feel yourself approaching an edge, a timed coil curling inside your stomach as his ministrations continue.

He’s so much better than the others - not that they weren’t good, they have a basic idea of what to do with you and how to use you, and they’re decently sized, but they can’t make you feel the way Harrison can.

“I’m close...” you whisper between incoherent murmurs. He’s not too noisy, which may or may not be a blessing paired with the slamming and squeaking of the desk beneath your bodies, it’s mostly just breathy grunts and occasional curses.

“Me too, beautiful.” He dances his forefinger up your thigh and rubs circles around your wetness, allowing you to let go.

The coil within springs open, and you feel your body fall loose, vision blurring with stars in your eyes and core clenching around Harrison - it feels like heaven. Feeling this, he climaxes soon after you and to save from screaming, kisses you in a messy fight of teeth and tongues, half muffling the pornographic moans that would otherwise be bound to spill.

Harrison falls down onto you, chest heaving and breathless, but nonetheless he still places open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ll wait for you to get your breath, shall I?” You tease while running your finger up and down his spine. He chuckles and climbs fully on top of you, cuddling you into his chest. “Well, now I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Can’t even go for one round without ending up flustered. Lucky that I’ll have you no matter.”

He hums into you, holding you and savouring the silence filled with only your breathing and a few sounds from downstairs, but soon the wood becomes too uncomfortable.

Harrison slips an arm beneath you and carries you across the room to his unmade bed, as opposed to your neatly tucked in one with your entire collection of clothes and makeup on top of the sheets, but his bed is probably comfier since he’s always in it.

“Round two?”

Your heart rate increases, a burning blush rising to the tips of your ears as well as a shy smile snaking its way across your lips, still swollen from Harrison’s attack, not to mention the swollen parts of your skin where he paid a little more attention, leaving marks and memories for days to come.

“I’d like to see you try.” You tease, keeping your cool resolve despite feeling anxious straddling him, his eyes flitting between your chest, eyes and lips, unsure of what to do or how to use his mouth, a definite rarity for someone like him.

He seems desperate, putting his hands on your hips and thirstily jolting his hips upwards - if you’d been a few inches further down, he would’ve been straight back inside you, and maybe that’s what he was hoping for.

“Any hole’s a goal, isn’t that what Tom says?”

He loves it when you tease him, that much you’re learnt over the years. Every girl he’s been with you’ve found a way to tease him about it, anything he says, anything he does, and he loves it since it usually ends in a play fight and him surrendering control of the tv remote to you. This time however, it ends in something far different.

He tugs the shirt up further and pulls you roughly so that your calves are either side of his neck, your once again dripping core hovering above his face and awaiting tongue.

“Only if it’s yours.” He says, his breath sending shockwaves through your body straight from your core.

His tongue deftly finds its way through your folds and inside your tensing cavern, and it feels heavenly. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue laps up all around you, his lips working in tandem while his tongue dances inside you. The moans leaving your mouth are otherworldly noises that you’ve never quite made before, maybe because you’ve never sat on anyone’s face, never mind someone as experienced as Harrison, something that you’re now learning is far from a bad thing.

“Harrison!” You cry when he delves a little deeper. His eyes remain between your own and the way your boobs bounce inside his shirt while you squirm on top of him. Every noise the pair of you make masks the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, and muffle the sound of knocking on the door.

Harrison’s mouth continues its assault on your needy heat, your one hand weaving into his hair while the other massages your breast through your shirt, bringing stimulation to your nipple and bringing your climax closer and closer...

“Haz, we get that you hate work but you really don’t have to make so much noise- OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You freeze, your recently shut eyes shooting open and darting over to the door, ajar with Tom standing just over the threshold, staring right at the two of you with a face of horror and disgust. Harrison however, bites down on your sensitive nub in his state of shock, and your second orgasm washes over you in such a state of unexpected euphoria that you lose all your bearings.

You cry out Harrison’s name like a prayer, chanting it while he cleans you up, and it’s not for a solid minute after your climax ends that you realise Tom is still in the room with you, rendered speechless, mouth agape and dumbfounded.

When you clock what’s happening, you grasp Harrison’s duvet and yank it up to cover you both while you climb off Harrison’s face, his lips still glistening with your cum. He seems lost for words, too, blanching more and more with every passing second. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. No one moves, except for Harrison’s cock twitching under the duvet.

“It’s not what it looks like...” you say, your words getting lost in the thick tension of the room, like a rubber band pulled so tightly that it could snap at any given moment.

“Really? Because it looks like Harrison was just eating you out!”

You can’t fault Tom's logic, it is exactly what it looks like, so you just blush and pull the duvet up to your chin while wishing for a black hole to swallow you up.

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Harrison looks though, plump lips and that wonderful glint in his eyes, messy hair and no top.

“Ok, so it’s exactly what it looks like, surprise?” You can’t figure out what to say to him in the current situation, but instantly feel relaxed when Harrison begins to rub his palm up and down your thigh beneath the duvet .

“What- oh, this is why you called?” Sam now makes an appearance, folding his arms and standing next to a resolute Tom. You can’t decipher if he’s angry, amused or something else. “Our plan worked!” He suddenly shouts, and within seconds, Harry arrives beside the pair, a smirk on his lips.

“Really? So shagging Y/N and talking about it in front of me was all a ploy to get us together? And if so, why does Mr Fancy Pants here look so angry?” Harrison asks, and you can feel him willing his boner to wilt while in the presence of the brothers.

“Yes!” Comes paddy’s voice from the doorway, swiftly standing in front of Tom.

You smirk, but Harrison scowls, unable to accommodate this situation within his mind.

“He’s probably shocked because he walked in on you two... you know. But yeah, it was all a plan, sorry by the way.” Harry says, you just wave it off but Harrison’s grip on your leg tightens.

“Don’t be angry, it worked didn’t it?” Sam chimes in, patting Paddy on the back before making his way out.

Tom has to have the last word, you can see it on the settling lines on his forehead, so you brace yourself closer to Haz. “And don’t I bloody know that it worked!”

Maybe the drama was worth it for the laugh out of Tom’s reaction, though Harrison would argue with you there.

#harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #tom holland #tom holland imagine #haz osterfield smut #haz osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield smut #Simon and mark #Tom and haz #holland boys

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

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The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I Was

Masterlist; Chapter 22

Summary: As plans for operation in Stalsk-12 are underway, you and Neil can’t seem to find a common ground. His selfish plans overturn everything...

Warnings: Even more angst (sorry!!! swear it will be over very soon); swearing; some slightly dubious thoughts appearing in the reader’s minds but it’s nothing too serious.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’m really sorry for the 10.8k, but it once again shows that I’m incapable of writing short things. This one is a wild ride and it was fun to write even if painful at times... I hope you’ll ‘enjoy’! Let me know how you liked it... and I promise... fun is near :)))

From that morning, when the precious intel magically appeared for you all to use, the metaphorical dice were cast. The last stage of the plan was officially on, and there was not much time to waste. After two days of chaotic talks, interrupted by training and trying to make sense of living aboard the icebreaker, you were told to meet with everyone else on the bridge for the official confab. Your war council consisted of TP, Neil, Ives, Wheeler, and yourself. And you were the first to admit that you had no clue what your job was supposed to be there. However, ignoring the deepening sleep deprivation, pounding headache, and weariness that has made home in your heart, you made it to the destination with time to spare. That morning the sky over the Barents Sea was overcast with heavy, grey clouds, increasing your internal melancholia and tiredness. Basically, life was hard. And you still contemplated joining the seals. Probably more often than any sane person should. But then you never really considered yourself rational. Sighing, for the umpteenth time this morning, you sat down on the sofa and relished in the solitude. In moments like this, without the oxygen mask making you feel close to suffocation, or the looming danger of losing your control around certain individuals, you were almost at peace. They never lasted long.

“Morning sunshine,” Ives marched into the room with a grin on his face.

He was one of the people you could tolerate. Still.

“Hi,” you cracked a smile of your own in his direction.

He took off the mask and opened up the laptop, preparing for the meeting. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ives groaned, stretching his limbs exaggeratedly.

“The bloody bunkbeds are a pain in the arse,” you snickered at the comment.

“My condolences,” offering him a mournful expression, you stood up.

Wandering over to the panoramic windows, you took a moment to stare at a seagull diving on the horizon. Well, technically it was springing up from the sea, but you preferred to imagine the traditional way of things. Just to maintain a functioning brain.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Prince Charming looking out for their comfort you know” the casual remark made you look up at Ives.

Sure as hell, he was grinning smugly, satisfied by how he has managed to catch you off guard. But that was not the most outraging bit…

“Prince Charming?” you repeated with a deepening frown, “Spare me please, I’d rather forget he exists” conversation was ruined.

Prince Charming, my ass. Unless those tended to be lying bastards that never knew what they wanted. Or terrifyingly beautiful idiots that should never be trusted. Well… fuck.

“Good luck with that” Ives patted you on the shoulder.

You knew that despite the nonchalance, he was someone you could count on. For a second, you contemplated asking him to punch Neil next time he shows up. However, all train of thought disappeared when the man himself walked into the room the very next minute. That same neutral smile on his face, blocking off any attempts to read his mood. His gaze slipped over you. A shadow of a frown as though your presence was not a pleasant discovery. Just brilliant.

“Good morning” Neil nodded in your direction.

You could see Ives hesitate as though wondering how much could have been overheard. You found that you did not care. Ever since your blunder in the kitchen, you came to a decision that you need not hold back. Neil never did, after all.

“Morning mate” Ives squeezed his shoulder in a greeting.

Before either of you were forced to initiate small talk, TP marched in, with Wheeler following at his heels. With the whole team on board, you could skip the awkwardness and begin. You took your seat on the side of the table and placed the dossier with plans right in front. That way, you could have an easy escape should it be needed. These days you could never know for sure. The first surprise of the meeting took place when you heard a scrape of the chair on your side, followed by someone sitting down. One look was needed to ascertain that it was the blonde bastard. Fab. You refused to give him any satisfaction of being caught staring and so you focused on the documents, reading the same set of instructions for the hundredth time.

“Do you want coffee?” his question took you by surprise.

Looking up into his blue eyes always felt too startling. Especially considering your history. But that did not seem to matter whenever your gazes met. That same jolt of electricity heightening your senses. Until you would look away again, Neil was everything you could focus on. On the periphery of your attention, you could see Wheeler prepare cups of the beverage in the small kitchenette. Right…

“Yes, please,” perplexed by his helpfulness, you gave him the tiniest of smiles.

In response, Neil only nodded and got up, joining Wheeler at the counter. That was surprising. Somehow you assumed that he would do everything not to interact with you like that. And yet he was willing to get you coffee, knowing full well how dependent on it you were. When Neil sat down again five minutes later and handed you the mug, you muttered:

“Thanks” your hands brushed for a millisecond, causing a minor heart palpitation.

Nothing new. He met your gaze again, smiling lightly. It was in the moments like this that you felt completely at a loss for words. The tenderness and attention felt like the old days, as though nothing happened. But it did. And it made no sense.

“Hope I got it right” breaking the silence, Neil gestured towards the coffee steaming underneath your nose.

He used to know your coffee order well. Unable to deny yourself the curiosity, you took a sip of the beverage under his watchful gaze. Of course, it was perfect, a spark igniting your body with energy. Ignoring the idiocy of the situation, you grinned at Neil over the brim of the mug. Conveying gratitude more than any words could. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he understood.

“Attention, please,” Ives’s annoyed voice brought you back to reality “You’ll flirt later,” you blushed furiously at the comment.

Shooting daggers at the squad leader, you focused all of the attention on the dossier again. Yeah…no.

The next hour was spent trying to make sense of the plans you all had been weaving since the intel came. The obvious parts were the facts: a deserted city in the middle of the Siberian steppe, the dead-drop in the cavern underneath the ridge, three ways in, and a lock, that was the crux of it all. The instructions from TP were ominous enough: no guaranteed way out for whoever would open the door. And that fact was the needed spark that day…

“So, temporal pincer” Ives summarized the last few minutes of the discussion, writing the words on the whiteboard “One team normal, the other inverted and they deal with the mercs. A splinter unit goes into the dead-drop and extracts the algorithm before the timer goes off” he added.

That was the obvious bit. You finished the coffee in one swig, feeling Neil’s knee bump into yours under the table. It was like this for the past hour. Sudden touches, making you wonder whether it was all intentional. Another form of elaborate torture. Or whether it was just Neil unable to control his long limbs as per usual.

“Kat is the backstop?” you asked the question, distracting yourself from the mess in your head.

“Yep,” jotting down the note, listening in to the squad leader, “That’s the simple stuff. What we need to figure out is how do we deal with that lock, and what about the splinter unit”

Fun. You skipped through the information again, hoping to find any source of inspiration in the materials.

“What do you mean?” TP asked, and you glanced up at him.

With the arms folded on the table and face frozen in a permanent frown, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“They shouldn’t leave the field” Ives shrugged upon an inquisitive glare from the boss “It’s safer that way” the cold steel look in his eyes was foreign.

It was a terrifying realization that he was right. If you were to succeed, you had to make sure that it could not happen again. At least not in the linear sense. Looking around the people sat at the table, your heart sank. It could as well be that you were not coming out of this alive. Not all of you. TP had to survive if the story was to follow as it should. But for the rest of you, nothing was guaranteed. Enough to make the anxiety worse.

“Right,” TP’s sombre nod made you focus back on the moment “I don’t think we need to decide on who that will be this early,” he added, his gaze slipping over all of your faces.

Looking at the companions, you could see that everyone else was deep in thought. Mortality was never something you paid much attention to, preferring to stay sane by taking every day as it is and then moving onto the next. When you finished the university and started getting used to the idea that your future will be spent behind the desk of one of the governmental buildings in Whitehall, you stopped giving it much thought. Death would come when it had to, and that was it. But apparently not. Perks of choosing an unusual occupation. Feeling the stress levels elevate, you got hold of the passing thought. The damned lock that has been at the forefront of your mind since the news first came. Maybe now was time to voice the vague plans…

“When it comes to the lock… I’ve been thinking-”

“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Neil’s interruption made you look up at him sharply.

What? You did not like the enigmatic smile gracing his features. As though you have missed something glaringly self-evident, and he was waiting for you to catch up. Impatiently, at that.

“Neil… elaborate please,” TP’s plea was dripping with tiredness.

Relatable.

“I’m the best locksmith out there” he shrugged smugly, ignoring your stare.

You did not like where this was going. Before you could find any words of response, Ives’s dry chuckle pierced the silence.

“Smooth, mate,” he added when Neil turned to stare at him.

“It should be me,” the blonde man pressed, annoyance seeping into his words, “Ives, you know that. Stop looking at me like that” he waved his hand at the squad leader.

The pieces clicked in your head. Fuck. He sounded too sure. As though he has already made up his mind. But…

“The person who opens the lock doesn’t have a guaranteed way out” Wheeler looked weary, as though she was scared about the direction of the conversation.

Exactly. The heart was hammering in your chest, slowly absorbing the reality. Figuring out the implications. No. You could not allow that. Even the mere idea was enough to make you nauseous. It was one thing to wish you did not have to deal with Neil, the other to consider that he would volunteer for something like that.

“So?” the nonchalance in his voice was terrifying.

He was still refusing to meet your gaze, but you persistently kept your eyes fixed on him. Urging him to give in. To be able to check this was actually happening. Because once Neil would lock his eyes with yours, you had a chance of getting to him. Until he said it to your face, you did not want to believe it.

“That could be a one-way trip,” TP voiced your thoughts, eyeing Neil warily.

You could see that he was surprised and concerned. Ever since they were stuck in the container for a week, a comradery has formed. Finally resembling what you were used to from them. But now Neil was willing to destroy it all. One-way trip. The ultimate sacrifice. No.

“Evidently,” another shrug.

That was the needed signal for your brain to kick back into action. To fight. Point out the insanity of the situation.

“Surely there’s a different way of dealing with this. We could send the locksmith before the splinter unit and-” your rant got interrupted with a sudden creak of chair to your right. Impatience.

“Why complicate something simple? I go in and open the door. That’s it” Neil flayed his hands around as though compensating for the tension permeating the room.

Wishing to dissolve it by fake excitement. Not on your watch. Urging your body to stop trembling, you garnered the strength to voice the obvious question. The one everyone seemed to skirt around for the past ten minutes.

“You don’t want to come back?” your voice wavered, betraying the nerves.

That was exactly what Neil needed to finally look you in the eye. With reluctance, he turned to you. When your gazes met, he flinched. Barely perceptible and yet there. Great.

“This isn’t about what I want or don’t want” you could tell Neil was just about keeping himself cool.

This could go either way. You found yourself on the tipping point, tiptoeing the edge. The fall never seemed so inviting. Almost as good as letting yourself drown in his eyes. Anything to ignore the reality.

“As if you knew what you want,” you muttered, aware he will catch on to the implications.

Neil clenched his jaw as his hand gripping the mug tightened. You have hit the mark. Top job. It took him a moment to respond. You could feel the gazes of everyone else fixed on you two. Their breaths were held as though afraid anything could set off the explosion. They were probably right.

“…Maybe you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this isn’t about us anymore. If the task requires sacrifice, then be it” Neil finished the sentence with a hard look in his eyes.

Us? The emphasis he placed on the word made you blink in shock. On its own accord, your mind drifted back to the conversation in Tallinn. We’re just us. Me and you, was what he said back then. Only now, it was not that simple. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you swallowed hard, trying to find any traces of reason.

“But-” it was not meant to be.

Before you could add another word, Neil took hold of your hand, making you shut up. Shocked, you met his eyes, only to be paralyzed by the harshness of his expression. Your protests were not welcome. He has made up his mind.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern. However-” his tone was dripping with condescension.

The nickname felt like a slap. You tugged at the hand he still had in his grasp, cutting in sharply:

“How very patronizing of you” giving him the fakest of smiles, you added, “I had the illusion that you’re better than this… but well, as with most things I was wrong” a shrug to complete the insult “I still think there must be a way around it. There’s a reason why we got this warning” ending the torture of prolonged eye contact, you glanced around the table.

A silent cry for help. TP met your gaze, rapidly catching on to the desperation pouring out of your eyes. If anyone should get it, it’s him.

“Okay, hold on. Let’s suppose we do it as you say-” the boss interjected, putting all of the charisma into the sentence.

For nothing.

“Maybe the reason was that you need time to get used to the idea. Clearly, you’re the only one who opposes it this strongly” Neil was still looking at you only.

Cold blue eyes and lips twisted into a cruel smirk. That was the same man that fought with you on the highway in Tallinn. Terrible beauty. And yet, you could not look away, drawn by the gravitational pull that kept you tied to his side.

“What are you trying to say?” your voice sounded small.

The confidence was gone. The gloves were off. That was it. The explosion everyone feared. Judging by the way Neil leaned in closer, it was all part of the plan. Calculated and measured for the greatest impact. His knee bumped into your thigh. You froze as his nose brushed over your ear. Too close.

“That you lied to me a few days back. That you still l-” blood froze in your veins as you took in the meaning.

Before he could say the word, you hissed and lurched back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the curse ripped apart the tense silence.

The pain was unimaginable. You felt close to screaming. Helpless. Alone. Desperate. In love. All for nothing.

“As I said, sometimes feelings need to be put aside. Whatever they might be,” you heard his voice as though from afar.

Enough. Releasing a long exhale, you closed the folder and stood up. That was enough. He did not deserve the sight of your tears.

“Now, let’s assume I go, open the door for the splinter unit, and… What are you doing?” Neil noticed your movement a second too late.

The confusion on his face was almost laughable. Pity.

“What does it look like?” you scoffed, pushing the chair back onto its place “I’ve had enough of this sacrificial bullshit and personal insults” addressing the room at large, you added, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the range”

You noticed Wheeler’s sympathetic nod breaking in through the concern on her face. Ives looked pissed off, and you could not blame him for it. You have made quite the show. Again. TP just glanced at you, utterly perplexed. There was no logical explanation for any of this.

“You can’t just-” attempting protest, Neil took hold of your hand again.

You knew the purpose behind that. If everything else failed, he was well aware that touch was your weakest point. That previously it always worked. Not anymore. You met his eyes, encountering nothing but annoyance and frustration.

“Neil” Wheeler’s warning was a welcomed addition “Let her go,”

That was all he needed. Letting go of your hand, he gave you a final look. Something shifted for a split second. But you found that you did not care. Without a second thought, you bolted out of the room. The very last thing you heard felt like the final blow:

“She’s being ridiculous,” Neil muttered dejectedly.

She. Just that. With shaking hands, you closed the zip lock.

“And you’re stupid. Sit the fuck down,” Ives’s command rung out in the air behind your back.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you ran down the corridor. Fuck.

*** That day you have successfully managed to hide from everyone. Wheeler came to check up on you in the evening to, as she put it, make sure you have not taken the shooting practice a little too seriously. You could only offer her your tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes as you assured her that this would be the worst state she was likely to see you in. Was that a lie? Maybe. To put it bluntly, after the morning nightmare of a confab, death sounded like an interesting option. Certainly better than another week of Neil offering to get himself killed just because. You chose 2 am that night to finally emerge from the cabin in the search of food. Without bothering to touch up your bedraggled appearance, you tiptoed down the corridor, taking one extra look at the door of Neil’s room. Why? Fuck knows. The silence was encouraging. However, that confidence was to be your ultimate downfall.

The moment you dealt with the airlock leading to the galley, you knew that you were not alone. Neil was there, chatting to one of the squad members you vaguely remembered from the days spent in inversion. Dominic, or something. Briefly, you considered turning back around and leaving as though you were never even there. But when the men turned, and your eyes met, it was too late. Luck was never on your side.

“Hi,” you gave them both a nod and opened the fridge before either could take a longer look at you.

“Evening” Neil cleared his throat awkwardly.

After a pause, the men picked up their conversation in hushed tones while finishing sandwiches. Mindlessly you stared at the contains of the fridge, hoping to appear occupied. To be forgotten. But to no avail. You could feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of your head. Somehow you knew that if you dared look up, the blue eyes would be there. Ready to analyze you. To find weaknesses and strike when appropriate. You could only hope he would not do it with Dominic present.

Fridge held no answers. You closed it quietly and took hold of the granola bar from the cupboard. Only tea left now… easy. They were still talking. From what you could hear, it had something to do with the inverted weaponry and the training you were all forced to recap before Stalsk. You thanked the gods for the presence of the buffer, as you not so patiently waited for the water to boil. The false sense of security shattered seconds later:

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Dominic rinsed the plate quickly and started to put on the mask.

What is worse, Neil was not doing the same. Instead, he was still sitting at the table, smiling at the colleague.

“Yep. Can’t wait,” the fake enthusiasm radiating from him in waves.

But it seemed like only you could see it. Another observation for nothing. Your pulse quickened as you realised that it was only a matter of seconds till you were alone again. And the fucking water was still boiling.

“Goodnight, Y/N” Dominic smiled at you before moving to open the airlock.

“Night night,” your response came out too breathlessly.

Crap. Just like that, he was gone. It was you and Neil, staring at each other like two animals locked up in a cage. He quickly assessed your appearance, taking in the puffed-up eyes, tangled hair, and shaking hands. You wanted to ask him whether he was satisfied with his work. But that would mean admitting how much it hurt. And your pride was in the way. The kettle switched off. Neil’s taxing gaze stopped as his eyes widened.

“Is that-” that is when you realised.

Fuck. When leaving the cabin, you have not changed. That meant you were still wearing the only article of clothing that brought some comfort. Neil’s burgundy sweater. And he most certainly recognized it.

“Neil I-” his name was the only answer as you struggled for words.

Neil stood up and pounced, closing the distance. The malicious look in his eyes was terrifying. And inspiring.

“Why do you have my sweater?” to emphasize the point, he took hold of the material, drawing you near in progress, “I didn’t take you for a thief,” delivered with a cruel smirk.

With Neil that close and acting ridiculously, you realised that above all, you were tired. And had enough of this. Of him.

“I used the opportunity and went into your apartment,” a tight-lipped smile thrown in before he could interject, “Yes, I know, don’t worry, I haven’t stolen anything else,” you added, enjoying the surprise flashing in his eyes.

He forgot about the keys. Or did not think you would use them after everything. And now, when he realised how much you knew, it was hard to accept. That was encouraging. You waited for Neil to bite back, letting yourself stare at him without shame. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes lit up. There we go…

“You know that you’re not making any sense?” he blurted out the question and tugged at the sweater “You just- You’re telling me that it’s all over and yet here you are, wearing my clothes” another tug, bringing you just as close as the last time “I mean that’s one way of confusing me further” he finished on a whisper.

It took you a moment to recover. To realise that once again, you were too close. When that clicked, you took a step back and met Neil’s gaze. Too satisfied. His pupils were darker than usual, and that was worryingly enticing. Focus. Anger was the answer.

“Confusing you?” a sudden idea struck, “Fucking hell, you know what?” another step back, “Just take it, and let’s end this discussion” you started taking the garment over your head.

“What- Why are you...” much to Neil’s shock.

Good. The cold air hit your body as you took off the sweater and threw it in his face. You were eternally grateful to your morning self for putting on that tank top. Not much, but still preventing you from the walk back in only the bra. As Neil scrambled to pick up the garment that fell onto the floor, you added:

“I’ll give you back the keys tomorrow” you met his wide-eyed stare with pleasure, “There’s no need to stare. You’ve seen it before,”

Yet, the way his gaze roamed over your body was fascinating. There was nothing to see there, but still, he seemed transfixed. You took that as your chance to strike.

“Hell, you’ve even had your hand down my pants. Twice” Neil flinched, and you smirked, “Talking about wrong life choices and all that” it was nice to see him hurt.

For once. Even if it was another lie. He looked lost, unable to find a response to something like that.

“I-” a pathetic attempt at god knows what.

You took a final glance at him there. Clutching the cashmere sweater in his hand. Hair falling into his eyes. Shoulder sagged. Defeated. Confused. Finally.

“Goodbye,” you grabbed the mug and left before Neil had a chance of recovery.

