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happylittledrabbles · 3 years

Text

Sour, Then Sweet

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima

Rating: 18+ (DO NOT INTERACT IF UNDER 18)

Genre: Fluffy smut

Word Count: 7K

AO3

Kirishima used to like having sex with Bakugo...until he had to keep calling in sick every time they did it because Bakugo was so rough, it hurt doing Pro Hero work the next day. He avoids having sex with his boyfriend until Bakugo thinks that he isn't attractive anymore, causing a miscommunication between the two men. Kirishima eventually fesses up, and Bakugo reveals he's preferred romantic sex over rough the entire time.

Then, they try it out.

Eijiro Kirishima liked sex. Keyword: liked.

It’s not as if he’s completely averse to it now. No, he enjoys it—it’s very evident every time he does it. But, well, the effects of the deed afterward left much to be desired, and now, whenever Bakugo initiates, he can’t help but imagine the amount of pain he’s going to feel the next day. Bakugo is…rough. Very rough. Kirishima used to like it…the first few times. Really only the first time. But that’s probably because that was when he was between Pro Hero jobs and didn’t have to get out of bed the next day and do actual work.

“Oh, my God, just tell him!” Mina would say whenever Kirishima would FaceTime her, but he’d just change the subject and promptly hang up.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk about something as embarrassing as a sore butthole or the fact that his hips feel so rickety that he has to call in sick for work. Actually, he’s had to call in sick every single time they have sex. The fading hickeys on his neck don’t get the chance to fade away before being replaced with a fresh set; usually, that’d be very sexy to the Pro Hero, but when he has to go out as a venerated public figure, being seen by children and old people, it’s very much not desired. Mina lent him her concealer, saying “It does the trick” with a wink, but Pro Hero work isn’t exactly conducive to keeping makeup looking flawless. Thankfully, Pro Hero work is conducive to explaining away the scratches and “bruises” on his chest and neck.

Bakugo is genuinely concerned whenever Kirishima has to call in sick, but the redhead just pushes him out the door saying that he was fine; he just isn’t feeling it that day. But the excuses are running thin. There are only so many times he can call in sick without losing his spot in the top ten of Pro Heroes, and above all, he needs to help people. He can’t help but turn on the TV and watch in horror as depressing story after depressing story popped up on the news, all while lying on his side because sitting on his ass hurt too much.

So…he’d started turning down sex. And never initiating it. Well, he’d stopped initiating for a while. But he’d never turn it down. Now, before getting home, he’d use his trip home to think of all the excuses he could use when he climbed into bed with his boyfriend later that night if Bakugo was in the mood. He knows a simple ‘no’ would satisfy the blond and earn him a forehead kiss before being left alone, but…he still feels guilty. Therefore, the excuses came rolling in.

“Ah, sorry, just ate a big burrito.”

“I just took a shit. Ha.”

“Look over there! Oh, no…our potted plant broke. Gotta fix that.” (Kirishima pushed it off the dresser.)

“I’m really sweaty from work…no, it’s not sexy. No—a villain pissed on me, too.” (They had not.)

Bakugo, instead of being sexually frustrated, has been panicking. The main worry on his mind hasn’t been “Fuck, blue balls again?” Rather, it’s been “Is Eijiro not attracted to me anymore?” He hasn’t put on any weight. In fact, he’s gotten more muscular as an effect of his Pro Hero work. U.A. was challenging, especially with the League of Villains always up their asses, but at least they had their teachers and other Pro Heroes looking after them. Now it’s all up to him. He thought this feeling of losing control would stay at work, but clearly, it’s followed him back home because he can’t get a grip on Kirishima. Any time he thinks he’s figured Kirishima’s feelings out or gotten him close to talking about his feelings, he slips right out of his hands and locks himself behind a door, both metaphorically and physically. He’s already losing control and stamina in his Pro Hero work; the last thing he wants is for that to happen to his relationship.

Bakugo’s frustration boils to a point after a particularly hard day when he comes home and sees Eijiro on the couch, and instead of his boyfriend greeting him with a hug and a kiss, he stiffens and looks over his shoulder with a weary smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bakugo shouts, throwing his hands up in the air as he kicks off his boots. His anger subsides immediately when he sees Kirishima’s face fall, and he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, that came out wrong. I mean, why have you been acting weird?”