The walk back to the room was cold. But probably worth the pain.

*** Sighing with happiness for the first time that day, you closed the door to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed. For the past three hours, you have been occupied with training that Ives made mandatory for all the mission participants, and you were exhausted. The only encouragement was the fact that the squad leader made sure your shift was different from that of Neil. What was even better, he did that without you needing to ask first. Just like that. And you were very grateful. Moments like those last two encounters in the kitchen were best avoided at all costs. Any contact was ideally off the books. Even when it hurt.

With the sweater gone, you had no more things to hold on to. Well, apart from all those memories and the ability to read him like an open book. Utterly useless skills like algebra or functions at this point. You have changed into the comfiest set of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping to spend the next few hours marinating in your misery. But long before you could even think of the first reason to cry, a knock made you jump up. Who the hell…. Grudgingly, you got up and opened the door.

“Hey…” you did not expect him.

Despite everything, your heart was naive enough to stumble upon the sight of Neil. And his stupid hair. And the repentant look in his eyes. What even.

“What do you want?” you decided to cut the bullshit, meeting his gaze coldly.

The visit was certainly unexpected. As was the fact that he seemed apologetic. Meek, even. Neil shifted nervously before answering:

“Here’s the sweater. You can keep it” he handed you the garment with a tiny smile, “It smells more like you than me now, but…” trailing off, he shrugged.

The implications of that statement were too much to handle. As was the fact that he gave you back the sweater. You gaped at him, speechless. It made no sense. But the silence stretched too long, and Neil looked even more uncomfortable.

“Okay…” you accepted the gift, making sure your hands have not brushed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday it wasn’t reasonable,” he added, with that contrite tone you were not used to.

Unreasonable? That was one way of describing what happened the previous night. You did not know whether it was the glaring lack of confidence radiating from him or as something as simple as the fact that you missed him. But you could feel the resolve crumble.

“I’d say nothing you do is reasonable… thanks though” mustering a weak smile, you stepped away from the door, “You can come in if you want,”

Risky. And something Neil did not expect either, judging by the way he hesitated before entering the cabin and closing the door. You sat down on the edge of the bed and observed his awkward movement. A look around the small space. His eyes slipping over the few personal items you had. The sparring gear you have carelessly thrown onto the floor. And the bin full of used tissues. How humiliating. Then he perched on the chair and met your gaze wearily. Without you even needing to ask the question, he answered:

“I guess it surprised me to see that you’re using something of mine after everything” the honesty was strangely comforting.

For the first time since the disastrous mission in Tallinn, you could tell that he was genuine. Open for you to read and interpret however you fancy. That was intriguing. Enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your features, you leaned back on the bed. Relaxed. Sincere. You could try that.

“It surprises me too,” shrugging, you pursed your lips, staring thoughtfully at the window.

You did not have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face. A little concerned, extremely curious.

“How do you mean?” the soft tone made you glance back.

Sure enough, the furrowed eyebrows and sparkling eyes were there. Neil crossed his legs, studying you intently. You could tell that he wanted to know. That this was probably the closest you would ever come to a normal conversation with him. Might as well use it.

“Well, the heart knows best,” offering him a sad smile, you laced your hands in your lap.

Here’s to hoping he won’t turn it on you. But when you dared look up at Neil again, you were surprised to see him stunned by what you revealed. After a beat, he found the words:

“I thought you don’t-”

Of course. Unable to stop the irritation gnawing at your heart, you scoffed, preventing him from saying something so wrong.

“I never said that,” you explained upon his wide-eyed stare, “But that’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” you sighed, hoping to make him drop the topic before it would drift somewhere dangerous “Why are you here?”

You took a longer look at him then. Taking in the denial painted on his face. He wanted to press on, to get you to explain things. Not today. Then, returning your taxing gaze, Neil offered you his wistful smile.

“I suppose I’ve missed you” the sincerity of the statement was terrifying.

You felt a painful pang in your chest, as though the heart itself was awaiting the tragic end to this conversation. Courage. For a second, you wanted to cross that meter of space. To… Yeah, what exactly? One memory of what he said in the kitchen a few nights back was enough to sober up. You had to be careful.

“...right” the next words were a result of annoyance, pure and simple “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better? Because I bet there are at least five people aboard this ship who would give you everything. Without questions asked. Maybe you should talk to them” once you were done with the rant, you faced Neil again.

He was gaping, speechless. It seemed like his sharp wit was missing. That was only good news for you. A myriad of feelings passed in his eyes. You could discern shock, offense, heartbreak, and most surprisingly, something darker. Contradicting the very next thing he said:

“If I was looking for that, I’d never come to you. Because I value you more. But I don’t expect you to believe me” the defeat in Neil’s eyes was confusing.

But not any less than you were at that moment. More than what? A cheap fuck? One could hope so. But at the same time, considering the multitude of instances when he seemed desperate to get too close, it felt like a lie.

“I don’t, so you got something right,” you admitted, hoping to keep the emotions in check.

His blue eyes were fixed on you with intensity, trying to read all that you were not saying. After a minute of excessive staring, you were the first one to give up. The last thing you saw was a smirk forming on Neil’s lips. As though he knew that you were close to breaking. Close to potentially doing something stupid. Jumping up, you paced to the window. Nothing but sea and sky. And the damned birds. But even that was better than being faced with what you have lost. After a few days on board the icebreaker, you got used to the casual outfits he sported. What was worse is that they did nothing to make this any easier. It only proved the theory that Neil looked good in anything. Well, fuck him. Only not literally.

With the silence stretching well past the point of awkwardness, you grasped onto the first passing thought, turning to Neil again:

“You’ve talked about… me with TP, haven’t you?” it was a strange change of topic, but also something that has been on your mind for a while “Because suddenly he seems to trust me and I’m not sure what the fuck happened” throwing in the expletive, you sat down on the floor with your back against the wall.

Neil eyed you curiously. He was strangely quiet, and you wondered why that could be. Whether it meant that for once, he did not know what to say. Or maybe because he already regretted coming to see you. Yeah, probably that second option.

“Yes, I’ve explained a few things on the way to Oslo” the diplomatic tone was mildly annoying.

He leaned back in the chair, making sure to face you in the new dynamic. Only the nervous foot-tapping was a sign that he did not like the direction of the conversation. Interesting.

“Such as?” pressing on, you took a moment to observe him.

These days he gave up on styling the hair as the wind outside would always blow it in his eyes. That was rather adorable. He unzipped the pullover, shifting in the seat. Tension spilling out in weaves as Neil waved his hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter,” another remorseful smile.

So, he must have said much more than just the basics. Could he have admitted to things even you were not allowed to know?

“Well, you must’ve said some crucial bits if he’s now so eager to take my side” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze purposefully.

Hoping he will catch on. Just like the matter of whatever it was between you, the battle plans were a clear no-go in this conversation. But that did not mean you could not hint at it. He had to understand that you were not going to give in so easily. That his suicidal mission was not getting a green light from you. The bait worked. Kind of.

“I said things that you and I should probably explain to each other one day” Neil’s grin did not reach his eyes.

Oh. He must have read the shock from your face, for his eyes glimmered dangerously as he relaxed on the chair. Your brain froze. Things? As in what? You both did and did not want to ask. Instead, you chose to attack.

“We won’t have time if you sacrifice yourself” simply put with a merciless stare.

Neil frowned, not expecting that kind of a dig. Before you could taste the satisfaction, his weary expression caught you off guard. Could that really hurt him? The cold of the wall was digging into your back.

“Let’s leave that for the meeting tomorrow,” a silent plea in the blue eyes “I don’t want to argue,”

He meant it. The tiredness etched onto his face told you as much. You were used to seeing the same kind of exhaustion every morning in the mirror. You could let him off.

“Okay…” a solemn nod before you got up and picked up the pacing again.

It was a strange feeling to be with him alone and yet not close. You realised that this was likely the first time since the early days when you were together somewhere private and were not even touching. It felt wrong.

“How did you like my place?” Neil’s question was like a much-needed grounding.

Swallowing down the discomfort, you turned back to him. The innocence was just a façade that he has put on for your sake. He expected an answer, and you did not know where to start. And then… the way his hair caught rays of sunlight was an inspiration.

“It was… enlightening,” you relished in the curiosity reflected at you, “For starters, I never realised that this is all fake” crossing the space in one leap, you ran your fingers through his hair.

Just like the old times. Only then, Neil would not shudder upon the initial contact. It took him a longer moment to recover. You smirked seeing his stunned face and resumed the movement, separating the strands slowly. You had no clue why this was the fact you latched onto. Blonde or not, he was a sight. But the idea that he dyed his hair would not leave your mind like the worst of brain worms.

“Ah, you’ve seen the photos” when he finally found the words again, his voice was hoarse.

As though whatever you were doing had some sort of an effect. A spark of confidence. You tugged at a strand sharply, the gasp making you bite your lip hard. A dangerous game. The words you have been biting back begun to spill from your mouth:

“It fascinates me because you act oh so confident all the time, and yet you’re pretending you’re someone you’re not” glancing down, you noticed the closed eyes and pursed lips.

It was definitely working. Whatever you even wanted to achieve. It was nice to hold power for once. To call him out on the bullshit you had to deal with every day.

“That’s just hair,” Neil protested weakly, grabbing onto your free hand and encircling the wrist.

Unable to stop the emotions bubbling under the surface, you scoffed:

“It really isn’t. I mean, why? It’s not like you have to scrape for attention” his eyes met yours with defiance, “Unless you’re compensating for something. In which case, that’s just ridiculous” the hit came with a visible flinch from Neil “And ever so manly” you perfected the punchline with a final tug on his golden strands.

That turned out to be a step too far. Before you could sense a change in the mood, Neil used the hold over your hand to bring you down. More accurately, to make you sit in his lap. Your brain caught up too late. Suddenly he was too close, with hands settling on your hips, securing you in place. Fuck. You opened your eyes, cursing the moment of weakness. Neil was staring right back, his eyes unreadable and dark. You messed up.

“What are you doing?” too breathless.

He caught onto that, rubbing circles onto your thigh, focused on you. It would be easy to get up and throw him out, ending this madness. But you found that you did not want to.

“I’m not sure. Say a word, and I’ll leave. But...” he trailed off, searching your eyes for something.

A protest, most likely. A clear-cut rejection. When he found nothing, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. So close. Slowly your willpower was waning. You placed your palm over his heart to feel the warmth.

“Neil, why...” unable to find the words, you stared at him with questions multiplying in your head.

What was this? Was it why he came? And why, despite the hurt he inflicted, you could not tell him to stop?

“Because you’re here. It’s all I need to start feeling like...” another open-ended response.

Adding on to the confusion. His heart was beating fast, breaths coming out shallow. With fingers still tangled in his hair, you urged him to keep eye contact. That was the only chance of telling whether he was honest.

“Like what? Like you could want me?” the words were hard to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt like this was Tallinn all over again. Like you were losing sanity just for the sake of getting something from him. The ever-present yearning getting the best of you. The only difference was that this time Neil was the desperate one. His hands roamed over your hips and thighs, causing worrying jolts of electricity. It shouldn’t be that easy.

“You know that I do,” a whisper, eyes overfilled with determination.

Did you? Now – maybe. Any other day – hell knows.

“Maybe once I did. But recently... I don’t think you know what you want. You’re just...” you offered him the honesty, absentmindedly running your fingertips over his temple.

Exploring all that was familiar yet missed so much. The creases on his forehead deepened.

“What?” Neil leaned in once again, nuzzling the skin on your neck.

The shaky exhale felt like a defeat. It was increasingly hard to think, let alone give him coherent answers.

“You’re not making any sense” that had to do.

Only it was whispered breathlessly. Not convincing.

“Maybe this will make sense...”

Before you could contemplate the meaning of his words, Neil kissed your neck, drawing out a shudder. One of his hands wandered underneath the hoodie. His fingers ghosted the skin. You have not realised how much you’ve missed it until you got it. As he got braver in his ministrations, teeth grazing over your pulse point, hands stroking your bare back, you felt intoxicated. Unable to do anything but pull him closer and let your hands venture underneath his black t-shirt. It made no sense. But as soon as a reasonable thought would come up, Neil would do something to make you forget. It could be a kiss right under your ear or fingers getting too close to your sports bra. Christ. No logic, just Neil being the sole reason for insanity. The heat travelling up your veins was getting too evident to be ignored. As he gave you a particularly forceful mark by sucking on the skin in the crook of your neck, you could not hold back a moan. It pierced the silence accompanied only by your shallow breaths. Neil froze as though he was not expecting a reaction that strong. His breath causing goosebumps all along your neck. For a second, you wanted to pull him even closer, to give permission to take everything he desires. Even without a promise that it would mean something to him. He raised his head, meeting your wild gaze with the darkened pupils of his own. The proximity was suffocating. Unable to make sense of your thoughts, you leaned in, hoping to get lost in a kiss. To buy some time before you would have to make up your mind. That is when Neil did something unexpected – he pulled back, with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes. Fuck. Alarm bells started ringing out in your head, harshly reminding you about the reality of the situation. As though nothing happened, Neil’s hands went back to the meticulous caress of your upper body. But you could not ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if this wouldn’t mean a thing? Suddenly it seemed like the worst mistake you could make. The previous frenzy was quickly replaced with dread. Not meant to be. You retracted your hands from underneath Neil’s shirt and pushed him back. It took all the strength available to deliver the next sentence with necessary firmness:

“I think you should leave,” you hoped to hide the pain behind the schooled features.

If he was surprised, he was very good at pretending. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he let go of you. His touch was already missed.

“If that’s what you want,” Neil’s voice revealed remains of passion as he nonchalantly smoothed the hair you have tangled.

That was the cue to get up. With cheeks burning, you turned away from him, doing your best to cool off and keep the scraps of dignity you had still left. Before you could risk a dangerous spiral, Neil’s voice brought you back to the moment:

“Too close, wasn’t it?” you frowned at the casual tone.

He was zipping up the pullover, staring at you with startling composure. As though the past minutes have not happened. As though he has not marked you as his for the umpteenth time. It was terrifying.

“What?” you gaped, trying to collect the thoughts and keep calm.

“We got too close. And you’re worried because for a moment you wanted more than you should” Neil shrugged upon your quiet gasp.

He could read you too well.

“Don’t do that,” a pathetic attempt at a plea.

But it must have worked for his expression softened. A small smile split his face as Neil pressed the door handle:

“Just thought you should know that I don’t mind. I don’t have much left to lose,” a parting remark, and then he was gone.

You covered your face with your hands, falling onto the knees when the remains of strength gave out. What a fucking mess.

*** What you did not expect to be the hardest feat of all before the meeting the next morning was making sure that all the bruises were covered up. You did not need to add questions and human curiosity to the list of your problems. After all, it would have been obvious to anyone with a brain. You fucked up, and Neil was the reason why and how that happened. As usual. That was best avoided since everyone on your war council knew enough already when it came to your relationship. Or whatever the fuck it was.

As you walked in, everyone else was already on the bridge, spreading the materials and preparing the whiteboard. Wheeler gave you a welcoming smile which at that moment was worth more than it should. Any expression of kindness was at a premium. You sat down, and before you could process much of what was going on, a mug of coffee appeared before your eyes. Just so. A second later, Neil took the seat next to you without acknowledging your existence. Cool. Perplexed, you looked around the room, locking eyes with TP. He shrugged as though exactly aware of your issues yet unable to help. That much was enough to make you feel a tiny bit better. After a beat, the boss spoke up:

“Before we begin… Y/N?” his question interrupted the first experimental sip of the coffee.

Perfect. Again.

“Yes?” you ignored the annoying spike of anxiety upon being the centre of attention.

“Is Mahir going back to meet Kat in Vietnam on the 14th?”

Ah, that. The little side quest that you have been given ages ago with close to no information towards its purpose. Thankfully, Mahir cooperated. No questions were asked as you arranged for him to invert in London and travel to Vietnam to be Kat’s aide. That kind of smooth operation was a welcomed change.

“Yep, as ordered,” you offered the dark-eyed man a small smile, “Turns out I am capable of not fucking up some things…” that addition was a product of spite.

It was rewarding to see Ives and Wheeler crack a grin at your comment. It made you feel less alienated, as though it was only the man on your right that had issues. And he might as well be ignored. Neil was being helpful in his silence too, moodily staring at the papers in front, refusing to lay his eyes on you. It was painful, especially considering the previous day, but it also meant you felt more at ease.

“It would be great if we could agree upon a few things finally,” TP interrupted the silence, looking at you all expectantly.

“Can’t promise you that, chief” you shrugged, aware of the way Neil shifted in his seat.

His knee bumped into your leg, starting the irritating dance you thought you had moved past. But, supposedly, laying his hands all over your body yesterday was not enough for him.

“I know. But let’s try” you focused all the attention back on the boss “Splinter unit,” the phrase fell between you all like a death sentence “Who and how?”

“The tunnel” you picked up the map and showed it to him, “That’s what the intel said” taking the sip of coffee, you added, “As towards who…”

One of the sleepless nights has been spent wondering whether you should not volunteer for that. The logic was that there was a reason why TP chose you as his link with everyone else. It meant his future version trusted you enough. But it also meant you were important. In those hopeless moments, it felt like maybe that was the purpose. And if it would mean no coming back? So be it. Death for the means of saving the world did not sound half that bad. Before you could express the thoughts, TP spoke up again:

“It should be me” his voice was emotionless.

“Why-” Neil’s voice rang out in the room.

You glanced at him, noticing the tension and worry radiating from him. It was a strange situation; everyone could see that. You all knew that TP had to survive. After all, how could you be at this point if he did not? He had to set up Tenet, hire Neil, Ives and everyone else, prepare the ground for the operation to unfold just like this. But then, considering everything you have been told about temporal paradoxes… could it be that simple? Or was Neil wrong, and what’s happened could also unhappen, so to speak? Too much. Your head began to pound.

“I’m the protagonist of this whole operation. The reason why you’re all here” that was convincing.

And in any other situation, you would have laughed at the prophetic overtone of the statement. But now other emotions were more prominent…

“Mmmm, I’m here because of him,” you retorted, pointedly staring at Neil,

“Only, he doesn’t care” that is when the man turned to look at you for the first time that morning.

Irritated. Fed up with your bullshit. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes glimmering dangerously. Nothing new.

“What are you-” the sharp edge to his voice was satisfying.

Any kind of reaction meant you succeeded at pissing him off. Somehow back then, it was the best thing that could happen.

“Just being salty. Don’t mind me” you shrugged, making sure to pat his shoulder quickly.

Another tiny stab. Neil’s eyes flicked to your hand in a flash and then back to meet your eyes. You could only give him a deliberate smirk.

“Anyways… The splinter unit will be two people” Ives brought back the topic with palpable annoyance, “I’ve got an obvious choice on my mind, but I’ll discuss that later with some of you” the definitive tone would have made anyone shut up.

Not you though. Not when there was nothing to lose, and you decided that you might as well have fun with this mess.

“Why so mysterious, huh?” another quip, all to make Ives look up at you with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, showing you exactly what he thought of your new approach to things.

“We’ve got a more pressing topic to deal with” nothing to play with there.

What a shame. Mouthing an apology at the squad leader, you could feel the tension surge. The more trivial topics have been already mentioned and moved past. Now it was the time for big guns. For another clash of the titans.

“Precisely,” Neil jumped at the chance and spoke “The elephant in the room is rather obvious” his eyes scanned the space with a predatory gleam, settling on you, “I mean, look at her… she’s barely staying quiet,” a mocking smirk to compliment the statement.

Presumptuous fuck. Despite the anger reaching a boiling point in your veins, you refused to give him the satisfaction. To show how much it hurt.

“Her?” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze defiantly “Neil, that’s a low blow. Even for you” a passing flinch on his face giving the power to keep going “But yes, I’d love to know whether you’ve changed your mind regarding some important matters” you addressed the room at large, searching for support.

That concerned look Wheeler shot you was helpful. As was the way TP hunched in the chair, burdened with terrifying possibilities of Neil’s stubbornness. Maybe you won’t have to be alone in this.

“I’m going in,” the blonde man shrugged nonchalantly, staring you down, “The only thing you can do is help us plan how to make it work,”

The strategy was to alienate you. Make it sound like you were the only one protesting against his idiotic plan. Well, not on your watch. Now was the time to put all those sleepless nights to use.

“How to make what work? Your suicide?” you scoffed, taking pleasure in how he frowned at the word, “If you let me speak for once, I’ve got an idea” finishing the lukewarm coffee, you gathered needed strength.

“Go ahead, sunshine,” a sarcastic half-smile, begging to be wiped off his face with a slap.

Maybe another time.

“What if two people went first to take care of the lock?” your voice cut through the tension permeating the room, “You rarely send anyone out without a cover. Because it’s unreasonable. So why this time it should be different?” that was logical.

The most sensible of plans you could come up with. Two on the splinter unit; two to deal with the lock. More likely to find an exit or, simply, survive whatever was waiting by the dead-drop. You also had ideas when it came to who should accompany Neil. But those were best kept a secret.

“Because losing two is worse than one. Even you can do the maths” the unnecessary dig made you roll your eyes.

He was ridiculous. In moments like this, you wished you had never fallen for him. But there was no point in crying over the spilt milk.

“Two have greater chances of survival,” you counterattacked, stating the obvious.

The truth he was so gladly ignoring for his purposes.

“You’ve got a point,” Wheeler chimed in, making you both turn to her.

“Thanks,” you offered the brightest grin you could muster and searched for more backing on the faces of the fellow companions.

Before you could analyse the grave expressions on TP and Ives’s faces, Neil spoke up again:

“You’re also rather emotional…” another insult.

Fuck. It was getting increasingly hard to stay calm. But that was the only thing to do. Another scene before the whole team was certainly not desired. You took a deep breath, fighting to maintain composure.

“Neil, stop” Ives was your saviour of the hour, interrupting with the non-bullshit attitude, “I think this idea is worth going over. It’s not like we’ve got anything better,”

You vowed to send Ives a bouquet of roses if you were still alive after all this. Or better, take him out to a pub. Nothing was settled upon during that meeting. The chaos of you all trying to convince Neil to listen to your arguments was only interrupted with him throwing more offences at you. Apart from emotional, you learned you were also delusional. And a potential loose cannon that was best kept away from making crucial decisions. You debated putting all of those on your CV and asking him to provide the references. After all, Neil was the expert when it came to your skillset. After half hour of barely held-together discussion, Ives told you all to calm down and fuck off for the time being. At least until you could decide on something without jumping to your throats. You doubted that was even possible. You were resolved to drive your plan forward. And so was Neil.

When the meeting was over, you were the first one to leave, hoping to slip out before anyone could stop you. You made it as far as the corridor leading to the bridge when you felt someone grab your arm, making you turn around. Of course. Neil’s steel-blue eyes were staring at you coldly. He was getting ready to attack, and you did not want to let him. Before either of you could break the silence, someone stopped in the corridor, and the familiar voice spoke:

“You two should fuck each other already,” you scowled at Ives’s choice of words, “Or break-up. I don’t care, only don’t do this again” he gave you a long taxing look, with annoyance brewing underneath.

You could not blame him. Only that kind of comment was too much right now. With cheeks burning, you desperately searched for words. Neil found them for you:

“We’re not together” dead simple with a tinge of anger to it.

You took a look at Neil, noticing the frown set on his face. And the fact that he was still holding on to you. Fingers wrapped around your bicep, just enough force to make it seem questionable.

“Could’ve fooled me” the squad leader shrugged and walked off before either of you could react.

Great start. Yanking your arm free, you asked:

“What do you want?” you made sure to make him hear the irritation.

That was against the plan, and you doubted your ability to survive yet another confrontation. From the look in his eyes, you could also guess where this was going.

“I know what you’re doing. All I’ve got to say is don’t,” Neil stared you down, keen on intimidation, “I won’t let it happen” no room for discussion there.

Well, maybe with any other idiot. You knew it would come to it. The moment when you would have to admit that your plan involved going with Neil. And there would be no debate about it. It had to be you. Reasons? Inexplicable.

“Tough luck because I’m not letting you get killed,” you counterattacked, meeting his intense gaze without reluctance, “Or go in there alone,” a pointed emphasis, to show him you meant it.

You felt like you could win this one. Maybe even walk away without the tears in your eyes. Just this once. But then Neil did what he does best – changed the topic.

“If this is about what happened-” he reached out to you again, fingers curling around your wrist.

There we go. You were surprised it took him that long to mention the previous afternoon. His touch and the bruises were hard to forget, but so was the lack of affection in his eyes. As though you were just another hook-up. Someone to seduce, get pleasure from, and then leave without a word of explanation. Nothing more. You deserved better than this. With heart hammering in your chest, you responded:

“Not everything is about you trying to fuck me, Neil,” it was his turn to scowl, as though the words have hurt him.

It was only fair.

“Who said-” his grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer.

But that alone was not enough to distract you from the denial he tried to pass as the truth.

“Please,” you gave him a pointed look, “That was a mistake, and it’s best treated like one” swallowing down the discomfort, you let the statement fall between you.

You wanted nothing but to forget about it. Brush it under the carpet. The marks were enough of a punishment for a moment of weakness. Neil seemed to consider something quickly, weighting the options, before he nodded:

“Of course,” the formality had the potential to drive you mad, “I’m glad we seem to agree on something,”

For a second, you contemplated leaving the scene. You knew he would not follow, too caught up in the grudges and apprehensions to stop you from escaping. But you wanted to have the last word. To put to use the ability to see right through his act. Neil was staring at you with eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate the very next move. You were sure to surprise him.

“Think I have figured it out though,” he arched his eyebrow in a silent question “Why you’re so keen on doing something that stupid” his face fell, you took a step forward “It’s that hero complex, hidden under honourable acts and philosophical bullshit” pulling your hand out of his hold, you advanced to intimidate, “You think you’re past redemption. That you don’t deserve it. But you can’t give up until you save everybody else. That’s just who you are” the sheer panic in his eyes was fascinating “Only there’s me. An obstruction” Neil swallowed hard as you laid your hand on his shoulder; nearly there, “And you might not love me, but it still doesn’t mean I can let you do it” you gave him a final sad smile, brushing away a stray hair from his pullover.

Yours, judging by the length and colour. A quirk of fate. You were too busy contemplating the fact to notice a shift in his eyes. Denial. Disbelief. Darkness.

“My god… you’re so stupid” the sharp edge to his voice was dripping with venom, “How can you not see it?” Neil was looking at you as though you were an idiot.

Wow. Fighting the urge to breakdown, you took a deep breath. You should have known he had not had enough of hurting you. Always naïve.

“… thanks,” you chuckled dryly, holding on to the remains of anger in your system, “First ‘emotional and delusional’. Now this… you’re expanding your vocabulary” his silence was deafening, “I wonder what will be next… expletives?” the next statement came from the depths of your heart “It would be much easier to just admit that you hate me, and we could be done with this”

That childlike belief in the existence of love wanted him to say no. To deny that he could ever despise you in any way. But the innocence had to be buried if you were to survive.

“I’ll consider that” the cold calculation in Neil’s eyes was terrifying. It was truly over. Even if your heart felt like it was being ripped out. The edges of your vision were blurring, eyes burning with tears begging to be released. Not yet.

“Fab,” you brushed away the strand that was falling into his eyes, “As a final note… I admit that the worst mistake I have ever made was allowing myself to believe you’re worth it”

It was not exactly the truth. But the tiniest moment of passing shock in his eyes was a good enough response. For a second, Neil was speechless, stunned by your harsh words and the way you caressed his face. One last guilty pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re acknowledging it” his face split in an attempt at a smile.

It was broken. Dishonest. There was something fascinating in him at that very moment. The set jaw, eyes cold as ice; yours, but not at all. The beautiful and damned. Gently, you ran your fingers over his stubble, hoping to memorise his face in every way possible. The intensity of his gaze was beginning to drive you insane, offering eternal suffering if you were to make the smallest mistake. Never again.

“The cruelty looks good on you” you zipped up his pullover in one smooth motion and turned away.

The searing pain in your chest was the needed punchline.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

White Lies (Pt. 04 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.7 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

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{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

Holding What Isn't His

Leaving the hospital is great. You feel like you're seeing the city for the first time because, in a way, you are. Keanu keeps the small talk as he drives, telling you about your schedules with the doctors. You'll be going to the hospital a lot, but you rather go there than staying.

Once you get to the house, you can't help but look around. The night has already fallen, but you know that the many glass walls will allow the light to come in during the day. Carrying your bag, Keanu gives you a quick tour through the first floor before guiding you upstairs. He's silent now, but you don't want to ask why. There are four bedrooms and a huge balcony. The view is amazing too, and you can't believe you live here.

“This is our bedroom,” Keanu says as he opens a door. Peaking inside, you see an amazing bedroom. A king-size bed is placed between two windows that reach from floor to ceiling. On the left side, a balcony with a sliding door. There's a small lounge on the corner, with a couch, an armchair, and a TV. You stand by the door, not sure if you should step further inside. “The house is new, so we're still working on the decoration.”

“It looks nice to me.” You mutter, putting a strand of hair behind your ear.

“All of your stuff is here, but you can sleep in the guest room if that will make you feel more comfortable.”

Oh. You haven't thought about that. “Uhm... I don't know.” It would be weird to sleep with Keanu, but you don't want him to be sad or anything. “I don't want you to think that I don't want to be with you, I just–”

“Hey, listen.” He puts the bag down and comes to stand before you. Keanu is very tall, and he towers over you. Raising your head to look at him, you sigh. “This is about you. I'll be happy as long as you're comfortable. So do what you have to do, alright?"

Taking a deep breath, you nod, looking down. Shyly, with your stomach burning a little, you take his hand. You're don't know where the gesture comes from, but you just need him to know you're here... And you need to know he's here too. “Just for a few days, I... I just need a while to get used to everything.”

“Take your time.” His thumb caresses the back of your hand, and it makes you smile a little. “It's a little late. You should get some rest.”

“Yeah.” You had dinner at the hospital, and it's almost ten. Nodding you run a hand through your hair. “Can I take a shower first? I don't know where any of my stuff is so...”

“Let me show you.” And so he does.

Keanu has a closet, and your stuff occupies half of it. He walks you around it, and you pick an old baggy shirt and sweatpants before heading to the bathroom. Keanu assures you can use his, and you decide not to refuse the offer. He kindly helps you settle down in the guest room when you're done, telling you to call him if you need anything. But, after lingering for some minutes, he leaves, turning the lights off before closing the door.

Surrounded by darkness, you lie on your side, pulling the blankets up to your shoulders. Sleep does come easier this time, knowing you're home. But you wake up a while later, eyes on the digital clock finding it's two in the morning. You do try to fall asleep again, but this time your mind won't let you. You're tired, exhausted even, of trying to remember. You want so bad to remember Keanu. To remember the plans you made for the baby, the time you've shared. This isn't fair to anyone. Not even to the life growing inside you. You can't help but blame yourself a little for putting an unborn child through such an accident, even though Keanu told you it wasn't your fault some crazy driver came speeding through the road. And, on top of all that, you might just be depriving Keanu of enjoying the pregnancy. You don't remember who you were before, or what you believed in, but you know this is something to be appreciated by both parts.

“Damn it.” You complain tossing around and sighing with the sudden need to eat something, you're not sure what. Trying to keep your mind still, eyes shut, you pull one of the pillows and hug it. But soon enough you're beyond frustrated, eyes rolling as you push yourself up, stopping for just a moment to wait for the dizziness to pass.

Tiptoeing, you walk through the hall, using the walls to guide you through the darkness since you don't know the place at all. Finding the kitchen is also a challenge since you don't want to turn any lights on until you get there. But when you reach the kitchen, you can't find the freaking switch, but you do manage to find the fridge, pulling the door open. Your eyes welcome the light, but you blink a little until you get used to it. Something in you says you shouldn't be opening his fridge like this, but this is your home, right? Maybe you're just overthinking.

“There gotta be something.” Mumbling you glance at your stomach, a small smile crossing your lips. “Is you, isn't it? You want some sugar.” You ask the baby, focusing your attention on the fridge again, scanning through it, trying to find anything you'd want to eat.

“Everything alright?” The voice comes with the lights being turned on, and you jump a little, pushing the fridge door closed. Turning on your heels, a hand on your heart, you find Keanu with an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It's alright, I was just looking for something sweet to eat, Uhm... The baby wants what it wants.” Shrugging your shoulders, you walk to the kitchen island, blushing a little, not sure why though.

“Did you find anything?” He asks, moving to stand across from you.

Shyly, you shake your head no. “I didn't, but I'm alright. I'm not hungry. It's just... Hormones, I think.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't do much grocery shopping while you were at the hospital, but I'll fix it.” He gives you a look you can't read. “I'll go get you something. There are a lot of stores opened twenty-four hours.”

“No, please.” You burst out, quickly walking around the island to reach Keanu when he starts walking to the living room. Grabbing his forearm, you succeed to make him stop. “You don't have to, really. I told you, I'm not hungry. You don't have to go out there in the middle of the night just because I'm having cravings.”

“Of course I have to.” He turns to face you completely, and you give a tiny step back just to have a better look at him. “Just tell me what you want. I'll put on a jacket and get going.”

“Please, Ke. I mean it, you don't have to.” When you realize the way you called him, you immediately look down, feeling heat spreading through your cheeks.

“I'm going. So you can either tell me what you want or I'll have to get creative and try to find out.” He says after a while of silence. But despite the ultimatum, he's voice is soft.

“I'm coming too then.” You quickly decide, crossing your arms and looking back at him, putting a face that means you won't change your mind. “And that's not debatable.” You add.

Despite the darkness, you see a smile playing on his lips.

Keanu doesn't complain, and half an hour later you're seating shotgun in his car in this grocery store parking lot, taking the piece of vanilla pie he bought you, with strawberries on top. Using a plastic fork, you start eating, your body immediately grateful for the shot of sugar. Or maybe it's just your head, but it is delicious.

“Do you want some?” Turning your body towards him, you fold a leg underneath you.

“No, thank you.” Keanu smiles, shaking his head lightly.

“Are you sure?” Taking one of the strawberries, you bite it, sucking on your thumb when you notice you got some frosting on it.

“I am.” He assures you, starting the car again. Sitting back straight and buckling up, you focus on your pie, watching the city lights passing through the window. “Remember when I told you about how our marriage was a secret? That we wanted to keep it private for as long as we could?”

“I do.” Nodding, you finish the pie, laying the empty plastic box on your lap. Keanu told you that at the hospital. He's a public figure, and you agreed on keeping your relationship only to yourselves. “Why?”

“People will know now. The news are already spreading ever since I took you to the hospital.” He glances at you. “I just wanted you to know. It won't be a secret anymore.”

“Alright.” Nodding, you turn your attention back at the window. “I'm a little dizzy.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair.

“Do you need me to stop?”

“No, I'm alright.” Closing your eyes, you try to focus on anything else than your sick stomach. Or the headache.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” The offer gets you by surprise, eyes opening to look at Keanu. You can't help but wonder if you usually hold hands as he drives, or if he's just trying to help you feel better.

After a few seconds considering it, you nod, quickly taking his hand. Intertwining your fingers with his, you breathe in deeply, the free hand laying on your stomach. “So... We should watch some of your movies.” Trying to distract yourself, you bring up the subject.

“Sure.” He stops by the red light, taking the time to look at you. “There's Matrix. It's about a programmer who is faced with the fact that his reality is controlled.” The light turns green and you start moving again. “There's John Wick. He's an assassin and this guy kills his dog so he starts hunting him down.”

“Who would kill a dog?”

Keanu chuckles, taking a turn left. “You'll like it.”

“Yeah. We should watch it... Together, I mean.” Quickly, you add, wondering if that's something he'd like to do. “When you have time, of course.”

“You're my priority now,” Keanu says, thumb caressing the back of your hand. “I took some time from the company I work at, so I'll be around a lot.”

“Alright.” Smiling, you nod.

You're almost falling asleep when the car stops, but you manage to push the door open and get out of the car. Keanu offers help, but you politely decline. He walks you to your room anyway, waiting until you lie down.

The night goes by faster after that, and the sunlight on your face is what bugs you enough to make you turn around, pulling the blankets over your head. But you're already awake, and hungry, so you just lie there for a few minutes before deciding to get up. It's funny how the first thing you think about every morning when you wake up is the child inside your belly. Caressing your still flat stomach, you smile. “Hi there, baby.” You whisper, wondering if he or she can hear you. “Why don't we... Why don't we go see if your daddy is awake?” Voice still weak, you blush to yourself to say such a thing, even in the privacy of your room. How could you do that? Get Keanu's eyes and marry him? He's not only handsome, but he has proven to be kind, caring, and loving. He's amazing.

Walking down the hall, you're about to knock on Keanu's bedroom door when you hear a noise downstairs and an awesome smell reaches you. It doesn't take much to you recognize it's bacon. He can't be making bacon, because it doesn't matter if you don't remember anything, you know a morning with bacon is perfect. Quickly, you go straight to the kitchen, stopping by the open area, observing Keanu from a distance. He is making bacon and something else, skilfully moving through the kitchen. But when he turns around, he spots you, raising his eyebrows. “Hey.” You mutter, smiling, and walking over him.

“Hi, beautiful,” Keanu says, and the pet name makes you blush. Placing both plates down, you see what he made. Waffles and bacon, a dish that looks a little more complicated than you thought. “Made you something nice.”

“It smells absolutely amazing.” Feeling timid suddenly, you lean against the countertop. “What do we do when we wake up?”

“What do you mean?” Keanu asks, taking both plates and gesturing for you to follow him to the square wooden table he has in the kitchen.

“Uhm... Do we just wake up and...” Running a hand through your hair, you don't really know why you brought it up. It just felt a little cold. “I don't know. Do we just say ‘hi’ and that's it?” Watching as he puts both plates down, you awkwardly stand beside him.

Keanu looks down at you, those dark eyes making you stand up a little straighter, involuntary moving just a bit closer. “We usually hug.” He says after some seconds of silence.

The idea makes you smile. Waking up and hugging your husband, surrounded by this amazing smell in such a beautiful morning. “Let's hug then.” You give the idea, but you don't move, unsure if he'll even want to do that. Maybe, just maybe, Keanu feels like you're a stranger too. You may look like his wife, but only on the outside. Inside, everything is gone. This thought makes your heart sink, and you step back, looking down with some tears starting to pool in your eyes. “I-I'm sorry, I just thought that... Nevermind.” You're turning around, seeking a chair to seat when you feel Keanu gently grabbing your arm.

“Come here.” He calls in a low voice, delicately pulling you into his open arms.

You collapse against his chest, trying hard not to cry. Hugging his midsection, you can't help but notice how smaller you are compared to him. But this makes you feel safe, secure. Allowing his heartbeat to calm you down, you take a deep breath, the pain in your chest fading away. You don't want to let go, but you know you'll have to in a while. You can't just hold on to Keanu forever, and this is supposed to be just a good morning hug.

He's been lying to her for a while now, on a regular basis. About why people didn't know about her, about why they still haven't chosen the baby's room. And now, he just said they use to hug. They don't.

As Keanu has his arms around her, embracing, holding the girl tightly against him, he can't help but curse himself. He wishes this could be real. Maybe, in completely different circumstances or another reality. But not here. She's still (Y/N), and he's still just looking after her. Making her feel safe, so her child will be safe too. Her child alone, not his.

A single sob escapes her lips as he rubs her back softly. He doesn't want to let go, but he knows he has to. (Y/N) isn't his, it doesn't matter how much Keanu wishes it could be different. But for now, he's willing to be what she needs. To hug her every morning. Keanu's mind is moving faster than ever, too many conflicting thoughts racing through. But right now, just for this brief moment, he'll let all those things go. He'll just hold her.

It takes a while, but (Y/N) moves, stepping back and raising her head to look into his eyes. Keanu swears he loses himself in her for a moment, like he's drowning. She smiles, sighing, wiping off a tear that rolled down.

“Well, good morning.” She mumbles, a small smile crossing her lips. Keanu reluctantly let go, gesturing for her to sit and that's what she does.

He can't help but smile too, all the way through breakfast. He answers her questions, taking in her face, lit up by the morning light coming through the windows. His heart is full like it has never been before. How could a woman he met only a while ago make him feel this way? It's insane, yet, Keanu doesn't want to feel any different.

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #imagine keanu reeves #keanu reeves #john wick #imagine john wick #john wick fanfic #John Wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #John Wick x you #john wick fanfiction #keanu reeves x you

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CXXXIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m scared to see how you guys will react to this one, hope you at least find it enjoyable despite my very self-indulgent plots -Danny

P.S. Huge s/o to @bwbatta bc I decided to update my fic and now I have pretty dividers in all my books! Most of the ones I ended up using are her work so go check it out :)

Words: 4,641

Series’ Masterlist

Book V // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Need Your Love’ -by Joshua Wicker

Chapter One: Dumbledore's Mission.

"A galleon says Erick will crash the car —"

"Shut up!"

"Don't make him nervous," Emily scolded Harry. "If you continue this I won't teach you how to drive!"

"We don't need to learn," Mel snorted. "We'll apparate everywhere..."

"I thought you hated it," Her mother raised a brow.

"Yeah, but she's lazy," Harry smirked.

"Why is Harry here? He's not allowed to leave the house, is he?" Mel frowned.

"He's not allowed to be alone outside, there's a difference. We're babysitting two infants, unfortunately..." Erick taunted.

"What's the matter, Flint? You have stage-fright?" Harry replied.

"Oh please, he feeds on attention! Like a dementor but in a more annoying way..."

"Enough!" Emily looked over her seat. "Is that the kind of things you want to teach your brother?"

"I doubt he'll remember any of this!"

"We know he can do it, Em, we're just teasing," Harry said blithely.

"Yeah, he's the only adult here apart from you, mum. It's kind of his obligation to be good at driving."

The baby let out a squeal of agreement, he was three weeks old but had a good set of lungs that he was happy to use at any given time, especially while everyone was sleeping.

Harry leaned and checked that the baby's blankets. Mel beamed at the sight, the boy had pretty much adopted the boy as his own brother, which she thought made a lot of sense, not only because it was Sirius' son, but because he'd been part of her family for so long that anything else would've been silly.

They were well aware that bringing little Regulus to their driving lessons was a bit risky, but Emily wasn't as keen to leave Mel and Harry alone in the house as she used to, so she put a few safety spells on the chair once the baby was seated while Harry and Mel sat on both sides of it.

Erick turned out to be a good driver, but he still had a bit of trouble understanding how cars worked.

"I have to be pulling and pushing stuff all the time!" He complained as he activated the windshield on accident for the third time. "Why can't I just turn the key and press the pedal?"

"Cars don't work like that," Emily said patiently. "It's complicated, but you're good!"

"He's only gone up and down the street for half an hour, Leggie fell asleep already," The girl huffed.

Emily looked over the seat once again, she was frowning. "Erick, switch seats with Mel."

"You're joking... right?"

"Erick," The woman repeated.

"On it," He said happily. "C'mon Mel, are you scared?"

Ten minutes later, Erick was in the backseat and she was tightly holding onto the wheel.

"I'm doing it!" She said. "Is not that hard, is it?"

"A slug could move faster," Harry was looking at the roof of the car and dying of heat. "I thought you were going to be more... the reckless type of driver."

"Me too..." Erick agreed lazily, he was playing with one of Reggie's feet.

"I'm not going faster, my brother's in the car!" Mel scoffed.

"We're not asking you to! Just enough so we can feel like we're actually moving!"

"Bringing you three was a bad idea," Emily said over the boys' laughter.

"Fine!" Mel pressed down the pedal, the car immediately gaining speed. "I'm was just being careful!"

"Which makes me proud," Emily softly patted her shoulder. "It feels like it was yesterday when you were running around Remus' house in nothing but a diaper and now you're driving!"

"The other night I ran into her wearing no pants, so she's hasn't changed really," Erick murmured nonchalantly. "I stepped on Grey's tail thanks to that... maybe that's why he hates me so much."

"What?" Harry's head snapped to the side so fast he hurt himself.

"I forgot you live here now! Sometimes I sleep like that, s'not a crime!" She looked at Harry through the rearview mirror. "I've been an only child for sixteen years, sometimes I forget there are more than two people in my house..."

"I'm surprised her scream didn't wake up Leon," Erick sniggered.

"He's a heavy sleeper like his dad," Emily responded distractedly.

The conversation died instantly. It wasn't the woman's intention, of course, but it'd been only a few weeks since Sirius' passing, sometimes they would forget for a moment, just a brief second, then one of them would talk about Sirius and everything would start again...

It was painful, and it was weird. Mel had never endured something like this with anyone except Harry. Having a larger group of people sharing the same pain was strangely comforting.

Mel cleared her throat. "It's Harry's turn..."

"I'm okay," He said quickly. "I can learn another day..."

"Glasses, you and I have a tradition of experiencing things at the same time," The girl stopped the car and turned to look at him. "You're not going to ruin our streak. Besides, I need to know if I'm better than you."

Harry stared at her in amusement, then he looked at Erick.

"Is it fun, having her bossing you around all day?"

"I boss her around too," Erick smirked.

"They take turns," Her mother sighed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry gave the woman a look of sympathy as he stepped out of the car.

"There are worse things than being stuck with two pushy teenagers..."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Emily smirked. "A pushy teenager and a pushy adult."

"If it annoys you that much I'll move out," Mel offered humorously. "What d'you say, Prince? Should we try our luck outside our comfort zone?"

"You wouldn't last a day," Erick taunted.

"Fiddlesticks," Mel muttered, to which Harry laughed.

It was around three in the morning when someone knocked on her door. She'd been awake for a while now, so she stood up and opened it.

"Hi," She rubbed her eyes. "What's up?"

"Can't sleep," Erick mumbled. "Care if I stay a moment?"

"Go ahead..."

She went back to bed, Erick sat at the edge and stared at her for a moment. Grey let out a sleepy growl, curling further away from his reach. Erick pulled out his pocket watch, now hanging from a chain he'd found in Regulus Black's room back in Grimmauld Place. The reason why he'd taken it was unknown to Mel.

"What's up?" She mumbled, suppressing a yawn.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"How lucky I am."

Mel let out a puff of air without replying. He would do this often, say he was lucky to be there, that she'd saved his life... She just wanted him to shut up.

"I really don't want to punch you, Prince, I'd ruin your pretty nose."

He smiled, unbothered.

"You know, a few years ago you would've been pleased to hear me say that, you ungrateful git."

"Yeah well, a few years ago my biggest dream was to become a princess," She joked. "So you see my priorities were a bit messed up..."

"You'd make a cute princess."

"C'mon —"

"I mean it."

"Erick," Mel said in a tone of warning. "Stop."

He'd been acting like that for a whole week: flirting when no one was around, complimenting her... Mel had closed up so tightly around herself that she was barely capable of saying I love you to her mum. Erick had lived deprived of affection his whole life and was just getting out of that environment. At what point had she become the cold, distant one, and he the ray of sunshine?

She knew right away what he was trying to do, but she was so numb... Mel cared about him, but she was not there yet.

Erick leaned on the wall and tilted his head a bit so he could look at her.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" She replied. "It's not your fault... I just — I need time."

He nodded shortly.

"We can talk later?"

He was wonderful, but she was in the middle of all that was wrong in their world, right next to Harry and the lifeline that she still hadn't decided whether she wanted to keep or not.

"We should go to bed," She murmured, still unable to make any real decisions for herself.

"Yeah," He stood up, carefully putting the blankets back in place and dropping them all over Grey on purpose. He put the watch back in his pocket as well. "Sweet dreams, Mely."

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

"I have a better way to protect our house," Erick groaned, he was gently rubbing his temples. "Let Leon cry the whole night and not even Voldemort will try to enter... I myself am starting to consider living on the street just to get away from the noise."

"S'not that bad," She answered, the dark circles under her eyes giving her away. "It's hard to get used to being a human, you know?"

"Look at this," Emily unfolded the newspaper. "'Scrimgeour succeeds Fudge' — Well, haven't met him yet but I hope he's got a bit of brain, Tonks told me a few months back that he's certainly a bit brisker..."

The doorbell rang and Mel left to open the door.

The routine at that point was established even if it had been only two weeks since their arrival; Erick got used to life at Privet Drive quite easily, he spent two whole days examining every corner of the kitchen, and when Mel showed him what a movie was, he wasted a whole day in the drawing-room watching the movie adaptations of the books she'd lent to him.

Harry would go daily to check on"Reg". Once he'd stayed the night but refused to sleep in Mel's room, not that she'd tried to convince him otherwise.

"Goodmorning," She opened the door without paying attention, "you're a bit late for breakfast but I'll let it pass as soon as you —"

She stopped talking at the sight of her great-uncle, Dumbledore smiled at her and walked in.

"I can't stay for breakfast, but I dare say I regret it deeply."

"Professor... I — Is everything okay?"

"Certainly."

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Mel turned to see her mother standing near the stairs, gazing at Dumbledore coldly.

"Emily," Dumbledore said. "Good morning... I'm here to speak with Mr Flint."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Quite the contrary, I believe he's never been better."

"Professor," Erick's posture changed when he walked into the room, suddenly he looked more like a young man and less like a boy. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a mission for you... Mel as well, but only if she wishes to go."

"She's not of age," The woman replied quickly.

Mel was ready to accept whatever it was he wanted her to do, she needed to feel like she was doing something. Although she wasn't exactly happy to see him so soon after the end of their last term.

"As I said, only if she wishes to come. I assure you she'd be safe."

The girl looked at her mother and then at the men standing in front of her.

"Can I hear what this is about first?"

Emily crossed her arms without uttering a word, her uncle signalled towards the couch.

"A word, then?"

Erick nodded, making a beeline to the closest armchair. Emily turned to leave, but Dumbledore spoke again.

"You can stay."

The woman shared a look with her daughter, Mel couldn't hide her eagerness to hear what the old man had to say.

"I won't sit there and watch history repeat itself," Emily sighed.

The woman left before Mel could say anything. She would talk to her later, but first, she needed to talk to Dumbledore.

"I beg you not to interrupt me while I speak."

Both pupils silently agreed to his petition.

"Now, I find myself in need of a new Professor, but the man I'd been contemplating for the job has been on the run for almost a year — He's not guilty of any crimes," He added, noticing the way their faces grew worried. "He's just afraid like everyone else... I need you to track him down and point me to where he is so I can have a word with him."

"I'll do it," Erick responded instantly.

"Alone?" Mel frowned.

Dumbledore stared at her for a second too long.

"If I remember correctly today is your sixteenth birthday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Mr Flint turned seventeen in January — You may know that's considered to be the start of our adulthood."

"Yes."

"Erick is allowed to do magic outside school... But you still have a year left."

"I don't see —"

"You have Matthew's spirit when it comes to saving a friend, Mel. When you were eleven you left this house with Hagrid so you could look for Harry yourself... The time has come for me to finally be honest with you."

"What do you mean 'finally'?" The words were burning a hole in her brain. "You mean all the things you told me when I was in your office last month... that wasn't it?"

Erick stared at them with polite interest, even though she knew he was dying to ask. Mel hadn't told him a thing about that night out of respect for Harry's privacy.

"That was all I had to tell you regarding the Harry," Dumbledore replied. "There are plenty of things I haven't said, and I wish to talk about them with you."

"And if I agree to go with Erick on this mission... you'll tell me?" Mel raised a brow.

"I'll tell you whether you help me with this or not, but I believe there's nothing else I can teach you, Mel. All that's left for you is to start putting your knowledge to use; I recommend you to go on this mission."

"What about my animagus lessons?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll help you with that, but that'll be it. You've concluded your lessons with the highest marks, dear girl."

She would've been elated hadn't been because of the strange way her uncle was acting.

"Aren't you happy?" Erick nudged her arm gently. "You've worked hard for years, you should be proud!"

"I am proud," Mel replied shortly. "And I'd love to help, but I can't leave my family, it's not safe."

"They'd go to the burrow if you leave."