Kirishima frowns, visibly confused. “Weird? What do you mean?” He gets up from the couch and pads over to his boyfriend, his hands nervously laced together in front of him.

Bakugo’s scowl deepens, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. He snaps his arm forward, motioning to Kirishima’s hands. “I mean, you won’t even touch me. Why are you acting so nervous every time I get close to you?” He steps forward, and Kirishima takes a step back. Bakugo’s heart falls to his feet, cementing them to the ground. He’s paralyzed.

“See?” he adds with the smallest voice he’s used in a while.

It’ll be painful for Kirishima to explain why he’s been avoiding sex. But it’s even more painful to watch his boyfriend, who is usually so full of gusto, look like a timid mouse before him, pleading with him to explain himself. Kirishima never thought that communication would be this hard. It’s so simple out on the field: “Uravity, on your right!” “The villain is heading west down Third Street!” It’s short, informational, and unimportant in the long scheme of things. But relationships are a whole ‘nother level.

“I—” he starts, but panic sets in and closes his throat to any speech.

“Spit it out!” Bakugo’s hair is standing on end, and he lets out a long breath. “C’mon, Eijiro. You’re treating me like a villain here.” He hesitates before asking quietly, “Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Kirishima’s chin dimples as he tries to hold back tears. He’d never thought that he had been hurting Bakugo, too. But clearly, he had, to the point of the other thinking he isn’t attractive. That is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. So ludicrous, in fact, that out of pure spite, his mouth opens to offer the explanation once and for all.

Kirishima groans from frustration. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re still the most attractive man ever! Like, the first time I saw you, I was like ‘wow.’ Then when I saw you blow stuff up, I was like ‘wow.’ Like, you went kablam and kaboosh! It was so cool! What’s there not to be attracted to?”

Bakugo scowls. “Then why won’t you have sex with me?! Why do you keep putting things off? If you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s fine. I guess.” He begins to stutter out his next sentence before stopping to recollect himself. “I just want to know…if I did anything wrong.”

Kirishima’s never seen his boyfriend so downtrodden. He’s desperate to put a smile back on his boyfriend’s face, but the only way to do that would be to have sex with him, and well…

He purses his lips before coming clean. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise! I’m sorry, Katsuki! It’s just…you’re…” He looks up from the floor to meet Bakugo’s eyes, the blond’s ruby eyes darker than usual. Kirishima inhales sharply and balls his hands into fists by his sides, finally yelling, “You’re too rough!”

When he has the courage to open his eyes, they reveal a thoroughly confused Bakugo. His head is cocked, and his scowl has morphed into a straight line.

“…What?” Bakugo asks, lifting his hands up to look at them. “Like…my voice? Or how I act?”

“Uh…” He’s gone this far. Time to come clean. Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and groans before saying, “In…in bed. You’re too rough in bed.”

It’s comical how quiet the two men are and how quickly they meet eyes. They just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like eons before Bakugo takes a step forward, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m too rough…in bed,” he repeats, and Kirishima feebly nods.

“I’m sorry for letting it drag on for so long; I know that isn’t really manly of me. But I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t do it anymore. My ass hurts so much after, and—and the hickeys and bruises are embarrassing, and—”

Kirishima is silenced by the softest pair of lips upon his own, a mere brushing of lips together. He barely would have noticed had his vision not been clouded by a flurry of spiky blond hair and blushed tan skin. His hands are up in the air, unsure of what to do with them, until they come to rest on Bakugo’s shoulders, his fingertips digging gently into the hard muscles underneath them.

“You fucking idiot,” Bakugo whispers underneath his breath before diving in for a deeper kiss, making sure to keep it passionate but gentle. He lets his hands roam Kirishima’s torso with a feather-like touch before resting them on his hips, giving them a tender squeeze to let the other know that none of his words have any bite. But Kirishima has known that for a long time. Ever since they first met at U.A., while everybody feared Bakugo, Kirishima knew there was something else under the surface. And there was. Pure, unadulterated love.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Bakugo asks, pulling away for a short second before going back to kissing. “You should’ve told me.” Kiss. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” Kiss. “Now I feel like an asshole.” Kiss. “You’re the asshole for not telling me, asshole.” Kiss.