"What about Harry?"

"He'll go to the burrow too, but I have a few matters to attend with his family first."

"If Mel wants to stay that's alright, I can go on my own —"

"You can't."

Erick looked at her irritated.

"It's not like you can do magic outside school."

"It takes more than magic to survive out there — You don't know how to blend in with the muggles, do you?"

"You can discuss this throughout the day," Dumbledore grabbed a letter from his pocket. "In this, you'll find all about Horace Slughorn's last known whereabouts and a picture so you can identify him. If you do, don't approach, he'll know you're following him. As soon as you find him come back to Privet Drive and write to me."

"This is all just in case we decide to go, right?"

"I'm going," Erick scowled at her.

"We'll talk about this after dinner," She glared back.

Dumbledore stood up and they followed, Emily was at the entrance ready to let him out.

"I'll wait for your response, then," Her uncle stared at her for a moment. "You and Harry..."

"We haven't decided," She was quick to reply. "We need time."

"Very well."

"You're quiet."

"I have a lot to think about."

Her day had been slightly ruined by her great-uncle's visit. Although Lupin had been there for a couple of hours and stayed for dinner. Mel and Erick talked about the mission and she'd promised to tell Harry after the party was over, which was now.

The Slytherin was upstairs taking a shower and Emily was putting Reggie to bed. Mel and Harry were sitting on the grass, watching the stars above them. She'd fallen into contemplative silence, pondering what to do. She could go chase some stranger for Dumbledore's benefit, or she could stay and look after her family.

"This would be much easier if my mum had asked me to stay!" She pouted.

"I reckon she knows that," Harry responded, throwing small rocks over the fence.

"Won't you?"

"Hmm?"

"You won't ask me to stay?"

Harry stared at her.

"No."

He didn't explain his reasons, but he didn't need to. Mel had made up her mind even if she didn't want to admit it. That was exactly why she was so upset, she wanted to look after her family, but her responsibilities were keeping her apart. Three years of hard work had led to this, and although Mel was a big sister now, winning the war was more important than changing diapers.

Her mother was a whole different problem too. Around them she was always cheery, but Mel was sure she'd heard her cry when none of the boys was around to hear.

She believed it was about Sirius, but it could also be about her and Harry, that she was scared for them. Mel didn't have the heart to lie if her mother were to ask about the prophecy. It was, as they had agreed without even having to speak about it, too much weight to put on their loved one's shoulders. The idea of Emily, the closest thing to a mother Harry ever had, finding out there was a big chance one of them would die after having lost Sirius in such a brutal way...

"I don't think I'll be able to look at Dumbledore in the eye if I come back empty-handed..."

"You're one of the best witches I know," Harry shrugged. "You'll be fine, just try not to murder Flint while you're away."

"He's less annoying now," She grinned. "Ever since he left his parents' house, dunno, he's improved. Although I might murder him if he doesn't stop —"

She was going to say 'flirting', but for some reason, she didn't feel ready to talk about that with Harry. She wasn't ready for anything and yet the world was forcing her to keep moving, it was exhausting.

Mel got up and offered her hand to her friend.

"Do you remember when you were just Harry and I was just Mel, and we were the odd kids at school?" She fixed her gaze on her bedroom window. "Wish we could go back to that."

"When I didn't know I was a wizard?"

"Things were easier back then, don't you think?"

"Maybe," He retorted. "But they were never entirely good."

In Harry, Mel found another reason to stay.

They could have the summer to talk about the things they needed to. She would stare at his aged features and compare them to the ones of that young boy she used to call her best friend...

Their bond still had thousands of cracks that had to be fixed, Mel was having a hard time letting him in again and they needed to be okay in order to know if they wanted to keep the lifeline or not. It wasn't that she didn't want to like him, she wanted the comfort he used to provide, the warmth and security of having someone who understood.

He knew it, and he was trying his best to not mess it up, but Mel didn't want to love him again, cutting the lifeline was the best way to assure that... It was easier said than done, though.

Harry was confused. Sometimes it felt like nothing would ever happen, then an overwhelming affection would crush his chest whenever Mel laughed or touched him. He didn't want to put a name to it, he was terrified of saying it, even to himself. All he knew was that the connection was a way to make sure Mel would be safe, and he didn't want to give that up.

"I should go."

"Yeah..."

"Happy birthday," He said. "I have to be honest and tell you that your present was meant to be sent last Christmas, but..."

"I didn't give you a present either, it's okay... I'm a bit angry though, that was a missed opportunity, I could've won."

Harry laughed.

"You'll have a new chance this year, but I doubt you'll be able to beat me — I've already gotten yours..."

"It's July!"

"I know," His smile vanished suddenly, then he added. "Be careful out there, please."

"Erick'll make sure I don't do anything stupid," Mel smiled. "He's so obsessed with protecting me — as if he didn't know I can do it alone just fine!"

"Yeah, but now's different."

"Different how?"

"We need you alive," He told her. "You want to live long enough to become Headmistress, right?"

Mel froze, not knowing what to answer.

"What?" Harry tilted his head.

"I lied," She blurted out. "I never wanted to be Headmistress — I saw you that night, in the mirror... I saw..."

"What?" He asked again, this time softer.

"You kissed me. A real kiss... like the type we used to gawk at as children."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh."

A tense silence surrounded them. The variations of colour in his eyes were remarkably easy to notice from where she was standing. She was tilting her head up now, perhaps they were too close.

"Be careful."

"You told me that already," Mel whispered, unable to look away. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"Yes," He paused, his eyes took a quick glance to her lips. "But if I say it you'll get mad."

Harry kissed her, Mel responded by pulling him down.

It was hard to tell whether she was euphoric or scared, perhaps both, or perhaps neither. As soon as it happened Harry jumped away, and she was dropped back into reality.

"I can't do it — We haven't talked about the lifeline — We won't make the right choice if we let our feelings —"

"You're right! Yes!" Mel said, acting just as agitated. "It's a terrible idea — I like you, but—"

"—it's confusing," He said anxiously. "Do you have feelings for me?"

"Do you have feelings for me?" Mel asked in a high-pitched voice.

"No!" He responded, but his voice trembled with a lack of confidence. "I care about you a lot —"

"— I care for you too —"

"— But just —"

"— as friends!"

They stared at each other with the same frightened expression.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I... I don't want to lose you."

"We need to spend some time apart," She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "We can ignore this happened, right?"

"Absolutely," He agreed. "You're spending the summer at the burrow?"

"My mum and my brother will be there, so I kind of have to... is that okay?"

"It's okay," Harry looked around. "We... we should go."

"Did you ever regret falling for my dad?" Mel asked randomly. "I mean, you ever wonder how things would've turned out if you'd stayed as friends?"

Emily stopped folding her clothes.

"Something nagging that head of yours?"

"I think relationships are a waste of time. They all break and you always end up hurting..."

"What makes you think such nonsense?" Emily raised a brow, leaning back on the couch. "Who are you and what did you do to my daughter?"

"You don't think that way?" She asked doubtfully.

"Because I lost my partners that means I have to be bitter?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Mel replied quickly. "But... yeah."

Emily remained silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"Solitude can do weird things to your heart, love. It can pull you towards bad or good places... People that make you feel a little less lonesome, someone who understands you. You should hold onto that for as long as you can, no matter how scary it is. You never know what wonderful things may bring you..."

"Sirius said something similar a year ago," Mel said quietly. "Something about finding my equal, that the earth's full of options and stuff..."

"I won't force you to find a partner if that's not what you want, but you're young and the world is big, you can't turn your back on every opportunity."

"It's not like I have lots of prospects right now..." She huffed.

"You don't need lots, just the right one."

Mel hesitated for a moment, then added:

"I know you used to have a crush on James Potter."

Emily looked up from the laundry again, she raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I know it was a long time ago," She shifted in her place awkwardly. "But do you ever wonder what would've happened if you two..?"

The woman sighed.

"Only once."

"When?"

"When I found out Voldemort was after his son," She folded the last shirt and handed it to Mel. "I asked myself if I had made the right choice by giving him up... When I look at you I know it was the right thing to do. What happened to James and Lily... it was horrible, but it wasn't my fault. I was happy with your father; maybe Matthew wasn't my first love, but when it comes to this, your first love rarely is the one that lasts."

"Mel?" Erick walked into the room. "If we're planning to drive around all day tomorrow, you should sleep," He nodded shortly at both of them and left the room, her mother chuckled.

"You know, Erick reminds me of your father... I know Sirius said he was like his brother, but Regulus made all the wrong choices... Erick's done all this for himself, to be better. Just like Matty."

Mel's gaze lingered on the doorway long after Erick had left.

"Thank you, for letting me go," She sighed, looking back at the woman. "I don't love following Dumbledore's orders but I... I want to make this world a better place."

"Love," Emily cupped her face adoringly. "I know why you're doing this. Just how I knew why you flew that car to save Harry, and why you went to the Ministry... but you're my daughter, and it's my job to worry about you anyway."

Erick and Mel took three changes of clothing and put them in the trunk, Emily gave them muggle money. Mel had a fake driver's license as well as Erick, and they would take turns driving. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but it was expected since it was five in the morning. She hadn't mentioned the kiss to either her mother or Erick, she was determined to keep it that way, much like the whole lifeline stuff and the prophecy.

'Just pile more secrets on top, why don't you,' She thought bitterly as she walked out of the house.

Emily hugged both and let them kiss Reggie goodbye, Mel promised they would see each other soon, and Erick vowed he'd make sure Mel would be safe (she snorted loudly at this). Once inside the car, her friend took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"This isn't our first adventure, Prince."

"This one's the first we do with permission."

"You're an adult, you don't need anyone's approval."

"You know what I mean," He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. I get defensive when I'm —"

"I know," He sighed. "I talk too much when I'm worried."

"I know," She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I'm ready... We'll be okay."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @wlwmaximoff @reverse-hxlland @hamiltonwc @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter xoc #harry potter fanfiction #WITT fic

23 notes · View notes

whispedcream · 3 years

Text

played leon’s and then seraphina’s route. kinda disappointed that roxana’s actions weren’t brought up during THAT scene in leon’s route while sera got flavor text about it. so :)

Apple Tree

pairing: leon x (implied m/nb) keeper rating: general notes: spoilers for kotdan, kotsam nephilim route spoilers, reyna is [redacted] :) summary: you’re forced to think about your parents’ relationship when leon’s empathy powers are brought to attention.

As soon as Seraphina mentioned the words Leon and empath so casually your sleep deprived brain decided it just about had enough. Yet you still had enough energy to cycle through a thousand thoughts per second. All of those thoughts being about one singular person. The woman who ruined your life, as well as your father’s.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him because you’re scared of what you might see. Seraphina finally manages to look back at you from across the room. You watch as her face subtly changes from uncomfortable to guilty. She doesn’t have to use her powers to know what you’re thinking about.

Fate has been nothing but cruel even before you were conceived. With shiny eyes you try to process if these are even your tears. They had to be. You didn’t struggle to learn and understand compulsion ever since the incidents with Secretary Monroe or even Reyna. By design you are a keeper. You should be stronger now to withstand an empath of all things.

Your body feels numb when your father comes to mind. You don’t want to end up like him. You don’t want to repeat the cycle.

The similarities are laughable. How Leon asked you out for the first time as if you were a novelty. The Nephilim raised human was a new shiny toy to play with. Was that how Roxana viewed your father? He was just a simple human born into a family of Nephilim. He was different and unlike the rest. Just like you.

But unlike Roxana, Leon changed. While still arrogant and stuck up at times, he treats you with kindness and love. He looks at you as if you are a star; gleaming and glittering in the night sky. These changes were noticeable to practically everyone. From the way he put a smiley face on your waffles during your spring break with the twins. To how he looked at you across the kitchen table in your own house during Thanksgiving. Aunt Dru had the time of her life poking fun at both Leon and Henrik that night. That still didn’t deter the way he looked at you or held your hand.

He loves you. Roxana was never known to love.

Leon is not Roxana.

You are not your father.

Leon is Leon.

You are you.

It was difficult, but you manage to pull yourself back to reality as you hear Leon speak again. He sounds broken. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, and you can feel how much it hurts him. Leon doesn’t know about the Constellation Project or your mother’s role in everything. Yet he knows of her and what she did to your family. You’re both terrified.

“Asteria,” Leon says, horrified, and you know he’s still looking at you. “You probably don’t even love me.” He finally breaks down.

That’s when you bring yourself to look at him, and part of you regrets it. She’s there looking at you through his frightened, yet beautiful, blue eyes. It takes all of your strength to not pull back as Leon struggles to decide if he wants to reach out to you. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but she’s still there. She’s mocking you like she always does in your nightmares.

She mocks you by standing near Leon’s bed in the dark. No matter what you can never will your body to move in those dreams. All you can do is watch in fear and scream silently into the night. Afraid that she is going to hurt him again.

Roxana Castella is a dead woman and yet she continues to inflict pain on everyone you care about.

Forcefully shoving the fear out of your body, you grab Leon to ground yourself. “No. No, Leon that’s not true.”

You love him. You truly want to believe that you love him. You can only hope he loves you back.

Seraphina leaves the room and you lose him. Leon breaks away from your arms with some struggle. You don’t want to lose him.

The next couple of minutes are a whirlpool of emotions. Leon cuts into himself in an attempt to prove himself guilty. To reveal himself as a murderous monster. His mother dies before your very eyes. It’s not his fault though. None of this was his fault. You’re regrettably more at fault than he’ll ever be.

It takes time, but you manage to catch Leon again and guide him to the common room couch. You hold his face gently in your hands as you wipe away his tears. His hands are balled into fists in his lap as he ignores the fact that his hand is still bleeding red. Your mouth feels dry like sandpaper, but you still try to counsel him. His mother’s death was not his fault at all. This was all because of Anetha.

This was all probably because of Roxana too, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.

Leon laughs faintly as he leans into your palm. “Guess we’ll never know given that, according to nymphy, my magic makes people love me. Asteria, you shouldn’t trust me at all.”

Leon’s horror isn’t masked at all by his usually charming lopsided grin, entirely at odds with the terror in his wide blue eyes. You can’t help but to feel some kind of relief that you can only see yourself reflected off of them. He can’t stop fidgeting in your hold, as if your gaze is the only thing keeping him from flying out the window and never looking back.

“Oh, Leon. . .,” you sigh. “I. . . I know this is a lot to take in. But we’ll get through this.”

Leon would never walk away from you on purpose, so that is at least a start.

He laughs painfully, as if laughing is his only option other than screaming. “If I don’t kill you with my powers before then.”

“A lot of people have tried that already,” you assure him. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re going to be the one to succeed.”

The nagging part of your brain tries to make you think about what would you do if you ever found yourself in that kind of situation with him. Dying is not an option. Killing Reyna was proof of that. There was no guilt then, but with Leon? You shove those thoughts back into the dark for now.

Instead you rub soothing circles on his back, and the two of you stay like that for a long time.

#keeper of the sun and moon #leon dalton #keeper of the day and night #kotsam #kotdan

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bisexualsforprompto · 4 years

Text

A Ladybug’s Revenge

This will most likely be a one shot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Marinette had the words to describe the intense hate she felt when he walked into the room she would.

She might say that everytime he spoke to her, the acid dripping from his vile words made her dig her nails into her skin and grit her teeth.

Maybe she’d say that when he blamed her for something, not being on his moral compass it made her pray for release.

Or she could say that the very way he held himself, the very way he stayed out of conversations made him look timid, but how could a timid coward of a pacifist make her feel like she wanted to throw up and shove him out of a window at the same time?

Everything she felt about Adrien Agreste made her feel so contradictory. She wanted him dead but at the same time she wished she was dead.

She wished she was dead so that she could show him that lies did hurt, that lies could kill.

She wished he was dead because everytime he stared at her and smiled she felt boiling hot rage course through her veins. Every single muscle tensed. Yet he didn’t care what he did to her, he only cared about his own selfish ideas.

Adrien might’ve preached taking the high road but he was a hypocrite, as low as they could get. He said he didn’t want Lila to be akumatized.

Marinette thought it admirable at first.

Then she found out.

As guardian Marinette had to know who Chat Noir was, so she asked Tikki for his identity. She couldn’t say she was surprised, but everything had truly clicked the moment she saw the blonde the next day.

He didn’t want Lila akumatized, he didn’t want her lies exposed, because he didn’t want to deal with the backlash.

Lila was a formidable foe, so by handing her every battle and all her enemies heads on a silver platter Adrien was able to keep himself from having to work too hard.

Because god forbid the model had to work for once in his life.

Marinette had seriously considered ending it all. One could say out of sheer spite. She wanted to see the look on his face when he found out she took her own life because of him. A beautiful revenge and it would ruin his life.

No more Ladybug to love, no more Marinette to be his friend, and a gigantic mess for him to solve...because Marinette would tell the class every single thing before she died.

She had written the letter outlining all the lies and giving all the evidence, she written every little thing her classmates did to her, she made sure Adrien had the longest section.

Harassing her when Marinette was Ladybug and standing idly by at her suffering when she was Marinette.

The letter had ended being almost five pages.

But Marinette burned it. She wasn’t taking her life.

For one, she wasn’t the problem and two, if she were dead she would never see the look on Adrien’s face or anyone’s for that matter when the truth came out.

She still had many who stood beside her.

She had her parents, she had Kagami, Alya and Luka, and she had the kwamis.

She had a duty to protect the people she loved, the city she loved, even if there were those in it who she didn’t.

But most of all she had a plan.

The night she decided to put her plan into action she told her parents everything. Ladybug, the Lila situation, everything that Adrien, Chat Noir, had done.

Tom was furious and Sabine was even more so. Marinette had called Kagami, Luka and Alya to her house. The six of them, plus the kwamis when Marinette introduced the miracle box were ready to work.

Marinette knew since Adrien was Chat Noir he couldn’t be Hawkmoth, but after consulting the kwamis Gabriel Agreste was back on the table.

Her parents, Luka, Kagami, Alya and she mapped out every akuma occurrence, besides the Collector incident he was nowhere to be found every single time. They scoured every single footage from attacks, no Gabriel.

Until they found traffic camera footage, apparently Kagami had picked up hacking as a hobby when she wasn’t busy with fencing. It was foolish for Gabriel Agreste to mutter to himself after the Animistro was defeated, they heard every word. And that was all the confirmation Marinette needed.

Kagami had wielded the mouse miraculous, Luka the snake, and Sabine the turtle. Kagami had hacked into the Agreste’s security feed so Tom was there lookout. Alya waited on a rooftop nearby the Agreste mansion waiting for her task, the most important one.

In the dead of night the four miraculous wielders snuck into the Agreste manor.

They found Gabriel Agreste sleeping, hunched over in his office. Luka activated his second chance and Kagami used her multitude.

The small Kagami mice had run over to Gabriel on his desk and took his brooch off him without alerting the man.

At the same time Marinette and Sabine had gone upstairs to Adrien’s room.

Ladybug pulled off his ring in his slumber and right after it was fully in her grasp Adrien woke up.

Sabrine used her shelter around the boy, creating a force field he couldn’t get out of.

“Adrien Agreste, I hereby relinquish you of the black cat miraculous, and deem you unfit to ever wield any miraculous again.” Marinette spoke steadily as Adrien banged against the protection around him.

Marinette grabbed her mother and swung her yo-yo out of Adrien’s window. She dropped in front of the manor in a Spider-Man like fashion. Kagami and Luka ran outside to her.

“It took a few second chances but-“

Kagami shoved Hawkmoth’s miraculous to Marinette.

“Good. Now one last thing…” Marinette leaped onto a nearby building, the others following her soon after. They began working on the most important part of the plan…

Adrien Agreste couldn’t believe his eyes. In huge bold print on the Ladyblog read “Ladybug reveals identity after Hawkmoth’s defeat, watch the whole video to help Ladybug get justice.”

Adrien shakily pressed play, his lady had taken away his miraculous but maybe he could still make her his, the first step would be finding her identity.

“Hello Paris,” Ladybug begun with a stone cold look gracing her face, “You know me best as Ladybug, but underneath the mask I am not as strong.” The bluenette sucked in a breath, “I have been harassed by my ex partner Chat Noir and his civilian identity as well. In addition I have been a victim of relentless bullying at my school, this involves a liar, Adrien Agreste, yes the model, and the rest of my class. I am not telling you this so that you take matters into your own hands,” Ladybug said as she stared at the camera dead on. “I am telling you this because I need my class to know lies do hurt, you all know and trust me as Ladybug, but my civilian identity is considered to be a bully. I’m here to disprove that.” Ladybug sighed before whispering, “Spots off.” A blinding pink light surrounded her.

Adrien’s bugaboo was there no longer, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was staring in front of him. “I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, was Ladybug. Revealing my identity was the only way to get everything to end. Some of you will be happy to know,” Marinette growled, “That you made me want to kill myself.” Adrien winced. “I wanted to die because of the people in Paris. But that doesn’t matter anymore.” Marinette gave a shy smile, “I am here to tell you that because Hawkmoth is defeated I will no longer be Paris’s saviour.”

Adrien gasped. Marinette was abandoning Paris? Didn’t she remember what he said about the high road?

“I have experienced physical torment and emotional abuse from school. The old Chat Noir was sexually harassing me on the job and to top it all off one man knew all about this and did absolutely nothing. The man who used to be Chat Noir, Adrien Agreste.

“Adrien, if you’re watching this I need you to know: I am not your Lady. I am not anybody’s. I also want you to know that if you try to find me you will not succeed. I am leaving France and nobody will ever see me again. I won’t tell you where I’m going, but I will tell you why...Adrien Agreste, Lila Rossi, Gabriel Agreste, and Caline Bustier, you are the reason that Ladybug will no longer stay in Paris.” Adrien’s eyes widened, it couldn’t be true…

“This is Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, signing off. Bug out.”

The feed stopped. Adrien threw his phone on the ground, leaving it shattered as he stomped out of his room. He refused to believe it.

Gabriel Agreste had to admit he was bested, but there were two things Ladybug or Miss Dupain-Cheng forgot. One was the peacock miraculous that he had just fixed and the second was the crucial fact that he always got what he wanted. No matter what the cost.

Marinette stared out the window feeling her shoulders relax as the cab passed a dismal grey sign. She sighed and smiled, feeling a new beam of hope shine into her life. She read the sign and began to dream of her class’s faces when they watched the video, she then pushed it away, ready to start her new life,

“Welcome to Gotham.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ngl, I have no idea what this was it was going somewhere and then my brain went FUCK IM TIRED, I am so sleep deprived and I wasn’t planning on writing anything this weekend but here we are posting this weird ass salt fic that I wrote in a night and am definitely going to regret tomorrow...YOLO.

(This wasn’t really Maribat but it was kind of I guess) Tag list:

@northernbluetongue

@queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm

@luciferge

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@interobanginyourmom

@beaversuenightly

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry

@mochinek0

@shamefullove

@emjrabbitwolf

@actual-disaster-human

@littleredrobinhoodlum

@elijahcoser

@daminett4life

@18-fandoms-unite-08

@kawaiigiantjudgefish

#maribat kinda #salt salt salt salt salt

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chroma-ki · 4 years

Text

Two Hearts, One Mind

This is a one-shot BakuDeku fic that I wrote and posted on AO3 about a month ago. I posted the link onto my blog a while ago, but wanted to get a copy of it up on here as well to spread the love.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653701

Summary:

It was almost like they were kids again, curled under a blanket in Izuku’s childhood bedroom - talking of heroes and villains and imagined futures. But they weren’t children anymore. Life had swallowed them whole, crushed them down and spat them back out into mangled versions of themselves that no longer fit together the same.

AKA - A sleep-deprived and anxiety-filled Deku runs into his childhood friend and current rival in the middle of the night. Kacchan wont let him get away so easily.

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In the heavy, dreary silence of night that settled over the Alliance Heights common room, Izuku Midoriya rubbed his face for the hundredth time, fighting against sleep, as he scrawled another note onto the page in front of him.

With the next big exam right around the corner and his work study program keeping him from attending class on a daily basis, Izuku had spent the last three days studying during every free moment. Between his work study, daily courses and his extracurricular training with All Might, the 24 hours in a day felt like not nearly enough.

Free time was a luxury he didn’t get to have. It had been that way since before UA. Since he’d first met All Might, really. At this point, the drive to push forward, to go beyond his limits, was like a constant mantra in his head.

He needed to seize the moment - every moment - if he wanted to reach his goal. No excuse was good enough; no pain great enough. He had too many people counting on him to succeed - to many promises to keep - to himself and to others.

But in times like this, in moments when the pressure built too much, the enormity of his dreams felt like an insurmountable weight upon his shoulders; pressure so intense it threatened to crush him completely.

His brain was a muddled mess, his body sore and aching from a long day of training. Maybe a few hours of sleep would fix it. Maybe if he closed his eyes for just a moment, he would finally get some peace; some relief.

Izuku’s heavy-lidded eyes searched for the clock at the other end of the room, squinting to read the time thanks to his sleep-deprived brain, and couldn’t help but to let out a defeated sigh as it read 4:05am. He’d been studying for five hours; much longer than he’d initially planned.

Another all-nighter . All Might was going to kill him if he kept overdoing it like this.

An unexpected racket sounded from down the hall, startling Izuku into reluctant alertness. It was too early for any of his classmates to be awake, but the thought alone was enough to have him packing up his books and flipping off the common room light, preparing to slip out and back up to his room as quickly as possible.

He was too exhausted to make pleasant conversation; too drained to offer a smile. Running into anyone would only require explanations from him that he didn’t have the energy to give.

As Izuku hastily shoved the last notebook into his backpack, a familiar disarray of blonde hair came into view and Kacchan stumbled his way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes dazed with sleep and a muted yawn on his lips. Izuku froze.

Like prey caught by its predator, he only watched in tense silence as Kacchan blinked - aware of the moment his childhood friend caught on to his presence in the room, even in the darkness of night.

“What the - What the hell are you doing here, Deku?”

Kacchan’s voice was rough, gravelly in his half-awake state, and an annoyed frown played across his lips as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and took in Izuku’s disheveled appearance; the backpack in his hands. His eyes narrowed in what Izuku could only interpret as disdain.

“I-,” Izuku started, and then paused. Nothing he said would satisfy Kacchan anyway. It never did. “I was just leaving.”

Without another word, Izuku zipped his backpack closed and threw it over his shoulder in one swift motion. Making a quick bee-line for the hallway, he kept his eyes on the ground, every inch of his body aware of Kacchan’s presence - until a hard, muscled arm whipped up to block his path.

“As if,” Kacchan growled, the rough grate of his voice like the scratch of sandpaper against Izuku’s already frayed nerves.

It was enough to cause Izuku’s gaze to lift; his eyes meeting ones of deep blood red. His breath caught in his throat. From fear or something else in the charged space between them, he wasn’t sure, but their eyes held nonetheless.

He prepared himself for what could only be a string of insults, a lash at his pride or whatever else Kacchan felt like throwing his way this early in the morning - but none came.

For a moment, they only stared at each other in tense silence. Then, Kacchan lowered his arm and turned toward the kitchen counter without another word; pulling out one glass, then another. Izuku watched with anticipation as Kacchan filled both glasses with water from the tap, taking a deep gulp of his own, and pushing the other towards the edge of the counter; toward Izuku.

A silent offer.

Izuku found himself at an impasse - the desperate desire to escape to the confines of his room and allow himself to rest, if only for five minutes, warring with the magnetic pull of Kacchan’s presence.

Lifting his stiff and aching arm, he reached out a hesitant hand toward the glass, allowing himself a small sip and waited for Kacchan to make a move - to set the pace of this interaction.

“Talk. Now, nerd. What were you doing down here before I caught you?” Kacchan finally asked, his tone acquisitory. “Must have been up to no good, if you thought you could sneak away from me so easily.”

Izuku let out an exasperated sigh. God , was he not in the mood for this.

“I was studying. That’s all,” he spat bluntly, not entirely prepared for the way his voice came out in a clipped, irritated tone - more bravado than he actually felt. “Are you satisfied?”

He was definitely losing his mind.

Kacchan’s eyes widened slightly - but he didn’t snap back. It seemed he was also ill-prepared for sass this early in the morning.

His eyes flashed in the dim light of the room, the corners of his mouth turning down into a scowl, but otherwise Kacchan seemed calm; calculated. A side of the explosive boy that Izuku knew existed, yet rarely saw up close.

“Not in the slightest, nerd,” Kacchan muttered in way of reply before brushing past Izuku and heading for the front door of the dorms. Without another word, he opened it and left it wide as he stepped out onto the front porch of the dorms and into the still, black night.

There was little need to suggest that Izuku should follow. It was implied, as most things were when it came to Kacchan. It was a dance they had performed time and time again. And Kacchan always took the lead.

With a resigned droop of his shoulders, he followed Kacchan outside and stepped into the cool night air, taking in a deep breath that filled his lungs. The crisp chill of the air sang to Izuku’s senses, pulling him back to a state of alertness he hadn’t known in hours.

Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed a breath of fresh air - or how much his body craved the glass of water that he still held firm in his hand. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume Kacchan was actually being...considerate. But assuming Kacchan’s intentions when it came to him was something out of the realm of Izuku’s expertise.

Since their second fight at Ground Beta - since all their dirty laundry had been bared to each other in a blur of fists and rage - Izuku knew that there was more to Kacchan that he had yet to uncover. More to the boy he’d spent his entire life chasing. No matter how tired he was, no matter how worn down and beaten, Kacchan’s hold on him was like a vice grip around his heart. As it had always been.

Kacchan sat on the porch step, his back to Izuku, as he gazed out into the empty night. A picture of stoic perfection against the dark sky. Despite the rift that had grown between them over the years, it was a sight Izuku thought he might never tire of.

Without invitation, he slowly made his way forward and lowered himself to the step at Kacchan’s side, his gaze following Kacchan’s as they both stared at nothing; locked in their own heads. The moment felt more private - intimate - now that they were outside. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him nervous. After a brief moment to collect himself, he spoke.

“I’m not trying to hide anything from you. Honestly. I really was just studying.”

“Hah,” Kacchan scoffed, his gaze never moving, but his demeanor remained cool; distant. “You lie too easily for someone who claims not to hide anything. Yet you somehow still manage to be shit at it. Why is that?”

Izuku only frowned in confusion, unsure of what to say. Why did Kacchan always assume the worst of him? Claim that he was keeping secrets? It was knowledge that didn’t sit well in his head. Kacchan knew the only big secret Izuku really had. What else was there to tell?

He felt the familiar feeling of frustration rise in his chest.

“You obviously didn’t sleep, if the horrendous bags under your eyes are any indication,” Kacchan continued. “Everyone else managed to study without turning themselves into a pathetic mess. So what’s the deal? If you’ve got something bothering you, just spit it out. Pisses me off that you don’t say what you actually think.”

Izuku took a moment to ponder the boy’s words before answering matter-of-factly.

“I have to do better. It’s as simple as that. I have to try harder than anyone else here if I want to succeed. What does it matter how I get there? I’ll keep going until I have what it takes.”

Kacchan turned to him then, his lips pressed into a thin, frustrated line; his crimson eyes searching for answers in deep pools of green. He opened his mouth and paused, as if warring within himself over what to say, and then spoke.

“Jeez, Deku. You always say stupid crap like that just to piss me off, don’t you?”

“No, I -"

“Listen here, nerd. Stop with the bullshit,” Kacchan snapped, his voice dropping to a vicious, low note. “Why bother making yourself sound so noble, huh? Like you’re somehow so much more driven than the rest of us just because All Might gave you his stupid power.”

The words coming out of his mouth sounded raw - unrestrained - and they cut through Izuku like a searing blade in his vulnerable state.

“All of this - gettting into UA, training to be a hero, getting your stupid provisional license - it’s all been so easy for you. You’ve got All Might giving you everything you could possibly need. But, if you run yourself into the ground worrying over stupid shit, then it will have all been for nothing . We don’t all have our dreams handed to us on a silver fucking platter.”

The explosive boy rarely spoke so much. But when he did it was always what he really thought - what he really felt . Kacchan wasn’t one to beat around the bush. It dove straight under Izuku’s skin, boiled his blood, in a way that he hated.

He was so tired; worn down and running on fumes - and hovering way too close to the edge of sanity to hold back the thoughts raging around in his brain.

“Y- You think this is easy for me? Hah,” Izuku scoffed, the deliriousness making him brave.

Kacchan’s eyes widened slightly but they held Izuku’s firm and true as his fears and anxieties came pouring from his mouth like a bursting dam.

“You’re right. Meeting All Might,becoming his successor, learning from him, it’s more than I ever could have dreamed. He’s had my back since the beginning - and his help is more than I deserve - but it will only get me so far. You don’t think I’m reminded every single day of how lucky I am that he chose me? You think I’m so full of myself that I wouldn’t see the big picture?”

The words were spilling out of him so quickly, he could barely contain himself. The building pressure of having to prove himself, having to turn himself into someone that was worthy of the gift All Might had given him, had already been eating at him for months. He’d done everything... everything he possibly could to reach this point. And now, having to justify it to Kacchan was only evidence that he needed to work harder - that he had more to prove.

“You were born with a quirk. I had to earn mine. And I’ve spent every day since pushing harder and harder to prove that I’m worthy of what he gave me. Me - a useless, quirkless nobody who never deserved a second glance. Not even from you. So no, it hasn’t been fucking easy , Kacchan. Just because you know my secret doesn’t mean you know how I feel.”

When he was finished, Izuku resisted the urge to slap his own hand over his stupid mouth. He’d really gone and done it now - he just knew it.

Kacchan’s body was tense beside him, his explosive hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. Izuku waited, holding his breath in anticipation of the backlash he knew would come. Instead, Kacchan’s mouth turned up into a satisfied smirk.

“Fucking finally.”

Izuku could only gape.

“It’s about damn time, Deku,” He continued, the growl in his voice sending shivers down Izuku’s spine; the rumble of thunder before a storm. “You’ve got my attention. So go ahead. Yell. Rage at me. Give me everything you’ve got. Make me understand.”

“Why?” Izuku asked, unable to keep the question to himself.

“All Might already told me his side of the story after our fight,” Kacchan explained, pushing forward on the palms of his hands so that his face was only inches from Izuku’s. “So tell me yours. Fill in the pieces I’m missing. Let me inside that thick head of yours - and maybe I’ll listen.”

Izuku wasn’t quite sure he was hearing correctly. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the couch and all of this was some messed up dream concocted by his overloaded brain. But the coil of dreaded anticipation in his stomach felt real. The brush of Kacchan’s breath against his face felt real.

“What do you want to know?” He asked, the words a breathless whisper on his tongue.

“Everything.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that, Kacchan. Ask me, and I will answer honestly.”

Kacchan’s gaze narrowed, but the intensity in them didn’t lessen. Ever since they were children, Kacchan had been a master of intimidation - among many other things. He was used to getting what he wanted. But Izuku had never been good at giving Kacchan what he wanted. Maybe this time could be different. Maybe things could change.

“Let’s start with the day of the sludge villain attack,” Kacchan started, matter-of-factly, finally giving Izuku a reprieve as his demeanor relaxed. “When you ran in to save me.”

Izuku slowly nodded his agreement.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

Kacchan rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Why did you run in to save me?”

This wasn’t the type of question Izuku had been expecting.

“All Might said that’s when he decided to give you his power. So, tell me. What were you thinking when it happened?”

It took Izuku a moment to formulate an answer. But when he did, he had to turn his eyes away from Kacchan’s intense gaze. His answers were meant to be honest, but that didn’t mean Kacchan would like them.

That was the point of all of this, wasn’t it? The open, honest truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I think it was the look on your face,” he answered, his voice coming out small.

He felt more than saw Kacchan shift uncomfortably beside him.

“Explain.”

“I don’t know. When I saw your face - when I knew it was you - my body just moved. It- It looked like you were asking for help. Even if I didn’t have a quirk - even if I was useless - I had to save you. There was no other option.”

“I wasn’t,” Kacchan muttered, but there was no bite in his words. “Asking for your help, I mean...”

“You didn’t have to. It was you.”

The air was pulled taut between them - a worn, frayed line damaged by years of resentment, anger and pride.

Even with his vision trained on the step below his feet, Izuku could feel Kacchan’s eyes on him like a searing brand. It was making his heart race; his stomach flip. This conversation wasn’t like their other talks; talks that had involved a fury of fists and broken screams.

This was new.

It was a few awkward seconds before Kacchan spoke again - actively avoiding Izuku’s comment - but he’d heard it all the same. He was listening.

“Next question. When was the first time you used it? The power, I mean.”

“The day of the entrance exam,” Izuku answered without hesitation.

“You- You what?”

“I used it for the first time the day of the entrance exam. Wrecked by body completely,” Izuku said, a huff of a laugh on his lips. “You would have hated it. I was pathetic.”

“What the hell, Deku?”

“I had ten months to get myself ready for the exam. Ten months of training to prepare my body for this quirk,” He said, lifting his crooked hand as he spoke - allowing a spark of green lighting to course through his fingers. “It was hard, but I finished that training the morning of the exam. It’s not like I really had time to test it out first.”

“So, you’re telling me that you passed the entrance exam - into the highest rated hero course in the country - without ever using your quirk before? Without even testing it out? Don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds?” Kacchan’s voice was quiet, but wavered on a hysterical edge. “You really are something else, you know that?”

Izuku’s eyes were drawn back to Kacchan like a moth to flame. The boy he’d known all his life was watching him with an expression he’d never seen before. His crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness but - at least for the moment - they were for no one and nothing in the world but Izuku.

Since when had Kacchan started looking at him like that? It made Izuku’s breath catch in his chest.

“I know. But don’t you see? Passing the exam, getting into UA, everything I’ve done since then - none of it was enough. It took me months of training - months of analyzing and study - just to be able to use it without breaking apart entirely. Literally.”

Izuku didn’t bother to hide the solemn look that he knew must be on his face as he gave his thoughts voice.

“I have months to play years of catch-up. I see that every time I look at our classmates. Every time I look at you. What I am now - who I am now - still isn’t enough. That’s what bothers me.”

Kacchan seemed to contemplate his words a moment, but his penchant for insults seemed worn out - along with his pride. This Kacchan was exposed - unguarded and honest.

“Now that I think I can understand. The ‘not feeling like enough’ shit.”

Kacchan’s knuckles were white, skin and bone straining with the pressure in which he clenched them, but after a few moments he let out a disgruntled groan and flopped himself onto his back against the porch. He stared up the ceiling, unseeing, before starting again.

“Ever since my quirk manifested, people have always had their eyes on me. Like they were just watching - waiting to see what I would become. They told me I was special. And I believed them. I- fuck. I’m not good at this, dammit.”

Izuku watched as a pained expression crossed Kacchan’s face.

“I thought their praise meant that I was strong. But I was wrong. It made me blind. I didn’t see that until I got to UA. Until you-” He paused. “It made me question a lot of shit about myself.”

Izuku knew what it cost Kacchan to say such things aloud; the vulnerability it exposed to acknowledge any sign of weakness. But for Kacchan to have thought that he wasn’t enough was… incomprehensible to Izuku.

As quietly as he could, Izuku laid back on the ground next to Kacchan - risking closeness with the boy who’d always been his inspiration. Kacchan didn’t seem inclined to move away, so instead they lay side by side, just allowing themselves to inhabit that same headspace - be on the same page, for once. It was like drawing in a breath of fresh air.

Izuku felt more alive than he had in days.

For a few minutes they stayed in comfortable silence, only the sounds of their breath and the songs of crickets leaking into the night air around them before Izuku picked up the thread of conversation, his voice a whisper of breath between them.

“What’s the next question?”

For a while they went back and forth like that - Kacchan interrogating him with question after unexpected question while Izuku cast aside the filter of his mind and poured out truth after truth. It felt good - more than good. The weight of his anxieties didn’t feel so heavy, as he was sharing them with Kacchan.

At some point, they rolled to face one another and Izuku couldn’t hide his smile against the expressiveness of Kaccchan’s face as they spoke; his striking features mesmerizing as the first changing colors of sunrise danced along the horizon.

But maybe time was ironing out their kinks. Maybe each time they pulled back the curtain, just long enough to truly see each other, they were able to discover where the pieces used to fit. Where they could fit again.

They spoke of numerous adventures - those lived together and those lived apart. They spoke of fighting styles and refined techniques. They spoke of good times and bad, of fights won and lost; they spoke of All Might.

“I don’t have to like it,” Kacchan said, a small smirk on his face. “But I understand what he saw in you - why he picked you.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku asked, leaning his cheek flat against the floor, relishing in the coolness of it against his flushed face.

“I've seen it too. Ever since we were kids. Always pissed me off,” Kacchan said, reaching out a hand and poking Izuku none-too-lightly in the chest. “ That’s one of the reasons why you shouldn’t be worryin’.”

“If you say so, Kacchan.”

“Damn right, I say so,” Kacchan huffed, his crimson eyes drifting closed under the weight of exhaustion. “Don’t let that stupid head of yours get in the way. Stay beside me, Deku. Don’t let yourself fall behind. Keep fighting, and I’ll fight with you.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Izuku mumbled, a yawn escaping his mouth as he followed Kacchan’s lead and let his eyes fall shut.

Consciousness was fleeting and Izuku felt himself drifting as his relaxed body and mind fought to succumb to its most basic needs. But he didn’t want this moment to end.

In his half-conscious state, he felt something brush his face, pushing the hair from his eyes, but couldn’t bother to open them to see what it was.

“Sleep, nerd. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for class.”

Izuku nodded mutely but reached out blindly, his hand searching for Kacchan’s arm but instead found the solid planes of his chest. That would do.

“Stay.”

Kacchan said nothing in way of reply, but Izuku felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his scarred hand and allowed himself to succumb to the blissful darkness. He drifted off to sleep with the thought in his head that, as long as Kacchan was by his side, everything might just be okay.

When the bright morning sun woke him hours later, Izuku found his hand twisted in the fabric of Kacchan’s white shirt and the explosive boy sleeping like the dead beside him.

#bakudeku #katsudeku #deku #kacchan #bakugo katsuki #midorya izuku #izuku midoriya #mha #mha fanfiction #mha fanfic #my hero academia

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gayoperatorgunclub · 4 years

Note

Okay so hear me out.... Lion/Doc/Thatcher

oh absolutely

General:

How long will they last? - until mike fucking dies. so like a week. jk but he’s so old

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - it was that scene in the office where it’s three guys standing in a triangle pointing finger guns at each other aggressively.

How was their first kiss? - doc, exhausted, was sitting in his office, sleeping peacefully. when olivier realized gustave had never come to bed, he goes to his office to check on him, and finds mike standing over him, trying to figure out how to move him without waking him up. the way mike jumps when olivier clears his throat wakes gustave up, and he starts whining about being fine and not needing to be babysat. though he interrupts himself multiple times with yawns, so mike and olivier make an executive decision to bring him to bed so they can make sure he gets sleep. mike moves to pick him up and carry him bridal style, but gustave starts squirming and weakly trying to push mike away, though he succeeds in doing nothing. seeing this, olivier moves closer, places a hand in his hair and starts petting him gently. gustave makes an “ngh” sound as his eyes flutter shut, and he makes a last-ditch attempt to get them to leave him alone by reaching a hand out blindly and tugging olivier closer, and shoving his tongue down olivier’s throat. olivier keeps petting him, and kisses back slowly, pushing gustave’s tongue out of his mouth, turning the kiss chaste and sweet, before gustave falls asleep. once he’s certain gustave is out cold, olivier pulls away and takes his hand out of gus’ hair, causing him to snuffle in his sleep and shift in mike’s arms so he’s pressed closer. mike and olivier share a Look, then walk together to gustave’s quarters. They lay him on the bed, and mike says that olivier should stay with him. this makes gustave wake up, and he starts making whiny noises at mike from the bed, prompting mike to come over, and gustave pulls the same move he used on olivier, but this time with the intent to have mike stay. he tugs mike down next to him on the bed (which is honestly more of a nest), with olivier on his other side. he maneuvers them both so that they’re spooning him while he snuggles up to his full-size snorlax plush. mike pushes himself up so he can look at olivier over gustave, and says “we will all three discuss this tomorrow. i know the both of us have been pining over him for quite some time, and tonight’s events have made it pretty clear that the adorable, endearing, kind man laying between us feels the same. so, i think it’s safe to assume this sleeping configuration could become significantly more common for all three of us. now, go to sleep. i refuse to deal with two grumpy, sleep-deprived frenchmen.” olivier chuckled, and as he settled in and closed his eyes, he felt around for something on the blankets, then, smiling softly, intertwines his fingers with mike’s, and drifts off to sleep.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - they all did, on the same night, at the exact same fucking time

Who is the best man/men? - monty for lion, rook for doc, and sledge for thatcher

Who is the bride’s maid(s)? - finka for lion, twitch for doc, and, in a surprise twist no one saw coming, clash for thatcher (the ladies wear tuxes. they look very dapper)

Who did the most planning? - mike! he’s not very religious himself, but knows that gustave and olivier are, so he did a lot of research (including visiting olivier’s church and gustave’s mosque to ask questions about customs and traditions and requirements) to make sure that the wedding would be fit for both of their faiths

Who stressed the most? - god they were all useless for six weeks before the ceremony

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - olivier’s parents, obviously, but his ex and her punk gf are invited and sit in the front row. mike’s ex-wife gets an invitation but it’s very much in a way of “look what you’re missing out on. not one but TWO sexy french men love him. can you say the same? hm?”

Sex:

Who is on top? - ok mike is always in charge no matter what, and he doesn’t bottom. olivier switches (just does whatever mike tells him to, whether that’s to fuck gustave until he begs to come or ride mike with gustave tied to a chair off to the side, crying because he’s being forced to watch but not getting any stimulation) and gustave almost always bottoms (there have been times where, to make it harder for him to not come, mike has olivier ride gustave until mike says to stop, or anyone calls their safeword)

Who is the one to instigate things? - it really depends. usually olivier, but if mike or gustave have had stressful days, they’ll look for some ~relief~ when they get home

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - as long as mike tells them but fr i never know how to answer this one so like???? long enough??? they’re always satisfied, soooo

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - *sighs in wanting to make doc come til he cries but also wanting to make him beg for the slightest touch on his cock*

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - just olivier’s son

How many children will they adopt? - ZERO BITCH

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - probably doc but olivier’s kid is too old for them so

Who is the stricter parent? - they all are but in different ways

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - depends on the stunt (typical punk stuff- lion, breaking laws that shouldn’t be laws- doc, fighting for what’s right- thatcher)

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - doc

Who is the more loved parent? - olivier but only because they’ve had a relationship for longer

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - doc. charming ass

Who cried the most at graduation? - they all did :*)

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - typical punk stuff- lion, breaking laws that shouldn’t be laws- doc, fighting for what’s right- thatcher

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - doc

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - olivier

Who does the grocery shopping? - doc

How often do they bake desserts? - so often!!!!! mike is a secretly a world class baker

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - gustave has dietary restrictions (and he’s lactose intolerant), but he loves a good steak. olivier and mike agree 100%

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - doc

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - olivier. he likes patio dining!!!!!!!

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - mike. you stupid man

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - lion

Who is really against chores? - thatcher

Who cleans up after the pets? - doc (they’re his kitties, he will care for them)

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - thatcher

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - doc. the first thing he was taught about being an adult is that you keep plastic bags in other plastic bags, and you always feed people whenever they come to your house

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - thatcher. he still complains about cleaning tho

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - doc. he has a full fucking skin- and hair-care regimen and olivier and mike can’t deal

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - IT’S MIKE’S BIG-ASS DOG, HE TAKES IT FOR A WALK

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - mike doesn’t like to decorate but he WILL put up little centerpiece items that are themed around the holiday that his husbands are celebrating :)

What are their goals for the relationship? - contentment. healing. joy. :*)

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - gustave. stupid sleep-deprived man. i love you

Who plays the most pranks? - olivier. >:(

#ask #anonymous #but i know who you are 😈😈😈#r6s doc #r6s lion #r6s thatcher #doc/lion/thatcher #ass alert!#thank you for interacting!

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alsbesluit · 3 years

Text

peace.

i never had the courage of my convictions as long as danger is near. and it’s just around the corner, darling because it lives in me. “Get me Jace. Find him among the rest. We need him for this mission to succeed. Imogen Herondale would gladly give us whatever we want once she realizes we have her grandson. I’m sure the others won’t mind if the other option is hurting their friends.”

It was a day after Valentine Morgenstern spoke those words, saw his men killed and was arrested by the boy he tried to raise and decided it wasn’t for him. Jace woke up in Lydia Branwell’s bed with sticky eyelashes. The notebook was laying on her nightstand. It had probably been there before, but to Jace it was an answer to the question ‘what doesn’t belong in this room?’ Really, the answer should be him, not the notebook. But he’d never belonged anywhere. Not really. Yet, Lydia’s arms were the safest he felt in years. He knew what to do. He knew he didn’t want to do it. He knew he had to. He’d wasted too much time not-knowing and now that he knew, he couldn’t let anyone else not know. It was unfair. It was unethical. No matter how much he didn’t want to, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t just about him. He was a better man than Valentine. He needed to tell.

Jace kissed Lydia and smiled weakly at her. “I have to go be a responsible -” adult was the usual end of that sentence, often accompanied with a disgusted face expression because Jace didn’t do responsible even on a good day. But this time it didn’t ring true. “Herondale,” was therefore the end of the sentence, giving Lydia an easy way to figure out what he was about to do. She smiled. She didn’t ask question. He’d never loved her more. “Good luck,” she said. She kissed him again. Jace wanted to stay and never leave. He got his leather jacket from where he left it the day prior, smoothed it over and put it back on. He ran his hands through his hair in hopes of it resembling something of a normal style as opposed to a complete bedhead, but him wishing for miracles had never paid off. Another look at Lydia and he exited her rooms, on his way to the basement where Valentine was locked up.

Unfortunately, the only way to the basement was through the Ops centre. Lydia had left instructions for the normal work to continue, Jace knew, as they cleaned up the mess that Valentine and his followers caused. It was busy, every table taken. People looked at he passed by. He moved ahead stoically. He didn’t one anyone answers. He didn’t owe anyone a second look. There were two exceptions, and those two approached. Izzy wary, Alec concerned. They stopped in front of him, making sure he couldn’t just walk around them. Alec folded his arms over each other in a convincing impression of Jace on a normal day. Izzy gave him a look that answered one question and asked ten more. ‘”Where the hell have you been?” Alec was using his matter-of-fact voice, the one he used when he was worried but didn’t want it to be obvious. It was obvious without the undertone. “We were worried about you.“ It had been obvious without him pointing it out, too. “I’m fine,” Jace replied. “I was asleep in a place no one could find me so no one could wake me. You’re one to talk, sleeping at Magnus’ every time that’s more convenient for you as opposed to thinking of others trying to find you.” That shut up Alec, who actually looked offended, but not Izzy. “Were you with the girl?” “What girl? There’s a girl?”

Jace glared at Izzy for saying it with Alec there. Then he glared at Alec for actually responding to it. “I have much more important matters to tend to than talk about my love life, thanks,” he said. “Yes, I was with the girl. Yes, there’s a girl. No, we’re not discussing it. Frankly, again, the two of you have a lot of nerve complaining to me about keeping my love life from you. One of you almost married a girl in an entire ceremony without actually being into girls and the other is attempting to keep from everyone she’s seeing a Downworlder. Get better at suppressing your shit or talk about your shit, but don’t come at me about my shit when I’m the only one in this goddamn family that has it together.”