“If only you’d let me talk!” Kirishima exclaims with a laugh, cupping a hand over Bakugo’s mouth to stop any further kisses for a moment. “I know, I am the asshole. But it’s humiliating, Katsuki! Admitting that your butthole hurts? Why the hell would I ever tell anybody that? Especially after doing hard anal the day before? Mina laughed in my face—”

“You told Mina and not me?!” Bakugo roared, tearing Kirishima’s hand from his mouth. “You are dead. You’re fucking dead. You both are dead, you and that purple shitbag.”

Kirishima has to hold back a chuckle. “She’s pink.”

Bakugo’s head whips back to his boyfriend, his eyes flaming hot. “Not the point!”

Kirishima laughs again and cups the sides of Bakugo’s face, which is now a mild shade of red. He leans forward and plants a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose, drawing himself back with a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, Katsuki. Seriously. I really should’ve told you. I just figured that you really like rough sex and didn’t want to get in the way of that. We can still do it…just on a weekend or a day off so I can recover.”

“No, no.” Bakugo wipes Kirishima’s hands off his face and laces his own fingers through his boyfriend’s, dropping their hands between them. “We’re not doing that anymore. Unless you want it. I just…”

Now Bakugo’s face is the shade of the hot sauce in the fridge. He suddenly understands why Kirishima was so embarrassed now. Talking about sex is…embarrassing. Their first time, while sentimental, is not something he wants to remember often. In fact, his brain only brings it up when it wants him to cringe, like on a random patrol down the block. Full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, it was a jumble of body parts and weird fluids and Kirishima’s head hitting the headboard so hard he got a lump afterward. Well, the misunderstandings and miscommunications clearly didn’t stop there because they are in the same situation—just without the jumble of body parts and weird fluids. Not yet, anyway.

Bakugo inhales like Kirishima did, using the short time to build up the courage. “I thought you were the one who liked it rough. You seemed…really turned on that one time in the love hotel. With all the, uh, handcuffs…and stuff. So I just…kept on doing it like that.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as an owl’s, and he tries not to bite through his lip with his sharp teeth with how hard he’s attempting at not laughing.

“You based…our entire sex life off one time where I seemed particularly turned on?” Kirishima asks, his voice wavering as the laughter tries to butt in. “Is that what the logic was in your head?”

Bakugo yanks his hands back to himself and starts toward the bathroom. “Shut up, you idiot! Forget I ever said anything.”

“No!” Kirishima practically throws himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “No, I think it’s adorable. You just wanted to make me happy, right?”

Bakugo stiffens before relenting with a nod.

Kirishima rubs his cheek against Bakugo’s back and grins. “You know, I was so excited that one time because of when you weren’t rough. When I had the blindfold on and I couldn’t see you, and you slowly dragged your fingers over me…” He mimics what he’s saying on Bakugo’s chest, stroking his pecs with the tips of his fingers. He lifts them up to the skin above the deep V of his costume, feeling the warmth of Bakugo’s skin skyrocket.

“That’s what made me so excited,” Kirishima explains. He begins to step away from Bakugo, but his hands are firmly kept against Bakugo’s chest by the other’s grip on them.

“Don’t move.” Bakugo’s voice is strong but with a needy undertone. He turns around in Kirishima’s arms, his eyes looking down at their feet. “I’m sorry.”

Kirishima chuckles. “That’s not something I hear every day. This is a cause for celebration.”

Before Bakugo can retaliate or stomp away in a fit of rage, Kirishima stands on his toes, kissing the firecracker on the forehead. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re still my favorite manly man.”

Bakugo manages a smile despite his previous bitterness and nods. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Kirishima nods along with him. “I’ll shower after you. Mind throwing a frozen pizza in the oven while I’m in there for dinner?”

Bakugo’s smile fades, and he hums absentmindedly as he turns around to go to the bathroom. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirishima’s smile fades as well at that response. Hadn’t everything been resolved? Why was his boyfriend still acting like that?