Alec and Izzy exchanged a glance that spoke volumes for the three of them. Neither of them probably expected such a sharp reaction, but Jace wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t here to be grilled. He was here to go see Valentine, who should be the receiving end up being ripped a new one. They were in the way. “Are you sure you slept enough? You sound very sleep-deprived,“ Izzy commented. Jace glared again. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, sounding suspiciously like Alec when he was in his denial phase with Lydia. Disturbingly similar circumstances, very different outcome. He’d marry her within a heartbeat if he could. “Jace, what is going on with you?” This time, Alec was unable to suppress an undertone, which was part annoyed and part worried. He looked straight at his parabatai. “Valentine told me who my birth parents are. Now move, because I have to go rip him a new one about the fact. I’ll tell you more once I know more.” Alec was surprised enough to move aside and Jace immediately took the space to move past his siblings. He jogged through the rest of the Ops centre in a louse attempt to create more distance between him and his siblings, well aware they could easily catch up with him if they really wanted to. Thankfully, they didn’t. He could only hope that neither of them would tell Maryse. all these people think love’s for show but i would die for you in secret. When he got downstairs in the basement and made his way towards the glass cell where Valentine was kept, he was surprisingly let in by the guards without a word of protest. He could use the win, so he kept his commentary about the fact to himself and marched up to the glass with the intention to start yelling at Valentine immediately, who was awake and facing him. But then a voice spoke, disturbing him. “Well, well. Mister Wayland. Miss Branwell told me you’re the one that arrested Valentine. Very well.” He didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing behind him. Who else came to talk to Valentine. The reason he was let in so easily. The guards thought Lydia sent him to talk to Imogen Herondale about how he got Valentine imprisoned. He didn’t intend to do any such thing whether Imogen Herondale wanted to or not. Regardless of not needing to turn around to see, Jace turned around slowly and took in Imogen Herondale. He looked nothing like her. She had dark hair, brown eyes and a none too friendly face expression, even if her words had been. He didn’t want to be in the same room as her, never mind her and Valentine. Behind him, Valentine laughed. Jace closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience, well aware that something cruel was about to come out of his father’s mouth. That was how he knew Valentine was Valentine. He couldn’t go a minute without saying something cruel to Jace, his favorite target. “You’ve taken my light. Your darkness will come.“ That wasn’t cruel, but neither did it make sense. Jace turned back around abruptly and made a beeline for the glass wall of the cell so he was facing Valentine directly. Valentine was, of course, grinning, endlessly amused with the situation despite being the one locked up in a cell. “I don’t want your riddles, so shut the hell up,” he spat at Valentine. “But it wasn’t a riddle, Jonathan,“ Valentine replied, grinning still. The undertone of his voice, too, was amused, and he was clearly none too impressed with Jace’s outburst. “Those are the words that the High Inquisitor here sent me through fire-message when I killed her son. I had taken her light. My darkness would come. I suppose she’s right. Of course, she doesn’t know that I took something else from her and you didn’t tell her. Maybe I did raise you right after all.” Jace’s reply came without thinking about it. “I should have murdered you when I had the chance. Fuck the Clave and their take him alive policy. You’re a parasite, an insect, the sort that itches when it lands on you and that you can still feel hours after the fact. I should have crushed you like the bug you are.” Showing his violent tendencies in front of the High Inquisitor and also his grandmother really wasn’t the way he should have handled the situation. Alas. Imogen Herondale, thankfully, didn’t pay a lot of mind to the outburst. He could hear her approach, but she never came near. In the glass he could see that she was standing a couple of feet behind him and a couple of feet to the right, keeping a careful distance from both him and Valentine but still closer than she had been before. “What did you take from me, Valentine?” the Inquisitor asked with the kind of icy calm that Jace admired and knew he’d never have. Valentine’s face expression then, as well as the way he theatrically leaned back on his chair and pretended to have to think about whether he wanted to reply at all, made Jace want to storm in there and stick Valentine’s dagger through his heart. That seemed too kind, though. It made more sense to rip open a few arteries and watch him bleed out very slowly.

At last, Valentine sighed, smirking still regardless. “You didn’t tell her,” he tormented Jace. “Why not? You’ve always wanted what I finally gave you when you arrested me. Are you afraid? Is the great Jace, the greatest demon killer of the New York Institute, afraid of something? What is it? Failure? Not being good enough? Are you afraid you’ll disappoint? Are you -” Jace was sure Valentine could have gone on a long time if Jace let him. He wasn’t going to listen to it any more. Instead, he turned away from Valentine and towards Imogen. He took a deep breath, folded his arms over each other and spoke. “Valentine took your grandson. He stole him, raised him and eventually, when he turned out to be nice and good instead of cold and ruthless, left him.” your integrity makes me seem small. you paint dreamscapes on the wall. i talk shit with my friends it’s like i’m wasting your honor. Imogen looked like a woman that had seen too much and too little at the same time. Her eyes didn’t leave Jace’s figure, even as she moved backwards to a chair to sit down. Behind them, Valentine also found just enough common sense to shut up for a chance. Jace really didn’t want to do this with Valentine around to comment, but it seemed that they were.

“You look like your mother.” Jace stared. and you know that i’d swing with you for the fences. sit with you in the trenches. would i be enough if i could never give you peace?

#( peace ).#( dash & lily | au ).

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starkercrossedlovers · 5 years

Text

Dying, Surviving, Living

{AN: There are three places within the story that mark songs that should be played. They are marked as follows: *, **, ***.}

*This is what dying feels like

He realizes it as he breathes, lungs burning with every inhale and exhale, vision blurring at the edges and mind desperately working to stay awake, alive, for one more breath, one more slow blink, just one more…

He’s left a message for Pepper, the last of his energy fading as he watches the slow creep of space, the icy cold of it pressing against the glass.

There’s no way out of this, he knows.

This is what dying feels like.

“Mr. Stark? Hey, Mr. Stark!”

His eyes flutter open with a sigh. He wasn’t really asleep even though he’s exhausted, he’s too worried about going to sleep and never waking up. It’s probably the kindest way to die, but there’s some primal part of him that screams to fight, to keep breathing, even as it burns.

Through hazy half drooping eyes he squints at the figure crouched next to him.

“Hey! You know Mr. Stark, you should really get something to eat, you don’t look so good.”

A tired smile curls his lips and he sighs, nodding. “Probably right about that kid. Nothing left to eat though.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry Pete, it’ll be okay.”

Peter smiles at him softly, kindly. “Sure it will Mr. Stark. Especially if you attach that coupler to the filtration unit from your suit and use it to recycle the air in here.”

Eyes widening, Tony stares dumbly at him and then collapses back against the hull of the ship, laughing. It’s tinged with hysteria and feels too loud, but it’s a release valve for the grief and anxiety that’s been welling inside him for days.

“Quit talking to the dead Stark, we’ve got work to do.”

A foot connects with his shin and he looks up, glare sliding away into confusion when he sees Nebula standing over him with a disgusted look.

Peter is gone….which makes sense, as he was never really there to begin with.

It hits him again, that the kid is dead and it’s fault and he wants to vomit and scream and curse, or maybe just die because then he wouldn’t have to feel this agony.

Nodding, he takes the hand Nebula offers him, grimacing as he goes lightheaded and his heart squeezes in his chest painfully.

As they walk away, he feels ghostly fingers on his neck and shudders at the whisper he knows only he can hear.

Don’t give up Mr. Stark, I need you

This is what dying feels like.

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

By some miracle they cobble together the parts from his suit to the air purification system and within a few hours it’s noticeably easier to breathe. There’s still nothing to be done about the lack of food or water, but he’s been studying the life support systems and he thinks he might have a solution soon.

“What if we filter the waste system and purify it into potable water?”

He hums, “Not a bad idea kid,” he agrees, avoiding the look he knows Nebula is shooting him.

So what if he’s seeing and hearing Peter? He’s going to die and if it means he gets to have him around, well, he’ll take it. Even if it does leave him guilt ridden and sobbing when the kid does disappear.

He’s never gone long, maybe a few hours at the longest, and Tony can’t write it off as oxygen deprivation anymore, this is just him, going straight up crazy.

He tried blocking Peter out for all of an hour, chest aching as the kid asked in a soft, wounded voice what he had done wrong. After that he had decided being crazy was better than being alone.

He and Nebula fiddle with the waste filtration system for hours until finally, it’s producing clean, drinkable water. The first glass they share is warm, tastes a little like greenery, but it’s still better than nothing.

Tony tears up when they drain the glass, his thirst raging to life in the back of his throat. It’s like a desert, aching for relief but for now he ignores it. The system needs to cycle a few more times and he’s exhausted, so he heads to the little nest he’s created, draws a blanket around himself and watches the universe slip past.

He wonders if Pepper’s even alive to get his message, if anyone he knew and loved is left.

“You look tired Mr. Stark, why don’t you rest?”

He sighs and rolls his chin to find Peter reclining against the opposite wall, concern on his kind young face. He smiles at the kid, heart aching with how much he misses him and his pop culture references and wide eyed enthusiasm for just about everything Tony says or does.

“Hey kid. Was going to sleep now, that sewage filtration idea of yours was a good one though, thanks.”

“Sure Mr. Stark! Why don’t you close your eyes, I’ll keep watch.”

Tony would protest that it isn’t possible for him to keep watch, that he’s not real, but he’s so tired he can’t even form an argument so he closes his eyes and sinks down.

A moment later he feels fingers running through his hair and he leans into it, tears rolling from behind his closed eyes.

“I miss you Peter.”

“I’m right here Tony.”

No you’re not

He doesn’t say it, but it’s heavy in the air between them.

This is what dying feels like.

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

It’s entirely by luck that they make it back to Earth. They come upon an abandoned ship floating through space and after a quick inspection, Nebula deems it travel worthy. They’re lucky enough that it has a warp drive that they utilize to get back in just a few hours.

They guide the ship to New York, the lightless, lifeless city below sending a shiver over his spine. Steve stares at him in shock, and then they’re lurching towards each other into a rough embrace, tears rolling down both their faces.

They’re a ragtag group, and their newest addition is a woman out of time, convinced that the way to beat Thanos is to go back, change things before they ever happen. He’s too tired to argue the possibility of creating a time anomaly, so he just nods along, eats his food and works on his suit.

He wanders the compound late at night, drinking too much, talking to Peter and wishing it had been him who had died instead. The kid is always close by, murmuring to him ideas for the suit or offering opinions on the fight to come.

If anyone notices the fact that Tony’s drinking too much and talking to a dead kid, they don’t say anything. Steve hesitates the first time he catches it happening and then asks nonchalantly what Peter thinks about trying to make Loki an ally when they go back.

After that there’s no question that despite the oddness of the situation, Peter is there to stay.

This is what surviving feels like; numbness, desolation, grief so deep it’s like a fathomless ocean.

Dying was better.

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

They succeed, miraculously, in going back. It’s startling to see himself looking so young, but soon they’re battling the Chitauri and capturing Loki and removing the mind control Thanos had placed him under, and then it’s on to the next step of the plan.

“Duck Mr. Stark!”

Tony dodges a blow from one of Thanos’s minions, barely missing being decapitated before Steve is lunging in and shattering its skull. They share a brief appreciative grin before they slide into combat once more, soaking to the skin in blood.

It stinks, sticks and dries uncomfortably, and when he’s in the shower, he scrubs his skin until it’s raw and red and still, he doesn’t feel clean. He collapses onto the tiles below him sobbing, gasping for air, arms wrapped around his middle, desperately trying to hold himself together.

Ghostly fingers brush against his forehead, and when he looks up it’s into Peter’s kind eyes, soft with concern and affection. “Just breathe Mr. Stark, just breathe,” he whispers, pulling Tony into his arms and holding onto him as he sobs.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m here. Just breathe.”

This is what surviving feels like.

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

“You need sleep Mr. Stark.”

He nods. Takes another sip of whiskey.

“Sure kid, once I’m done here,” he agrees tonelessly.

Fingers brush through his hair and he can see him, from the corner of his eye, more real than he has any right to be, watching him with concern.

“Please? Come to bed?”

Tony swallows hard, shivers running over his skin as Peter’s hand covers the back of his neck, slim fingers brushing against his skin softly. Heat builds at the touch and he leans into it unconsciously, sighs when Peter’s thumb rubs soothing circles into his jaw.

“C’mon Tony, lets go to bed.”

So he does.

He follows his ghost to his bedroom and orders FRIDAY not to let anyone in and strips before crawling into bed, headache throbbing away behind his eyes.

He smiles when fingers brush his forehead, soothing and gentle. A kiss to his temple has him curling towards Peter, aching for more of the gentle touches. It’s wrong, he knows, to want Peter like this, even if he was real, it would be wrong—age of consent be damned.

He’d always made sure he brushed off the hero worship and the too long stares the kid sent his way—he’s fucked up, but he’s not that fucked up...right?

Peter’s hand tilts Tony’s chin, warm brown eyes smiling at him before he leans down and presses his lips to Tony’s.

“Go to sleep Mr. Stark, I’ll keep you safe.”

He does, with Peter’s fingers raking through his hair and his quiet voice humming softly a tune that Tony knows, but can’t remember.

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

“I’m just saying! Should we really be relying on a guy who’s talking to a dead kid?”

The room goes silent, tension in every body as they all either studiously look away or glance over at him.

He can’t even blame Rocket, as weird as it is to say, because yea, he’s not the most stable, but he’s holding it together. And that’s all he has to do, keep holding on until they get everyone back.

Once he gets Peter back—and Pepper—he reminds himself forcefully, it’ll all be ok again. He just has to fix what’s broke—himself included.

Steve shakes his head at the raccoon, “Tony knows what he’s doing. I trust him with my life.”

Tony looks at the other man in surprise, but nods his thanks. They’ve come a long way since he returned to Earth, but they have further to go. Eventually he gets up and leaves the conversation behind—he doesn’t actually care if they think he’s sane or not, so long as they fix this, it doesn’t matter.

“It does matter Tony...you have to hold on. Don’t let go of who you are,” Peter pleads softly as he messes with the nanites in his lab, hands shaking at the sound of Peter’s voice. It’s been a few days and he had started to worry Peter was gone.

“I’m never gone Tony. I’ll always be here for you.”

Tears blur his vision and he sobs, curling in on himself as Peter’s arms wind around his shoulders and pull him into his chest.

His lungs feel like they’re shredding, copper heavy on his tongue as he bleeds out inside, heart cracking inside its cage between his ribs. He wishes he could rip it out and leave it on the floor, useless broken thing that it is.

This is what surviving feels like.

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

It takes all of them to fight Thanos, the battle bloody and ruthless, but eventually they kill the mad Titan and take the gauntlet to be destroyed in the same place it was made. The stones are destroyed, despite Strange’s wariness to lose them—convinced they could be used for good—an idea Tony would have agreed with once upon a time.

Before Thanos.

Before Peter dissolved into ashes before his eyes.

Before he had to hear him plead with Tony—please Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go!

Across the universe order is restored, loved ones lost return. He watches as Steve and Bucky embrace, Quill and Gamora reunite, T’Challa and Okoye...person after person...stomach plummeting when neither Pepper nor Peter appear before them.

He’s failed.

His heart turns to ice in his chest, numbness spreading through him and he leans a little heavier into Nat, her eyes wary on him, too knowing for his liking, but he can’t...he can’t do this anymore.

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

** Steve decides to stay in the 40’s with Peggy—no longer a man out of time. When he offers his shield to Bucky there’s a collective moment of shock before the man nods and takes the iconic piece of vibranium, the mantle of Captain America passed on.

They return to their timeline, broken, battered and bruised and as the team celebrates he slinks away from the rest of the group, everything too loud and bright.

Surviving sucks.

The door to his quarters shuts with a soft metallic sound, the lock engaging a moment later and an order to FRIDAY will ensure his solitude. He plans on getting blindingly drunk and sleeping for a week, celebration be damned.

He chuckles bitterly; what do they have to celebrate?

Steve is gone.

Thor is gone.

Peter is gone.

The strongest, bravest, best members of the Avengers, lost, forever.

A sob hitches in his chest as his eyes burn, tears welling up. Is this surviving? He hates it. Doesn’t want it.

“Mr. Stark?”

Head whipping up, he blinks through his tears and finds the familiar figure of Peter Parker, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Smiles tremulously.

“Hey kid, glad to see you’re still with me.”

Peter’s brow furrows, “I...I mean, yea, of course Mr. Stark, always.”

Tony manages a weak smile and pours himself a drink, sips the burning liquid and shudders as it spreads through him.

“Are you—should you drink like that?”

Tony snorts and turns back to the kid, “I’d say I earned it, don’t you think? Saving the universe and all?”

“Yea, but, why are you still not happy?”

Tony half sobs and stares at him incredulously. “Happy? Kid, how could I be happy? You’re gone! Dead! And the only reason I’m seeing you is because I’ve finally gone flat out fuckin shit house crazy!” he shouts, “Do you get it? I’m broken! I-I’ll never be Iron Man again. I’m done!”

Peter stares at him, aghast, confusion and hurt staining his face. “Mr. Stark…”

“No! No...I can’t Peter. I need...fuck, I need you...but if you stay…” Tony shakes his head ruefully and laughs bitterly, wipes at the tears on his face, “I’ll jump out that fuckin window someday. I can’t live not having you. I can’t remember that I failed you every time I look at you.”

He’s pleading now, frozen heart shattering in his chest as he begs his ghost to stop haunting him.

“Please Peter, please go. Please.”

There are tears on Peter’s face now too and Tony sobs, swallows down a gulp of whiskey and curses, fills the glass again with fumbling hands.

“I’m not dead.”

Tony stills for a moment and then shakes his head. “You are. This is just my fucked up mind trying to give me what I want.” He exhales shakily, “But I can’t have you kid. You’re not real.”

“Please Mr. Stark, I promise I’m real!” Peter begs, half sobbing now too.

Tony whirls and glares at him, “Stop! S-Stop torturing me!” he snarls, “I can’t love you and not have you,” he hisses, “Don’t you get it?!”

Peter stares at him wide eyed as Tony breathes unevenly, tears in his eyes once more. The kid shoots to his feet and stalks over, grabs the glass of whiskey and chucks it at the wall, both men startling at the crash.

“I am not dead,” Peter tells him lowly, firmly. Reaches out and grabs Tony’s wrist, holds on as he tries to fight. “Feel that? I’m real dammit!”

Tony shakes his head furiously, yanking on his wrist even as part of him remembers that when Peter touched him it had been like a gentle breeze on his skin—fleeting and barely there.

This is...real.

Alive

Warm

Tony stills as Peter’s hands tighten around his wrists, dark eyes gazing up at him steadily, determined.

“I’m real,” he whispers, “I promise.”

A half choked sob punches out of Tony and he tugs a hand free, shaking as he reaches out to touch Peter’s face. The boy smiles and leans into it, warm and solid and real against his palm.

“Peter?” Tony whispers hoarsely, painful hope burning inside him, and he knows, it’s either real, or he’s so far gone it doesn’t matter anymore. If he’s so crazy that he’s able to touch his hallucinations, he’s going to lock himself away in a remote location and live out his days in pleasant insanity.

“Have you ever been able to touch me before? When I was gone?” Peter reasons, likely seeing the hope and disbelief warring on Tony’s face. Some part of him appreciates the reminder to use that analytical brain of his and he shakes his head slowly, recalling every time Peter had ever touched him.

He can smell Peter now too—cologne musky and warm, the soft scent of honey and lavender from his shampoo, all things he hadn’t been able to sense before.

“I could be having a break from reality,” Tony reasons, voice hoarse and low.

Peter nods and tugs him toward the door. “Let’s see if anyone else can see me,” he suggests, “Rhodey wouldn’t lie.”

Tony nods slowly and lets the kid tow him out of the room and back towards the celebration. The remaining teammates look up, shock silencing the room and hope burns brighter in Tony.

“Can you see me Rhodey?” Peter asks, smiling at Tony’s oldest friend.

The older man nods disjointedly, a smile beginning to creep onto his face. “Y-yeah kid, I see you.”

Tony’s fingers tighten on Peter’s wrist, “Rhodes, you sure?” he demands, voice breaking on the last word. If this is just a delusion...he can’t. He won’t survive it.

Rhodey nods again and reaches out to poke Peter in the chest, bright laughter boiling out a moment later. “Yea Tones, I’m sure.”

The dam inside Tony shatters and he curls inward with a sob, swaying dangerously till Peter grabs onto him, pulls him into his arms and holds him as he weeps.

A storm of grief and euphoria devastates Tony, the reality of the young man holding him up too much for his broken heart and broken mind to handle. Peter carefully guides him back to his rooms, hushing him gently as he applies a little strength and makes Tony sit on his bed.

He strips Tony of his shoes and socks, pulls his jeans off and slides his button down shirt off till he’s in his briefs and a tank, shivering as he sobs. Peter hastily sheds his own clothing and slides into bed beside Tony, murmuring softly for FRIDAY to darken the room.

When Tony panics at the sudden darkness, sobbing and clutching at Peter, he urges FRIDAY to turn on a nightlight, low and golden around the edge of the ceiling. When Tony can see him again he settles some, arms banding tightly around his waist as he buries his face into Peter’s shoulder.

His heart breaks for his friend, mentor, love of his life really. He hadn’t known how deeply his death had affected Tony, and now he wishes he had a way to take it all away—the pain, the grief, the loneliness.

As Tony quiets slowly, he runs his fingers through his hair, murmuring soft words of affection and assurance. When Tony finally falls asleep, Peter watches him, tracing the deep lines in his brow and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Tony had survived losing him, but at the cost of his sanity and health. He’ll make sure that Tony learns to live again, in time.

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

*** The sun shines down, drying out the red earth below, the scent of rosemary and lemon heavy in the air.

Tony shifts and Peter glances over at him, smiling when the older man sighs softly in his sleep, face relaxed and tanned from weeks in the Tuscan sun. He watches Tony sleep for a few minutes before turning his attention back the screen in his hands.

He’s been reviewing after action reports for the teams since he and Tony left for Italy three months ago. The UN hadn’t been pleased to receive notice of Iron Man’s retirement, nor the notice that Spider-Man would be taking a vacation for an indefinite amount of time unless an imminent global threat arose.

The rest of the team and the Guardians had things well in hand, and he wasn’t about to leave Tony.

Not now.

He and Tony had arrived in Italy just two weeks after the return of the Avengers and the restoration of the universe. Ross had tried to accuse them of being lazy, self indulgent or cowards, that was until every member of the Avengers and Guardians had threatened to refuse the call if Ross and the UN didn’t support Tony and Peter.

Faced with losing earth’s best defenders yet again, the capitulation from those in power had been swift.

A distant rumble of thunder draws Peter’s gaze to the horizon. It’s been weeks without rain, the earth so dry he can hear it cracking under his feet when he walks out into the orchard each morning, the creak of the branches in the wind dry and lifeless.

He hopes the rain lasts like they say it will, a slow steady soaking that will bring life to the earth once more.

He leaves Tony to sleep while he pads barefoot into the kitchen, his hands moving almost mindlessly as soft music plays from the record player in the other room. The house belongs to Tony’s family—the whole town really—and it’s littered with photos of his mother as a teenager, smiling brightly, laughing and dancing, and he knows it makes Tony’s heart ache to see them, but it’s a good ache, he thinks.

The roast chicken recipe is one of Tony’s Nonna’s, the picture of her and her husband watching over the kitchen—her dark eyes and wry smile reminiscent of her grandson. He sees Tony everywhere in this place—in the faces of his family and the updates he’s made to the electrical grid, to the flawless Italian that he speaks when they venture into town.

Thunder rumbles louder and when he glances out the window the clouds are much closer now. He can feel the air pressure changing, the temperature falling and a shiver runs over his skin, senses tingling. There’s anticipation in the air—of the storm to come, of all the things the future holds, and it makes him yearn for something unsaid.

Drying his hands on his shorts, he heads out to rouse Tony, a light hand on his brow and brush of his lips against Tony’s.

“Wake up Tony,” he whispers against his lips, “storm is coming.”

Tony’s beautiful eyes flutter open and a slow smile curls his lips.

“Mio caro,” he whispers, voice husky from sleep, face soft and open.

Peter smiles and kisses him again, “Hey,” he whispers, taking Tony’s hand as he rises from the patio chair and tugs him inside as the first drops of rain start to fall.

When he glances back droplets of water glisten in Tony’s dark hair and there’s a yearning, hungry look to his gaze that has nothing to do with chicken.

Peter shivers.

This is what living feels like.

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

Rain patters down on the clay roof, the air chill against the sweat on his skin, lightning flashing to illuminate the dark eyes staring back at him.

Tony breathes deeply beneath him, hands trembling where they rest on his thighs as Peter rides him, slow and steady. This isn’t even about coming, it’s a need for connection, a yearning for that feeling that comes when Tony gasps his name like it’s oxygen for his drowning lungs.

He grabs Tony’s hand and lifts it to press against his sternum, the steady thrum of his heart against Tony’s calloused palm enough to make the other man whisper his name, adoration glowing in his eyes.

He’ll never tire of that—of the way Tony looks at him, of how he holds him, loves him. It’s too hard fought for, this love of theirs, for him to ever let it go.

Fingers curling in thick curls, he leans down and kisses Tony, sharing a gasp as the action has Tony’s cock dragging over his prostate. A choked off wrecked little noise barely makes it past his lips as he kisses Tony again and rolls his hips harder, chases that sensation.

Thunder rumbles loud enough to vibrate through the walls, the tremble of it shuddering over his skin and down his spine as he arches back up, fingers pressing into the scar on Tony’s chest where the arc reactor used to be.

I love you Tony he whispers, love you, love you, love you

Tony’s head falls back as Peter leans in again to press kisses to his throat, raindrops sliding down the window panes and blurring the world outside.

He tastes like sweat and sun and lemon and Peter knows that however many years they have left together, it’ll never be enough.

He’ll always want more.

Tony gasps his name, hands desperate on his skin as Peter rolls his hips, bodies slick and hot against each other, soft cries filling the room alongside the hush of the rain.

Please, Peter, need you, please Tony whispers, voice breaking as tears glisten in his eyes. Peter hushes him gently and leans up for a kiss, soft and gentle, lips parting on moans as they move faster now, that warm familiar ache building where their bodies meet.

Tony cums inside him with a low cry, body arching into Peter’s as he half sobs, clutches at him desperately, face tucked into Peter’s neck so his hot, unsteady breaths wash over his skin.

The sensation of Tony’s release is one Peter will never get used to—it’s like carrying a piece of his lover inside him, warm and comforting and completing. Like he’s whole for the first time in years.

He didn’t know how he could miss something he had never had before he and Tony made love, but it’s that—love—that he’s been yearning for his whole life. It’s different than the love he has for May, it’s deeper, consuming, like a string has been tied under the left side of his ribs, deep inside him, stretching across space and time to where it’s knotted beneath Tony’s, and if they go too far apart, it would snap.

Lightning flashes and Peter holds Tony’s gaze as he cums too, shaking and gasping before he’s capturing those lips in his, desperate and needy as he rides out the last of his release. Thunder pounds against the stucco of the house and inside his chest, heart pounding as it begs to fly free and up into the night.

He collapses against Tony, sighing as he presses his lips to the sweaty crown of his head.

“I love you,” he whispers, barely loud enough to cause a vibration in the air, but he knows Tony hears him because his hands tighten on his skin, possessive and loving.

Il mio amore...mio caro...il mio cuore

Tony whispers it in his ear, voice hoarse, and Peter can smell the salt of his tears, hear the irregular beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his breath...every inch of him trembling with love.

Leaning up slightly he smiles softly at Tony, kisses away his tears and presses his forehead with Tony’s.

My love...my darling...my heart

This is what living feels like.

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

Okay my loves, this is the story I started when I first discovered Starker, and I have to say, it’s my favorite thing I’ve written for this ship. There are three places within the story that mark songs that should be played. They are marked as follows: *, **, ***. I encourage you to listen to the songs--even if you aren’t a classical music nerd like me!! Hopefully you’ll love it, and even if you don’t I hope you gain a little appreciation for my favorite composer!

I hope you all enjoy the story and the music as much as I do!

@sluttystarker @starkerchemistryy @pantastic-peach @thebadthingshappen @ciel-mio @hpspazz @starker-4ever @w1nters-stark @foof-a-loof @confused-trash-kitten @panicdotexe @stqrker @honey-honey-darling @mariketa12 @itsmeryshipper @dramione90 @starker-flame @pretzelpoetry @seriouslystarker @starkerthanreality @ikneelbeforemygod @professional-fangirl75 @virgilismypoorshadowling @godlovesstarker @sapphicfreak @veronicashipsit @the-dark-obsidian-princess @ikneelbeforemygod @laughing-oreo @sensei-sans-sugoi @ruelukas22 @tom-starker @yourlittlemelody

#starker #starker angst #post-IW angst #starcrossedtalks #peter parker x tony stark #peter x tony #angst #loss and grief

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oboeist3 · 5 years

Text

Hollow

[[A joint fic/art collab with the amazing @drakotts! also available on ao3. Hope you all enjoy!]]

The Supercell had changed quite a bit over the decades since its original inception. The outer walls were fortified with stronger materials, and the interior was made less cartoonishly imposing, which was only fitting considering it was supposed to be the Mad Ducktor's home for multiple life cycles. There was a bed, a chair, a partially obscured bathroom. The section was still filmed, cameras embedded deeply in the walls so he couldn't pry them open for parts, as had been his escape two versions ago, but his presence was reviewed by a highly sophisticated Mad Ducktor detecting algorithm. The rest of the footage was examined by guards, twenty-four of them, each taking an hour a day. They were to alert Gyro of any irregularities immediately. Nowadays though, they didn't have much to report.

The Mad Ducktor was behaving. He was reading books, watching television on the projected screen, eating and sleeping regularly. For more than a handful of hours! Strangest of all, he wasn't insulting the guards through the cameras, picking apart their lives until they quit or demanded a leave of mental health. He was being a model prisoner, and no one knew why.

Gyro considered several options. Maybe the resident of the Supercell was a clone, or had mentally transferred out, or was trying to lull them into a false sense of security so that someone could come in person and he could escape. He sent a doctor to examine him, and Mad Ducktor complied with her tests, didn't steal any of her equipment, and didn't impersonate her. When her tests came back, they proved the chicken locked in the Supercell was the original. Well, the original clone.

In the end, there was only one thing to do. Mad Ducktor was many things, an overdramatic, narcissistic, unhinged lunatic, but he never lied to Gyro. He always told him the truth, or what he believed was the truth. If Gyro asked him what he was doing, he'd answer. He supposed he could have done it over the phone, project himself onto the wall and demand to know what was going on. But more than the structure of the prison had changed over the years. They'd built a decorum between them, an unspoken agreement of respect, even in their adversarial interactions.

It didn't feel right, not doing it in person.

So, Gyro took two flights, a boat, and a robot-powered dogsled to the Supercell. He input the five random alphanumeric passwords reset daily, and had the facility scan both his nucleic and mitochondrial DNA, his eye color, and his lack of lip makeup, which Mad Ducktor could never resist, even in disguise. He sighed in relief as he was allowed access, the warm air rushing over his feathers. Little Helper jumped down from his shoulder and undid his - mostly decorative - scarf.

"Be good while I'm gone." he instructed the little robot, handing him his cell phone, calculator, and spare glasses. Anything remotely mechanical wasn't allowed near his alter ego, as well as all basic office supplies. Little Helper gave a solemn salute, filament narrowed as if he was squinting at the door to the Mad Ducktor's cell, ready to keep a careful guard over his newly acquired cache. Gyro hid his smile in the ruff of his jacket, and after a deep breath, opened the door.

He wasn't sure if he had much in the way of expectations, but Mad Ducktor sitting crossed-legged and calm on his cot wasn't one of them. He didn't even open his eyes until Gyro cleared his throat loudly.

"Oh, look what the Antarctic wind has blown in. Gyro, darling." he said, his beak twisting up into a playful smirk. "Come to bask in your victory? I must say, that's not very heroic of you. What will your husband think?"

"He's not with me, if that's what you're asking." he said, automatically tracing the ring with a finger, feeling the etched detailing. He'd told Donald of his whereabouts, after all if Mad Ducktor did succeed in hoodwinking him and escaping those few hours notice could be crucial. But they'd agreed that his presence would be unlikely to produce anything fruitful.

"My my, how naughty of you. Is that why you came? Because I'm not in the mood." he said, though the way his eyes traveled over Gyro didn't really lend much weight to the words. He flushed in spite of himself, Mad Ducktor was just trying to get a rise out of him, distract him from his actual purpose.

"I'm just here to visit." he stated, and tossed the bag he'd been clutching into his lap. "I brought you some muffins, your favorite."

As soon as the little baked good was in the chicken's hand, his expression changed. The playful amusement evaporated, the flirty, searching stare went sharp and calculating. Instead of descending upon the food with all the haste of a harpy, as was usual, he carefully placed it on the pillow, unwrapped and untasted.

"What is this, some sort of pity?" he sneered, his voice as cold and biting as the howling winds outside.

“It’s a gift, you know, like normal people bring each other when it’s been a while.” he said, reverting into sarcasm because he wasn't sure he'd ever heard him so furious, not when attacking Scrooge or Paperinik, not when his schemes were foiled, not when he objected at the wedding.

“When have we ever been normal?” he snorted, which wasn't exactly wrong.

"You've been playing the part lately. Haven't had to hire anyone new in months."

"Isn't that what you've always wanted? Me in prison, far away, and you off with your happy, domestic little life. If this isn't it, I don't know how to please you Gyro, I really don't."

"I want people safe and you happy in that order. If you're done with escaping and evil you don't have to live here anymore. You could go to a lower security prison, or house arrest in a few years." he said, encouraging and supportive. But the Mad Ducktor merely sneered, standing up and marching towards him, each word punctuated by his descent.

"Oh Gyro, bello Gyro. Don't you understand? I don't have my own happiness, I'm part of you. The part of you that believes you deserve better and your enemies deserve worse. I'm not a person, I'm an idea with a body. And I'm smart enough to know when I'm not needed anymore. You made your choice, and I've accepted it. So stop pretending you care!" The bravado of his words crumbled on the last sentence, as he stopped a few feet from Gyro.

The scientist closed the distance with his clone, wrapping his arms tightly around him. The sort of bone-crushing hug of a too long reunion, appropriate in feeling if not quite in the reality. Mad Ducktor was stiff for a moment, but soon returned the action, tucking his beak against Gyro's neck and preening the feathers there. He'd done it a few times when he thought Gyro was too sleep deprived to remember it. Certainly he never acknowledged it in waking hours. Several minutes passed before he dared to speak.

"You...you've really felt that way? All these years?"

"It's not a feeling, it's a fact." he mumbled, fingers gripping at Gyro's shoulders. "I'm hollow. A fragment of someone more complete. Why do you think I always came back? You might not need me, but I've always needed you. I'm useless on my own."

"That's not true! Even if you started out as a fragment of my ego, you've changed. You like muffins, you wear makeup, you listen to classical music. That's all you." he pointed out, earning a non-comital grumble. "I don't want to need you, because I don't want to need anyone, but when you're not trying to hurt my friends and family, I like having you around."

"What would I ever do without a reason to tie you up in a basement?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"You could visit. Bring a bottle of wine, help me with my latest gadget, try not to kill my husband for a few hours."

"You'd really want me there. In your lab, in your life?" he said, pulling back, incredulous.

"Of course. Geniuses have to stick together." he said, and caught sight of the glint off one of the cameras. "Oh dear, I'm going to have to erase all of this." Not to mention possibly bribe the guard to not report him aiding and abetting a dangerous criminal.

"No need. There's an EMP generator in my tongue bar. I activated it as soon as you came in." The Mad Ducktor said, sticking out his tongue the reveal the blinking gadget.

"When did you -? You know what. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." he said, tossing his hands up. "I'll see you sometime soon, if you can get out of this latest version." he teased, and the purple-haired chicken grinned wide.

"Gyro darling, I'm going to beat you there."

#paperinik #mad ducktor #gyro gearloose #ducktales #oboeistwrites

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years

Text

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, dark red crosses are already completed fics and mint lambda-ish signs are prompts I’ve gotten requests for already).

Good news: my friend @nehamerchant123 still has my back and still sends in the good prompts in. Love ya friend.

This is officially a follow-up to a 2018 fic of mine named Clé de Voûte. It's not mandatory to read CdV to read this one (it's in English, btw, not French), but it's still advised as to get some context. This may have gotten a bit too angsty considering what I was going for, but man it was a blast to write (and really quick to), I love this association so let's all give a big round of applause for good ol' Neha who knows me and my tastes very well!

------

Singed Snowdrops

Summary: Iori is kind of a failure and he knows that. Someone doesn't agree with this idea.

Fandom: IDOLiSH7 (Part 1 spoilers) Ship: IoTsumu (pre-relationship, more implied than anything)

Wordcount: 2K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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It’s with a pounding headache, shifting temperatures, sweat pearling down his bangs and ragged breathing that Iori realizes something: he’s kind of a failure. A kind of a dull failure.

“Kind of”, because he still has skills and talents for a wide variety of things. He’s still good at accounting, at singing, at managing stuff here and there. “Dull”, because there’s nothing noteworthy about him compared to literally everyone else around him, because he can’t surprise anyone from how boring he is. “Failure”, because that’s what he is no matter what everyone says: he failed twice in a row. Someone like him shouldn’t have forgotten to sing on stage, then collapsed during a live for the unit’s fans. It soured the mood and killed their momentum back to fame, despite everyone’s efforts. It’s simply something he shouldn’t have allowed to happen, no matter what. There’s no excuse for it, that’s it. How hard is it for everyone else around him to accept that?

Maybe they’re doing that because his brother is here, fretting over him like he’s always done. They shouldn’t, to be honest: he’s not worth it. He’s not worth their care, their precious attention. They should give that to people who are actually worth it, like Mitsuki, like Nanase and his condition, like MEZZO” and their rocky beginnings. He shouldn’t be at the centre of anyone’s attention, right now, or ever in fact: there’s always a point where he’ll mess up and ruin everything for everyone because he wasn’t capable of handling things correctly. That’s it, that’s the truth nobody wants to admit.

Not to mention, they’re losing their time on him. He’s never been a full piece of puzzle, merely a keystone that’s not truly needed to keep the building up. He’s no Atlas like he thought he was before yesterday’s live; but Atlas wouldn’t have made people worry for him over a thing as little as some insomnia-induced sleep deprivation. Atlas wouldn’t have panicked on set and had his vision twirling and twirling around him because he was too stupid and incompetent to deal with things efficiently.

Atlas’s shoulders never gave in, but his couldn’t bear the weight of just an unit’s co-management. He’s a damn failure.

He’s useless, right now. He’s not allowed to leave his bed and help with anything. Maybe they have noticed he’s a failure, after all: if he wasn’t, they would allow him to participate in practice with them, their manager would have allowed him to speak with her about the management of the unit. They’re in a time of crisis and, before, he’d have believed he was able to handle it flawlessly: but he isn’t perfect. In fact, he’s never been, he’s always known that; yet it’s easier to pretend that he is, easier to ignore all that he’s failed before that live concert, before the live show on the Web.

He doesn’t want to cry, since it’d be pointless to weep in silence while everyone around him shines like a bright star, while all he’s ever been is a black hole mercilessly trapping the chances of anyone he’s ever cared about to succeed in life, wasting their opportunities and destroying their hopes like a crushing machine whose jaw is uncontrollable. That’s happened to his brother before, it’s happening to IDOLiSH7 now, and that’s all his fault.

Even then, Iori cries, because he’s exhausted, because he’s weak, because he’s stuck here with his black clouds and cannot see a shooting star in the sky that is his bedroom’s ceiling.

He doesn’t want to worry anyone: really, he’s just not worth it. He’s not worth anyone’s commotion. He simply doesn’t want to be a burden to his friends, to the people he loves: his parents shouldn’t be concerned about their son. His brother shouldn’t be fretting about him when he could be working on his next show, their next song, the next step in the career he’s finally gotten a chance to start. His unit mates shouldn’t be thinking of him when they should focus on what’s truly mattered: their future, their fans, their image, their debut.

The debut his inability to make things blossom to their true potential before withering away under his malevolent influence killed in the egg.

Iori cannot stop crying and it’s an issue. He’s not a kid anymore, he needs to handle his stuff correctly and not sob like a toddler whenever things don’t go his way. It’s all his fault anyway, so he better swallow his misery in soon and stop being such a weakling. He won’t get anywhere in life if he does.

Nobody around him is ever going to need him, to want to stay with him if he keeps messing things up, if he keeps dragging the ones he wants to help in the mud, making them fall backward and fail in the end. That’s a fact he cannot brush aside, a fact he cannot bring his overexerted mind to get over. He’s broken, he’s down the drain.

Someone like him doesn’t deserve to share an unit as luminous as IDOLiSH7, doesn’t deserve a brother like Mitsuki Izumi and doesn’t deserve a manager as good and motivated as Takanashi Tsumugi. All he deserves is to be left behind until he can handle something right.

Which he’ll never do, obviously. If he could, he’d have done that when it mattered and not messed up on stage twice in a row.

He’s too caught up in his own pity party to hear the manager enter his room, after he assumed the soft knock on his door was only his elbow or knee hitting the wall or an edge of the bed.

“Iori?”

Her voice is soothing. Too much, in fact: here’s one more thing he shouldn’t be allowed to hear.

“Manager…?” His is rough around the edges and he wants to cough his lungs out so he not to speak anymore. He’s rotting her ears by speaking to her anyway.

“Are you… are you alright, Iori?!”

She panics and climbs the ladder of his bed at an unbelievable speed and, until she’s safely on his level, he’s afraid she’s going to slip every step of the way. He’s not sure if his reflexes could catch her in case she’d fall. If he ever could, that is.

“I’m…” He hates lying. “…fine.”

Tsumugi’s face doesn’t show anything that isn’t doubt at what he’s just told her. Should have seen it coming: he’s a terrible liar on top of being a terrible idol with no capacity to react to happenings.

“Be honest, please. You’re always so frank, Iori, I hate seeing you lie all of a sudden…” Her face changes drastically as soon as she focuses on his. “Wait, have you been crying all this time?! I should’ve noticed that earlier, please excuse me!”

She’s about to get something from her pocket, but she stops midway through her gesture and instead looks on the side.

“…can I climb to you?”

“If you want, I guess…”

In a swift move, albeit not without almost falling, Tsumugi gets right on top of him, her legs by the sides of his chest. It’s awkward, but it’s amusing at the same time, so he retains a giggle in as not to look stupid or mocking. He doesn’t deserve her light and warmth, of course he knows that; but that part of him that’s always been craving for validation and attention caves into the touch.

She looks more like a nurse than a manager for a moment. She hands him her adorable embroidered handkerchief which smells like red bean paste to dry his ugly tears, he hesitates to use it, but she insists, “I mean it, please don’t cry, Iori!”. He can’t refuse her much, not when she looks at him with these eyes, not when she knows better than him, so he delicately taps it against the water flowing down his cheeks. She presses a hand against her forehead, then his, exhales a sigh of relief when she realizes out loud that his fever has lowered.

When he’s near her, without any exception, he feels like he’s worth something – but it’s a feeling still so foreign to him. Maybe he’s worth a lot in her eyes, but in his, he’s still the scum of the earth abusing from her kindness and patience, and he wants to cry again at that. He doesn’t deserve her, that’s it. He doesn’t deserve much, of course, but he especially doesn’t deserve her.

Still, her hand lands on his, and she smiles at him, like sun brushing a dead tree. He’s crying in all the ugliness he could display, physically beaten by his own dark thoughts and trapped in the middle of wallowing in his misery when he should have been doing something to mend his errors and fix what he’s broken. But they don’t allow him to do that, so what’s the point of this circus routine?

“I’m sure you feel bad about everything that’s happened, Iori, but you need to understand it’s not a big deal! We’d rather have you in good health than push you to the edge like you’ve done… You don’t even know how much we’ve been worried for you!”

That’s no pleasant to hear, but that’s also not surprising to listen to her say. Her tone just makes it sound better than it is, that’s it. That’s… it. It’s not like it could be true, right?

“But that’s normal, isn’t it? You worry about the people you care about. I’ve been worried every day of my life for you guys ever since I’ve met you, and it hurts me to see you in such a state… But I also can’t tell you to recover quickly, because that’s a thing that can take a long time. It’s something you have to do alone, and we can only help you if you allow us to. So, if you need it, don’t hesitate telling us, okay? We’re your comrades, Iori.”

She has a disappointed look on her face, biting nervously on her lip.

“So… Remember that, okay? We’re here to support you. We don’t hold anything against you, so don’t isolate yourself, I beg of you…!”

She looks like she wants to cry, and that makes him feel even guiltier.

“I… just want you to understand that it’s alright if you’re under the weather, sometimes. It happens to us all, and while I know you’ve always wanted everything to be perfect for us all, it’s also okay to mess up. I’ve done so before, but you’ve always forgiven me after scolding me, so why can’t you forgive yourself, Iori?”

The tears are back, his vision blurs, and he clutches her against his chest before she can see it, arms wrapping around her like he won’t ever see this warm smile of her again.

“It’s… It’ll be fine. Give yourself time and peace of mind, vent to us if you have to. We don’t hate you. Ainana isn’t Ainana if you’re not with us, so lean on us from now on, okay?”

“I…”

No. Yes. No, you shouldn’t give in. Yes, she’s right, it’s useless to cry over it and not do anything about. No, you don’t deserve the happiness she brings you. Yes, you deserve a second chance, a means to save everything from rotting.

“I’ll try…”

He lets go of their weird embrace, admiring her slightly comforted features before she has to go back to her regular life. She’s red all over, but his own face is burning, so he doesn’t dare comment on that, even to tease her. He wishes he could, but it doesn’t come to her; and even if he already misses her gentle warmth, he knows she’s needed somewhere else, so it’s the least he can do to see her fly away. She’s beautiful either way.

Instead, he lets go of some of his guilt as much as possible and focuses on what’s to come, with the bitterness of their aborted debut remaining in the back of his throat despite the honey. Only time will tell, sadly so he lies back down and lets his eyes close, as staying awake is only detrimental, today.

He’s just in a bad phase, right?

#bad things happen bingo #idolish7 #iotsumu #iori izumi #tsumugi takanashi #angst #hurt comfort #introspection #character study #sickfic #otp: manager duet #au: canon divergence #bthb 2

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jwminssi · 5 years

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chasing starlight {jikook | T | part one}

It's the middle of the night when an explosion on his backyard turns Jungkook's life upside down. Through a mess of fallen stars, witches and the secrets his parents are keeping from him, Jungkook will have to make sure he's selfless enough to make the right choice and ignore the way his heart beats faster for the boy that fell from the sky.

read on ao3

a philosopher once asked,

“are we human

because we gaze at the stars,

or do we gaze at the stars

because we are human?”

pointless, really…

“do the stars gaze back?”

now that’s a question.

Jungkook has no idea if he’s officially going insane or if he’s just sleep deprived but he refuses to believe the explosion of light that seems to engulf his house is real. Still, he pauses his music and takes his headphones off, sitting still in his room that’s now back to being immersed in darkness, listening intently for whatever may come his way.

He’s really starting to regret ever doubting Lalisa and her end of the world theories.

But there’s nothing. The only sounds are from the barely nonexistent middle of the night traffic, and the only light is coming from the street lamp right outside his window. Everything seems normal and his parents are definitely still asleep since they haven’t barged in his room to tell him the apocalypse just started.

Jungkook slowly gets up from his bed, still listening, and opens the door. He looks both ways in the hallway before fully stepping out, frowning when he doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary; not that he really wants to, but at the same time it would be nice knowing he hasn’t lost his mind yet.

He takes the stairs to the living room, moving by muscle memory in the pitch black, and hesitates for only a brief moment before turning the handle on the door that leads to the backyard. Everything still seems fairly normal but for some reason his heart starts picking up.

And then it stops just as his eyes land upon his mother’s destroyed garden. Except that’s not really what he’s worried about right now – she’s going to be upset, sure, but there are other matters at hand; at the present moment, Jungkook is more concerned about the trail leading to a small crater just beside their fence.

He can’t really see what’s inside from this distance and the depth it is, but something tells him it’s not just some space debris.

Jungkook takes a deep breath and swallows down the fear bubbling up inside of him; he’s always been a bit of a reckless kid, even now at eighteen years of age, but this feels like just a bit too out of his comfort zone. Still, he’s always been pretty stubborn, too, so he marches over to the crater to get this over with.

And, okay… Jungkook has no idea what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t to find a boy – a man? He certainly looks young – lying there unconscious. He looks back at his house, all the lights are still off, and then at the other houses on his street, where none of his neighbors seems to have noticed a thing and are probably still off to dreamland.

“I wish I was dreaming.” He mutters to himself and, against better judgement, jumps right inside the crater.

Jungkook is halfway to the passed out stranger when he wakes up with a start, body surging forward into a sitting position and wild eyes darting everywhere until they land on him.

“What’s going on?” He asks, voice sweet despite the tension masking it.

“You tell me!” Jungkook answers, not daring to go any closer. “There was this big ass explosion and then I found you here.” He tries to explain since he’s just as lost. “Who are you, I mean, are you even human?”

Jungkook has never been that great at reading people but he’s sure the man sitting in front of him seems slightly offended.

“Do I look human to you?”

“Well, yeah…”

He looks down at his hands, then, without getting up from the floor, and looks absolutely mortified to see they’re real. Jungkook just stands there, wondering why he couldn’t have just stayed in his room and saved himself the trouble of dealing with whoever this guy is at three in the morning.

“Oh, no.” He whispers, frantically touching the rest of his body. “No, no, no…” Jungkook watches as he looks around, seriously considering going back inside and leaving him to solve his own problems – even though he knows he would just eventually end up coming back out to help.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, slightly hesitant because clearly the answer is a solid no, but what else is he supposed to say?

“What does it look like?” Sure enough, it comes out in an extremely frustrated scream directed right at him. “I was just there dancing, minding my own business, and something hit me and sent me flying all the way down so now I’m stuck here on the ground with a human that’s the equivalent of a fireplace on a hot day!”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Jungkook crosses his arms and gets an eye roll for his trouble. “Where did you come from?”

The man looks up and Jungkook follows his gaze. “What do you call those pretty lights in the sky?”

“Uh, stars?”

“Well, I call them siblings.” He answers simply, making Jungkook wonder if being cryptic is his thing or if he’s only doing that to mess with him.

And then it clicks.

“Wait…” Jungkook starts, still not sure of what he’s being told, but there’s a look of minor hope in the man’s eyes that make him believe he might be right; crazy, too, but right nonetheless. “You’re a star?”

“It has a brain…” The man, star?, mutters and Jungkook has never been closer to giving up on someone as he is now.

“Well, I’m sorry if I never even considered the possibility of talking to a fucking star that fell on my backyard in the middle of the night!” He explodes and only then does the man on the ground seem to feel guilty.

“No, I’m sorry…” He sighs and rubs at his eyes. “I didn’t want to be rude, I just… I want to go home.” That last part comes out as a whimper and Jungkook internally curses; he can’t just leave him there to figure things out on his own.

“I’ll help you.” Jungkook says decidedly, the star’s eyes shining with just a little bit of hope as he looks up at him.

“How?”

“I don’t know, but I will, okay? I’m Jungkook.”

“Jimin.”

“How about we go inside? It’s pretty damn cold out here.”

Jimin nods and gets up but he’s back on the ground with a yelp in a second. Jungkook hurries to his side and crouches next to him to find out if he’s alright.

“Is walking supposed to be painful like this?” Jimin asks, rubbing at his eyes, and Jungkook notices they’re shining with unshed tears.

“No, you probably hurt something when you fell.” He sighs and reaches for Jimin’s hand slowly. “Come on, I’ll carry you and we can see if we find out what happened to you.”

“Wait!” Jimin exclaims before Jungkook can put him on his back. “What’s that?” He points at a shiny object to their right and limps to it so he can grab it, lifting it up to reveal it’s a necklace with a big golden pendant.

“Is this yours?” Jungkook asks as he motions for Jimin to jump so he can bring him inside.

“No, I… I think this is the thing that hit me!”