His worries continue for the better part of the evening, especially when Bakugo steps out of the shower and doesn’t say anything in passing before flopping on the bed and going on his phone. Kirishima tries to share a smile with him, or even just a glance, but there is no contact. He frowns to himself and goes to shower, his mind swirling with panic the entire time he’s in there. Once he’s done, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist before walking into the bedroom. However, he doesn’t walk two steps in before he spots Bakugo sitting at the foot of the bed, smoothing the throw blanket down.

“Babe, what’s going—”

“Eijiro, c’mere,” the blond says, his voice gruff but sincere. He pats the spot next to him, and Kirishima obeys, nervously fumbling with the towel as he sits down. Bakugo places a hand over his boyfriend’s hands to still them and looks up with a gaze of pure love and admiration. His eyes rake over Kirishima’s body, the tan skin still dewy from the shower and his stringy hair framing his angular face. He truly is the manliest man, Bakugo thinks before biting back a snicker. That is clear evidence that he’s been spending too much time with the redhead: he’s even starting to think like him.

Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo starts but hesitates. He clears his throat before saying, “Y’know, I like rough sex, but I’ve always been more of a romantic guy. Um, like…” He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, his eyes refusing to meet Kirishima’s. “Candles…or rose petals. Or…like, soft music. I don’t know. But…I—I like that more.” He bites his lip. “Especially with you.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as saucers. He knew that Bakugo didn’t always act like the rude stereotype people make him out to be, but never in a million years did he think that he would purposefully like lovey-dovey sex. He didn’t like fucking—he liked making love. Just the thought gives Kirishima butterflies, which are now running rampant in his stomach. He places a hand over it to stop the feeling from going down too far, but the look in Bakugo’s eyes makes it seem as if that isn’t so bad.

“I…I want to try it,” Bakugo finishes, twiddling his thumbs anxiously for his boyfriend’s response.

However, he doesn’t even need to think about it. He replies, “Then let’s try it.”

Now Bakugo’s eyes are wide, his head turning slowly to meet Kirishima’s determined gaze. He wants to laugh at how adorably resolute his boyfriend looks. Instead, he whispers, “Eijiro,” but he doesn’t finish his sentence, letting it trail off as he leans forward and touches his top lip with Kirishima’s. Both their eyes are lowered, their breaths quickening and their heart rates jumping.

Kirishima closes the gap and nearly falls into their routine foreplay of smashing lips and roughly tearing their clothes off each other like hungry animals. It’s strange doing it so slowly; he’d never felt Bakugo so vividly before. He can taste the strawberry lollipop some kid probably gave him on the street. He can feel every wrinkle, every cut on his bottom lip from how he’d anxiously bite it. The kiss has no teeth, no sharpness at all. Just the soft smacking of their lips and their warm breaths against each other’s chins.

It feels juvenile, all of it. As if they’re going to have sex for the first time and getting to know each other’s bodies. Bakugo lifts his hand and hesitates before gingerly placing it on Kirishima’s chest.

Cute, Kirishima thinks of Bakugo’s nervousness.

“You can touch me, Katsuki,” he whispers, guiding Bakugo’s hand to press firmly into his chest. He’s certain Bakugo can feel his heartbeat going at the speed of a hummingbird’s, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s perfect: it shows how much he’s enjoying this without him having to voice it.

“Okay,” Bakugo replies and returns to kissing, cupping Kirishima’s pec in his palm and giving it a tender squeeze.

“Mm,” Kirishima breathes, breaking the kiss.

Bakugo’s face was already red, but now it’s horridly scarlet at the mere sound of the soft groan. He’s also nervous; he knows that Kirishima will tell him—now that they’ve worked everything out communication-wise—if he’s being too rough, but the panic still lingers.

“Good?” he asks.

Kirishima can tell Bakugo’s being overly cautious, and all he does is direct his boyfriend’s hand to go lower down his torso, letting out another shaky breath. “Y-yes,” he replies, his eyelids heavily lidded. “Good.”

Bakugo nods, and they return to kissing, the one thing both know how to do softly by now. It’s everything else they need to learn how to do. One step at a time. The only “rough thing” they do is when Kirishima playfully nips at Bakugo’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, eliciting an irresistible groan out of the other.

Bakugo laces his fingers with Kirishima’s and gently pushes him down onto the mattress, never breaking their lip-lock as he turns to settle himself between his legs. While one hand is secured in his boyfriend’s, he uses the other to roam Kirishima’s body, of which he had missed for far too long. He caresses his soft stomach, feeling the strong muscles underneath the thick skin. He runs his fingers down his black happy trail (he burst out laughing the first time he saw it, saying “So the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” earning a swift kick to the head). His fingers’ journey is stopped by the towel, and Bakugo separates from Kirishima to look down at him for approval.

“Yes, Katsuki,” Kirishima mumbles, his breaths already heavy with anticipation. “Touch me.”

Bakugo smiles and slips his fingers underneath the towel, his hand bumping into Kirishima’s cock only a few centimeters down.

“You’re that excited for me?” Bakugo asks, gripping Kirishima and drawing out a shrill gasp from him. “I’m flattered.”

Kirishima’s about to say something before he’s cut off by his own moan once Bakugo begins pumping his hand, his head falling to the side and his free hand coming up to cover his mouth. He bites his knuckles as Bakugo’s lips fall to his jaw, then to his chin, then to his neck, leaving his skin prickling and pink wherever those lips fall.

The knuckles provide the bare minimum of sound dampening, his voice still echoing off the sides of their bedroom as Bakugo’s stroking gets faster and his kisses grow more feverish. He resorts to draping his forearm over his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut underneath the darkness his arm provides. If he’s going to be heard no matter what he does, then he’ll hide whatever embarrassing expressions he’s making. Usually, the foreplay and sex go by so quickly, there’s no time to even look at each other. But he can feel Bakugo’s eyes on him, on his body, and the thought makes him squirm.

“Before you say anything, no hickeys, got it,” Bakugo says after pulling away from kissing. He takes a moment now that he’s hovering over Kirishima to admire his body as it is. Usually, they went too fast to savor each other’s bodies. For instance, he didn’t know his boyfriend had a freckle in the middle of his sternum. Or that his nipples are slightly mismatched—but are gorgeous all the same. Or how his stomach expands then contracts erratically to compensate for his hurried breaths.

“You’re beautiful,” Bakugo whispers, diving in to kiss Kirishima’s jaw.

Kirishima chuckles before letting out another soft moan. “I’m a man, you’re supposed to call me handsome.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugo replies, tweaking Kirishima’s nipple playfully and earning a surprised yelp and displeased grumble. “A beautiful dumbass.”

“I’m going to harden and crack you across the face.”

“But you’re already hard.”

“Hey-!” Before Kirishima act out his promise, Bakugo tightens his grip on him and strokes him even faster, pressing his thumb into the head and smearing the precum around it. “A-ah!”

Kirishima shivers, but Bakugo isn’t done with his compliments, even though his boyfriend thinks he doesn’t deserve them.

“Beautiful nose,” Bakugo says, kissing the tip of Kirishima’s nose that’s peeking out from underneath his forearm.

“Beautiful cheek.” Kiss.

“Beautiful jaw.” Kiss.

“Beautiful neck.” Kiss.

“Beautiful chest.” Kiss.

“Beautiful stomach.” Kiss.

Bakugo sits back on his haunches as he pulls the towel away completely, revealing the rest of Kirishima’s body. Another shiver racks Kirishima’s body at all the compliments, his legs self-consciously shutting closed at all the love. He isn’t used to being looked at. To being revered. Of course, Bakugo compliments him, but it’s usually laced with an insult or said begrudgingly. Not like this. Not so easily. Not so…tenderly. It’s…nice. The butterflies are at full speed now, and he’s feeling dizzy as he watches Bakugo continue to press kisses into his skin. Probably because all the blood in his body is draining into his dick. With each compliment, his head gets fuzzier.

“Cute dick,” Bakugo says, which brings Kirishima’s mind back to fully functioning.

He tosses his arm off his face and sits up to look at his boyfriend staring up deviously at him from between his legs, his cock right in front of his face. “What? Not beautiful? Cute?” he exclaims, his voice breaking.

“Yeah, now shut up,” Bakugo says, pushing Kirishima back onto the bed and giving the head a kiss before the redhead can retaliate.