“And made you fall?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook doesn’t answer, more worried about not dropping Jimin as he walks through the mess that his fall caused. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” He muses, but Jungkook can’t look at it, too focused on carrying him to safety and thinking about just what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

W hen they reach the back porch, Jungkook looks back and grimaces at the state of the garden after Jimin’s fall. Most of his mother’s plants were intact but some of them weren’t so lucky and ended up in Jimin’s path, and he can see the trail of leaves, flowers and broken ceramic leading down into the crater.

“Something wrong?” Jimin asks and Jungkook is startled at how close to his ear he sounds, but chooses to ignore the shivers that run down his spine.

“Ah, no, I mean…” He hesitates, not knowing how to say what the problem is without sounding rude. “You just sort of ruined my mom’s garden.”

“Oh.” Jimin says and somehow Jungkook can tell he’s pouting. “I’m sorry.” He sounds genuinely upset.

“It’s okay, we can fix it tomorrow.” Jungkook tries to sound reassuring but he doesn’t know if he succeeds because Jimin only sighs against his neck. “Let’s get some ice for your foot.”

“Ice?” Jimin asks, not sounding too on board with the idea.

“Yeah, I think you have a twisted ankle from the fall.” He explains, locking the backdoor and heading for the kitchen, where he puts Jimin on the counter and goes to the freezer. “The ice is going to help, I promise.” Jungkook says as he fills an ice bag and Jimin only hums while he examines the necklace, putting it around his neck afterwards. “It really is pretty, huh?”

“Do you think it suits me?” Jimin asks, shyly, as he looks up at Jungkook through his eyelashes.

“Well, you’re prettier.” Jungkook answers without thinking and immediately turns around for Jimin to get on his back again when he realizes what he said.

Jimin only giggles and whispers a soft thank you in Jungkook’s ear as they climb up the stairs. Once inside his room, Jungkook carefully sits Jimin down on his bed, a pillow under his leg and the bag of ice directly over his ankle after checking to make sure that’s where the damage really was.

“Comfortable?” He asks once he steps away.

“Too cold.” Jimin makes a face that ends up turning into a pout and Jungkook smiles at him.

“Hang in there, it’ll make it better.” Jimin only sighs and accepts it. “You can sleep on the bed, I’ll just get more blankets.” Jungkook says as he scratches the back of his neck and looks around the mess that is his room, feeling awkward to have someone he doesn’t know there.

“It’s okay, I can just sit there and you can have your bed.” Jimin points at Jungkook’s chair on his desk, seemingly not thinking anything is wrong, unlike the other boy.

“But you must be exhausted, I mean, you just fell all the way from the sky.” Jungkook tries to argue as he rushes around the room, picking up stuff and finding places to put them that doesn’t make the place look as messy.

“I’m really not tired.” The star dismisses it as he watches Jungkook with an amused expression on his face.

“But it’s the middle of the night…” Jungkook frowns and Jimin has to admit he looks like a cute lost puppy in the middle of his room with his head tilted to the side.

“Exactly…” Jimin agrees with a smile. He’s definitely starting to find this human interesting to be around. “I’m supposed to be up there, you know... Shining.”

“Oh…” Jungkook mutters when his brain accepts that piece of information. “Right.” He claps his hands once to gather his thoughts, and looks back at Jimin. “Well, I’ll stay up with you, then.”

When Jungkook wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky. He rolls over until he’s lying on his back and frowns at the light coming from his window, rubbing his eyes and trying to ignore the voice on the back of his head that tells him something is off.

He’s mid-stretch when it hits him.

Jimin.

Jungkook freezes and looks around his room, hoping to find the star sitting at his desk or something like that. He gets up, nearly falling back down when he sees fireworks behind his eyelids for standing too quickly, and goes to his bathroom, opening the door without even thinking that Jimin could get offended if he really is in there – but he isn’t, so Jungkook doesn’t have to worry about that.

“Did I dream you?” He mutters to himself as he checks his clothes and his room one more time; everything was as he remembers from the previous night but there’s nothing to tell him whether what happened was real or not.

It feels too vivid to be a dream, Jungkook decides. Jimin felt too real to be made up by his brain like that; his voice, his laugh, the way he told him about the universe, his home up in the sky, and everything Jungkook had no idea ever existed. No, Jungkook is sure the way his heart beat faster inside his chest every time Jimin smiled as he warmed up to him throughout the night couldn’t have been a dream.

So he marches out of his room and downstairs towards the kitchen, sure that if he can’t find Jimin on the way at least he can find his mother and ask if she’s seen him. The house is quiet except for his own footsteps against the hardwood floor and he figures his father has left for work already and his mom is outside taking care of her garden.

Jungkook’s heart stops. “ Shit , the garden.” For the second time in less than twelve hours he hesitates with his hand on the backdoor handle; he’s about to find out if everything really happened or if he should be worried about his brain creating such detailed dreams like that.

He lets out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding when he spots Jimin sitting down next to his mother with their backs to him as they giggle together about whatever talk they’re having.

“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Jungkook sighs in relief and he didn’t realize he said it so loudly but Jimin turns to him when he hears it and gets up.

“Were you worried?” He asks as he squints under the sun and Jungkook makes his way to them.

“Uh, yeah, I…” He scratches the back of his neck as he thinks of a good way to answer. “I was scared something might have happened to you or… that you weren’t real at all.”

Jimin studies him for a moment and his eyes are the softest Jungkook has ever seen them. He’s staring to get uncomfortable when Jimin turns to him mother and smiles as he says,

“I see it now.”

She smiles, too, and Jungkook is left to look between them completely lost as to what they’re talking about.

“What?” He asks, because he hates being the main topic of conversation.

“Nothing.” Jimin replies happily before sitting back down and Jungkook belatedly notices he has gardening gloves on and the two of them are taking care of the destroyed garden – and doing a great job at it, too; it almost looks as if nothing happened. “Just something Sooyoung was telling me about you.”

“I’m not so sure I want to know...” Jungkook scratches the back of his head and Jimin giggles as he finishes taking care of yet another pot from the garden. Only then does Jungkook realize something. “Wait, how are you walking just fine?”

“Oh, I made him some tea before we came to the garden.” Sooyoung answers simply with a smile as she tends for her plants. Jungkook squints at the words.

“Yeah, I almost fell down the stairs…” Jimin continues as if nothing’s wrong, flashing Jungkook a grin. “She heard me and helped me with my foot.”

“Tea.” Jungkook says slowly, to which his mother only hums in agreement. “For a twisted ankle.” He repeats just to make sure he didn’t get it wrong.

“Yes, honey, why not?” She looks up at him smiling.

“You know what, nevermind.” Jungkook gives up on it, something in his mother’s eyes telling him to drop it. “Need help with the garden?”

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t ask.” Sooyoung gives him a pair of gloves and Jungkook rolls his eyes as he takes it, sitting next to Jimin who offers him a smile as warm as the sun glowing above them.

About an hour later, when the garden is resembling its initial state and all three are satisfied with the work they did, Sooyoung ushers them inside to start on lunch. She scolds Jungkook for not taking care of the guests properly and tells him to show Jimin where the bathroom is so he can shower.

So Jungkook goes, gets Jimin a clean towel and a change of his own clothes, and leads him to the downstairs bathroom, teaching him how to change the water temperature – he doesn’t know how cold or hot stars get, after all – before leaving for the upstairs bathroom to take a shower himself.

He’s just sitting back down with his mother in the kitchen when Jimin shows up again, hair still wet and wearing Jungkook’s clothes – he chooses to ignore the way his heart does a little flip at that, but he can’t help but stare. Jimin notices it, of course, and blushes an adorable shade of pink as he looks down at the long sleeves covering his hands.

“Looks a bit big, right?” He giggles, playing with his sweater paws.

“Uh, no, that...” Jungkook starts, completely hypnotized by the way Jimin shines when he smiles, his beauty making everything else look dull. “That actually looks...” He struggles with his words as Jimin watches him expectantly, but his mother doesn’t let him embarrass himself even more, bless her.

“Jungkook, can you set the table for us, please?” Sooyoung says, exchanging an amused look with Jimin that her son doesn’t see.

“Yeah, sit down, Minie.” The nickname escapes his lips easily and he only notices it when it’s out but no one comments anything so he pretends he didn’t say it either. Jimin’s eyes follow him wherever he goes, though, and it takes all his focus not to trip over his own feet.

They eat in a comfortable atmosphere, Jungkook right beside Jimin as he tries human food for the first time – no, Jungkook, we don’t have noodles up in the sky – and shares his opinions on it with them. It’s usually just Jungkook and Sooyoung during lunch, since his father is off to work at this time of day, so it’s nice to have some more company. Jimin does most of the talking, answering Sooyoung’s questions about him and his life, as curious as any human would be to meet a real fallen star.

It’s definitely not a situation they have been in before, but Jungkook can’t say he’s mad about it. Jimin is the definition of bright, both with his personality and the way his skin seems to glisten the more joyful they make him, and Jungkook can’t look away no matter how hard he tries.

“You okay?” Jungkook asks when Jimin sways in his seat for the third time. Sooyoung is in the middle of getting up but she stops to study the star worriedly.

“Yeah, I just…” Jimin blinks slowly and Jungkook notices his eyes look like they’re about to close on their own. “Never stayed up this late.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot…” Jungkook chastises himself for his carelessness; he had been so entranced by the star that he didn’t think Jimin’s needs weren’t the same as his. “Do you want to go upstairs to take a nap?”

Jimin only nods as he gets up, a yawn stopping him from saying anything else. “Are you… coming with me?” He asks, shyly.

“I’ll help mom out down here for a bit, but you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Okay.” Jimin answers quietly and smiles at them both before making his way up to Jungkook’s room.

It’s silent in the kitchen for a moment, only the sound of Sooyoung cleaning the table is heard as Jungkook’s eyes are still on the stairs where Jimin just disappeared. A frown adorns his face as he thinks about the turn his life just took overnight, the craziness that he’s sure is about to ensue once he actively begins to help Jimin get back home. In all honesty, he has no idea where to start; this world, Jimin’s world, is not something Jungkook even knew existed before and now he’s supposed to find a way to send a star back to the sky.

Not only that, but he grew attached to Jimin in the few hours they spent together, more than anyone would have imagined. Jimin is enchanting in every way there is, effortlessly too, and Jungkook can’t name what he’s feeling but he knows he has to tone it down or it’s going to be a real hassle when he has to let Jimin go.

“So what exactly happened last night?” Sooyoung asks, breaking the silence and pulling Jungkook back from his thoughts.

“I honestly have no idea.” He answers with a sigh, hand going up to mess up his still wet hair. “I was just listening to music and then there was this big flash outside...”

“And like the adventurous soul that you are you had to go see what it was, huh?” She smiles at him and tosses him a cloth to dry the dishes that she’s washing.

“Obviously.” Jungkook says, grinning widely because that’s indeed very predictable of him.

“You’ve always been too curious for your own good.” Sooyoung nods. “But I’m glad you did…” She starts but stays quiet for a while, thinking her words over. “Who knows what would have happened to Jimin if you hadn’t showed up.”

Jungkook stops halfway through drying a plate. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “It can be dangerous around here for him.” It’s what Sooyoung chooses to say.

“What?” He frowns. “How do you know?”

“I just do, baby.” Sooyoung tries to give it a tone of finality but Jungkook is not having any of it.

“Mom.” He tries to get her to look at him but she doesn’t look away from the sink. “Can you help him get back home?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Mom, tell me the truth.” Jungkook pulls at her arm until she finally looks at him. “You clearly can!”

Sooyoung closes the faucet off and just stares at the ceiling while her son waits for an answer. She’s not supposed to talk about this, it’s not the right time yet. “I know how to but I can’t get involved in anything like this, Jungkook.”

“What’s this?” He nearly explodes in frustration, only minding his voice because he knows Jimin is asleep upstairs.

“I can’t tell you. And I can’t help him. I’m sorry.” Her words and the way they are spoken tell Jungkook it’s the last thing she’ll comment on the subject but he can’t give up just yet.

“Is there really nothing you can do?”

Sooyoung sighs and pinches her nose before she looks at him again. “There’s a small shop about twenty minutes away from here, you’ll probably find the help you need there. I’ll write the address down for you later.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook says sincerely and they exchange a look of complicity that makes it explicit she really wasn’t supposed to be doing this but chose to because of her son.

It’s a little past five in the afternoon when Jungkook softly touches Jimin’s arm, shaking him slightly until he’s blinking back to consciousness. Truth be told, he didn’t want to disturb the way Jimin was sleeping so peacefully but he figured it would be best to ease him into their own sleeping routine if he was going to spend some time down here with them.

“Hey, time to wake up.” He says with a low voice as if to not startle him.

Jimin groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yup.” Jungkook answers with a smile. “I want to see if you can sleep tonight so you have to get up now.”

“This is awful.” Jimin complains, but sits up on the bed anyways, still yawning and rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

“Are you always like this when you wake up? I mean, do stars even sleep?” Jungkook asks as he makes himself comfortable right beside Jimin on the bed.

“It’s more like a dormant state than actual sleeping.” Jimin explains. “In a human body, I feel like I need it more, though.”

“How did you end up in this body, anyways? Like, did you pick it or something?”

“Oh, I...” Jimin purses his lips and frowns. “I don’t know, actually.”

“Whatever happened, it was definitely the perfect one for you.” The words escape Jungkook’s mouth without his permission and he only truly realizes what he said when Jimin smiles and looks down at his lap.

Neither can say anything, though, because Jungkook’s father enters the room right then; Jungkook isn’t sure he wants to know for how long he’s been there.

“Son.”

“Dad, hi.” He clears his throat and looks to his side. “This is...”

“Jimin.” The star nods at hearing his name. “I know. Your mother told me.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon.” Jimin says politely and even risks a smile. Jungkook knows his father can look intimidating, but he had never seen him like this before.

“Likewise.” He seems to think for a moment before asking, “So for how long are you staying?”

“Dad!” Jungkook protests, knowing how rude that is.

“Not long, you don’t have to worry about that.” Jimin still answers, and Jungkook realizes that there’s something he doesn’t know. “I’ll be on my way as soon as possible.”

“Good.” Jungkook’s father nods. “Sooyoung and I would never kick you out, Jungkook wouldn’t let us either way,” Jimin smiles at that “but you understand, right?”

“I do. Don’t worry.” Jimin gives him a reassuring nod and they exchange a meaningful look.

“Good. You can call me Dowoon, by the way.” He finally smiles and Jungkook can breathe as the tense atmosphere dissipates and his dad leaves the room.

“What was that about?” Jungkook hurries to ask Jimin, who seems to be caught in an internal dilemma.

“I-” He starts, clearly hesitating, but is interrupted.

“Jungkook.” Dowoon calls, back in his bedroom, but he’s looking at Jimin as he speaks. “I think your mom needs you to run to the store before dinner, can you come downstairs?”

“Uh, yeah...” Jungkook frowns as he glances between the two of them. The way his father seems to be giving Jimin a warning look doesn’t make him any less confused. “Sure.”

Dowoon doesn’t leave them alone again, and only leaves when he knows his son will be following him.

Jungkook realizes, then, there’s something he doesn’t want Jimin to tell him. And, if he’s being honest, he’s not so sure he wants to find out either.

They send him to the grocery store and make Jimin stay home in what’s most likely another cautionary measure to keep whatever secret they have hidden. Jungkook doesn’t mind, there’s been way too much information in the span of just a few hours and it’s not like he’s dying to be bombarded with anything else soon. Still, it bothers him because he knows he’s also part of whatever it is they’re hiding.

When he gets back home, thirty minutes later thanks to his will to return as fast as possible, Jimin is sitting on the couch while his father tells him about baseball. He has an adorable pout on his face and he’s frowning, too focused on what Dowoon is saying and what the television is showing to even realize Jungkook is watching him.

Jungkook just stops there for a moment and leans against the wall, grocery bags still heavy in his hands, as he observes Jimin trying to make sense of the rules and plays that are happening probably way too fast for his untrained eyes.

“He’s a wonder, isn’t he?” Sooyoung says suddenly making Jungkook jump and nearly drop everything he’s holding. “I had never met a star before.”

“Um, yeah, he’s…” Jungkook sighs, not even realizing that his lips stretched into a fond smile when he looked over at Jimin again. “He’s something else.”

“Be careful, honey.” She warns, her eyes more worried than Jungkook has ever seen.

“With what?” He asks, attention back on Jimin who is now giggling along with Dowoon as he cheers for his team. There’s a heavy feeling in his chest, and Jungkook can’t figure out if it’s a good one or not.

“Everything involving Jimin.” Sooyoung answers, also watching the two on the couch. It had been hard convincing Dowoon not to freak out too much when he found out about the star in their house, the danger for them was enormous after all, but she managed to at least convince him not to kick him out. Now, seeing them interact, it made her troubled heart a little bit more at ease. Jimin really is a charmer. “Don’t get too close. It’s going to be painful in the end.”

“I know.” Jungkook sighs, finally moving from his spot and taking the groceries to the kitchen. “But I can’t help it, mom. There’s something about him.”

“Just… be careful, okay?” Sooyoung says instead of all the other things she actually meant to. “Especially when you start to look for help to send him back.”

“Okay.” That’s the only thing Jungkook answers, head already too full with everything that’s been happening.

“Why don’t you go spend some time with him?” She asks a beat later as he’s starting to get ready to chop vegetables for dinner.

“But you just said not to get too close.”

“Just for tonight.” Sooyoung nods at him encouragingly, and he’s thankful for it. “Ask your father to come help me.”

It doesn’t take much convincing for Jungkook’s dad to get up from the couch and leave the two alone, though Jungkook suspects it has something to do with the way his mom was looking at him from the kitchen.

He leads Jimin outside through the backdoor to the porch and they sit down together, bodies just a bit closer than they should be; whatever, Jungkook would just blame the soft breeze blowing against their skin if his parents asked.

“Your father is nice.” Jimin breaks the silence and Jungkook snorts.

“Yeah, after he stopped threatening to kick you out.”

Jimin smiles, kicking the dirt under his shoes. “He has his reasons.”

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me.”

“Sorry, Jungkookie.” His smile softens and Jungkook can feel himself falling. He knows he’s staring too much but Jimin doesn’t seem to care, he only stares back. Sooyoung laughs inside the house and they both look through the glass doors to see what’s going on. “What’s it like?” Jimin asks after a beat.

“What?” Jungkook is already looking back at him.

“Being in love.” He’s still watching the couple and Jungkook can see all the emotions that cross his eyes; there’s curiosity, confusion and even a little bit of hope.

“Do stars not have feelings?” Jungkook inquires, not sure how he’s supposed to answer that. He’s only been in love once in his short life and it’s not like he’s an expert.

“We’re tied together by our strings of light…” Jimin starts, eyes now focused on the dark sky above them where his siblings can already be seen.“Caring for each other is a responsibility, not a choice. Watching humans is the closest I ever got to love, or any other emotion like that.” He pauses, hoping he was able to explain it well. “We feel in a way, we just can’t connect like humans do.”

“But can you learn?” Jungkook looks at his hands as he asks the question. He doesn’t know why his heart sinks at the thought of Jimin not being able to fall in love; no, scratch that, he does know, he’s just trying to ignore it.

“I think so…” Jungkook’s heart skips a beat at Jimin’s answer and he scolds himself for it. “If I spend enough time down here I think I can do that. One of my brothers, he…” Jimin stops, seemingly regretting what he was going to say. “Well, that doesn’t matter now.” He smiles sadly and looks at Jungkook. “Answer my question.”

“Love is… complicated.” Jungkook sighs when he can’t offer more than a cliché answer. “It doesn’t always make you happy and a lot of the time it hurts like hell.”

Jimin frowns. “Then why do you praise it so much?”

“Because it’s worth it.” Jungkook says simply with a shrug. He was never able to understand love before he felt it and he just knows he won’t be capable of explaining it to Jimin with words.

Jimin seems to get that it’s not something that can just be made simple like that because he accepts the answer and looks back inside the house. “They seem happy.”

“They are.” Jungkook nods, following his gaze to where they can both see Dowoon making Sooyoung laugh as he helps her cook. “But love isn’t perfect, Jimin… It’s not always like that.”

“I know pain.” Jimin starts, eyes back up to the sky. “Disappointment. Betrayal. Anger.” That’s an awful list, Jungkook wants to say, but he stays quiet. “But I don’t know love.” He sighs. “I wish I did.”

They spend a moment in silence, Jimin watching the sky while Jungkook watches him. There’s longing in his eyes now, Jungkook guesses he’s missing home, and he just prays he’ll be selfless enough to let him go when the time comes.

“Jimin, what happened to your brother?” He asks suddenly. If Jimin feels offended by the question he doesn’t show it.

“He fell.” He answers simply.

“Like you.” Jungkook assumes, though he knows there’s more to the story.

Jimin smiles, but it’s sad. Jungkook wants to change it. “No, not like me. He did it on purpose. But he didn’t just fall from the sky to the ground… He also fell in love. ”

“And then?” Jungkook doesn’t know if he’s pushing his luck asking this, but he needs to know.

“Um, it… didn’t work out.” Jimin makes a face as he says those words and something tells Jungkook it’s an understatement. “Stars are not supposed to be close to humans and when our people found out it turned into a mess, basically. My younger brother, he didn’t take it too well and made some drastic decisions. As the head of the army, he was allowed to and no one stopped him, but… my older brother, the one that fell…” Jimin focuses on the ground under his feet again. “I haven’t seen him since.”

“How long ago was that?” Jungkook asks, wanting to comfort Jimin but not really knowing how.

“A couple of centuries ago.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

“Stars can shine for billions of years, Jungkookie.” Jimin reminds him with a fond smile.

“Right…” Jungkook nods as he processes the information. “Yeah, I don’t know, I forget you’re not human sometimes.”

“Really?” For some reason that little piece of information seems to make Jimin’s night. “Why?”

“I don’t know… You’re getting the hang of being around us pretty quickly.” He says and Jimin smiles, making the entire porch brighter. “There’s just one thing that gives you away.”

“What?” Jimin asks, alarmed. His big eyes and pout make Jungkook’s stomach do weird flips.

“When you’re happy, you start glowing... it’s pretty hard to miss.” Jungkook tells him. Jimin doesn’t seem to like that so he’s quick to reassure him. “It’s beautiful, though… not just that, all of you.”

As if to prove his point, Jimin’s skin shines at the compliment as he looks down at his lap, a smile on his face. Jungkook reaches out to cup his cheek and lift his face so that their eyes meet again. He studies Jimin’s face for what feels like an eternity, trying to absorb every little detail he can and wondering just how on Earth can someone like him exist.

“So fucking beautiful...” He whispers, too lost in Jimin’s beauty to try filtering his thoughs.

His gaze ends up on Jimin’s lips, half open and so inviting; Jungkook licks his own lips, he wants to kiss him so badly but he hesitates, not knowing if Jimin would be comfortable with it.

Before he can make up his mind, though, the door opens and his father comes out of the house, bringing the smell of freshly cooked food with him. Jungkook pulls away from Jimin as if he’s just been electrocuted.

“Boys.” Dowoon says, stern as ever. “Dinner’s ready.”

Jimin shoots Jungkook an unsure look before getting up and going inside where he’s greeted by a cheerful Sooyoung telling him to sit down.

“Son.” Jungkook’s father stops him with a hand on his shoulder before he can go in.

“I know, dad.” Jungkook doesn’t give him time to say anything, suddenly feeling frustrated as reality hits him. “Don’t get too close, he’ll be gone soon. I got it, alright?” He doesn’t even try masking his harsh tone before he pulls himself out of Dowoon’s hold to go sit in front of Jimin at the dinner table.

Jungkook avoids Jimin’s gaze all throughout dinner and afterwards, too, when they sit in the living room to watch television before going to bed. He stays quiet because he doesn’t want to let everyone know how his chest is tight at the thought of Jimin leaving; he knows it’s too soon, it has barely been a day that they met but somehow Jimin already got a hold of his heart that’s too strong to let go.

He yells at himself inside his own head, aware that he can’t be selfish when it comes to this. Jimin clearly misses his home, his siblings, and wants to go back to the sky; he can’t refuse to help him because his heart decided it would be a good idea to fall in love with an ethereal being.

Jungkook arranges the pillows on the bed for Jimin when they go up to his room and he can feel the star hovering around him, wanting to say something.

“Are you okay?” Jimin finally asks when Jungkook is about to leave the room, holding him by the wrist so he stops.

“Fine.” He answers. Jimin only raises his eyebrows at him and Jungkook sighs. “I don’t want to let you go, Jimin.” He admits.

“Oh.” The grip on Jungkook’s wrist loosens. “You have to.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook scoffs. “I know.” He pulls his arm free and looks around the room. “You have everything you need here, make yourself comfortable, yeah?”

Jimin stops him again just as he turns around. “Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.” He answers as if it’s obvious. “To the couch.”

“Can’t you sleep here? With me?” This time Jimin holds him tighter. “I don’t sleep at night, it’ll be easier if you stay.”

Jungkook thinks hard about what he’s asking. Deep down, he knows Jimin only wants to keep him close and that he can most likely sleep well without him being there. Jungkook is also well aware of the fact that sharing a bed with Jimin will only make things worse for him in the end, the way his chest already hurts is enough indication of that.

Still, he sighs. “Alright.”

Jimin smiles so brightly at him Jungkook chooses to forget he’ll regret this soon when he misses Jimin’s warmth next to him. They get in bed together, facing each other, and Jimin still has a small smile on his face that Jungkook can’t stop staring at.

“Mom gave me the address of someone that can help you get back home.” Jungkook mutters, concealing the way he really feels about Jimin going away. “We’ll go to them tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jimin nods, voice small. He seems to be thinking hard about something, but Jungkook doesn’t dare to ask. “Thank you for doing this, Jungkookie.” He says and moves quickly to deposit a shy kiss on his cheek.

Jungkook swallows. “Good night, Jimin.” He turns his back on the star and closes his eyes, hoping sleep will take him soon.

#jikook #jikook fic #kookmin #kookmin fic #jungkook #jimin #nat writes

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