“T-that’s playing—ah! D-dirty…” Kirishima says before dissolving back into his moans.

Bakugo snickers and gives his cock another lick before kissing the tops of Kirishima’s thighs, delighting in seeing them flinch at the touch. “Beautiful thighs.”

He lifts Kirishima’s leg to his shoulder, all the while still pumping him vigorously.

“Beautiful calves.” Kiss.

He kisses the top of Kirishima’s foot. “Beautiful feet.”

“You’re into feet now?” Kirishima asks with a half-laugh, half-gasp.

Bakugo doesn’t answer. He knows that what he’s about to do will be funnier than anything he could say. He licks a trail from Kirishima’s ankle, putting down his leg in the process, to his thigh, watching with satisfaction as his boyfriend’s back arches off the bed. Without giving Kirishima time to recover, he engulfs his cock in his mouth, nuzzling his nose into the black happy trail before coming up for air.

“T-too fast!” Kirishima cries out, his forearm pressing down on his face while his other arm was outstretched, his hand fisting Bakugo’s spiked blond locks. “I’m gonna come…”

“From just that?” Bakugo teases. When he feels Kirishima’s legs tense underneath him and try to close, he forces them back open, leaning forward to give the tip another kiss. “C’mon, Eijiro, I thought I knew you better.”

But what Bakugo is really thinking is: If this is what it takes for him to come so easily, no wonder it took him so long when we were doing it rough before.

He makes his way back to Kirishima’s cock and lays his tongue flat against the base before licking up the shaft, giving special attention to the head before doing the whole routine again. He takes it into his mouth again and, using the spit pooling at the base, wets his fingers and circles Kirishima’s entrance.

Wait, he thinks, stopping himself. That’s too rough.

He lifts himself from his mewling boyfriend, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a condom and the lube bottle rarely used since they get to the deed so quickly, there’s barely any time to stretch.

Fuck. I’m an idiot. No wonder Eijiro was complaining about the pain. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.

He coats his fingers in a generous layer of lube and lowers himself back onto Kirishima, rounding his entrance tantalizingly.

“Katsukiii!” Kirishima whines, his hand back in Bakugo’s hair. “Please!”

“Patience, babe,” Bakugo replies nonchalantly. “Didn’t you say you wanted it slow?”

“Not this slow!” the other exclaims from underneath his forearm. His legs spread apart to make room for his boyfriend, his body language much more communicative than his words.

Bakugo is about to tease Kirishima some more before he gives in and works in a finger, spreading Kirishima’s walls and pumping it back and forth. He’s just as needy and impatient; sure, he loves some romantic lovemaking, but damn, did he want the main course.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, looking up at his boyfriend while he busies his mouth with his cock.

Kirishima feebly nods. “Getting t-there.”

“Just have to find the right spot,” Bakugo whispers to himself, using Kirishima’s moans and sighs as a guide to where his prostate is. He has a vague idea; however, yet again, they went too fast for him to properly know where it is.

He inserts another finger, scissoring Kirishima open while trying to find his spot at the same time. All the while giving him a blowjob. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? The delicious moans and cute exclamations and sultry expressions Kirishima’s releasing is addicting, and Bakugo can’t picture their future sex life without any of it. Even though they’ll probably be having sex less often with how long the process is going to take now, it’s completely worth it.

“Yes!” Kirishima cries out, his back arching again and his head flying backward into the pillow. His legs begin to tremble the more Bakugo massages the bump raised from the velvety walls around it. “Katsuki—hnngh! Feels…so g-good…”

Bakugo puts all his energy into working Kirishima open so that he feels no pain the next day while paying special attention to that special bump, sending Kirishima into a pleasure-fueled frenzy.

Kirishima’s tripping over his own words, his tongue getting caught in “C-coming! I’m—"

“Not so fast,” Bakugo says after popping off his cock, slowing down his hand and slowly slipping it out. Kirishima lets out a high-pitched whine at the loss inside him, and Bakugo chuckles as he pushes himself back up to his boyfriend’s face and kisses his cheek. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it.”

Kirishima’s panting like a dog in heat at this point. The only reason he isn’t completely humiliated is because his forearm is his saving grace, but even that is taken away by Bakugo. He grips Kirishima’s wrist and uncovers his face once and for all, pushing his wrist into the mattress.

“I want to see your face,” he whispers in the other’s ear, giving the lobe a feathery kiss. Kirishima grumbles something under his breath but complies to his boyfriend’s request since, after all, how is he supposed to see Bakugo’s face and all his expressions if his eyes are closed?

Bakugo uses his free hand to lift the condom up to his mouth. He uses his teeth to tear the packaging, spitting out the corner and retrieving the condom from inside. He meets Kirishima’s eyes for the first time the entire night, which are dark with lust and wild from unadulterated pleasure. “Mind putting it on me?”

Kirishima’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, but he eventually nods, pushing himself up by the elbows and taking the condom from his boyfriend’s fingers. He reaches forward, pinches the tip, and slides it on with ease, giving Bakugo’s cock a gentle squeeze and quick stroke to tease him back for everything he’s done.

“Fuck,” Bakugo mutters with a heavy exhale. He smirks and looks up at Kirishima, who’s now laying back down with his hands fisting the pillow underneath his head and his pink legs spread wide open in invitation. “You can be a little devil, can’t you?”

Kirishima lifts a hand to Bakugo’s face, drawing him closer until their lips are touching once again. Bakugo’s blond eyelashes tickle his cheeks, and he smiles. “Make love to me, Katsuki.”

Bakugo’s power trip is gone, replaced with highlighter bright red cheeks. That’s it. He’s going to only make love to Kirishima from now on, especially if it means this.

He nods; it’s the only thing he can do. He glides his hands into Kirishima’s, prying them from the pillow and pressing them into the mattress next to his shoulders. Their hands are so warm together, slick with sweat, their knuckles white from how tightly they’re clutching each other. Their hands are their anchors. Bakugo nor Kirishima can imagine separating them now.

“I love you,” Kirishima whispers, placing a butterfly kiss on the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “So much.”

Bakugo smiles and presses his sweaty forehead’s into Kirishima’s. “I know.”

With that, he slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the sudden warmth and tightness surrounding him. Kirishima, on the other hand, is speechless. He’s confused; either it’s the combination of the lube and the stretching or he’s just gotten looser from all the rough sex, but…it doesn’t hurt. He just feels full, yet to feel pleasure, but if he shifts his hips a specific way, he’s certain he’ll feel it in no time. But it’s the lack of pain that he’s surprised about. He couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Bakugo asks from the crook of Kirishima’s neck, where he buried his face, his voice muffled by the soft skin underneath.

“Move,” Kirishima demands, moving his hips down and whirling them around. He’s left speechless again as Bakugo’s cock brushes against his prostate, his eyes wide and his nails digging into Bakugo’s knuckles. “Move, please.” He doesn’t want to rush it in case of injury, but damn, he’s on cloud nine.

Don’t need to ask me twice, Bakugo thinks. His hips move on their own, rocking forward slowly and drawing groans from both men. He starts up a languid rhythm, listening to the noises spilling out of his boyfriend’s cherry-red mouth both because it’s music to his ears and for any signs of distress. But there is none. Just begs and whines and mewls.

“Faster,” Kirishima pleads, his thighs clinging to Bakugo’s sides. Bakugo can feel them shaking, as well as the rest of Kirishima’s body. And he gladly complies, ramping up the speed, but it’s nothing compared to their fuckfests. Even though it’s slow compared to their other times, Kirishima is treating it as if he’s going a hundred kilometers an hour in terms of going absolutely crazy. His back is arching so much, his stomach meets Bakugo’s, their chests touching every time Bakugo pushes inside. His neck might break with how far his head is thrown back, allowing his Adam’s apple to protrude from his neck and dance along to every single moan and whimper that comes out like samba music.

“Yes, Katsuki—fee…ls s-so—nngh!” He dissolves into blabbers and incoherency, working his hands free from Bakugo’s to cling onto his back for dear life, leaving ugly red scratches along the way. “I want…I want—ugh!”

“Use your words, baby,” Bakugo murmurs, and Kirishima’s shoulders hike up to his ears at the warm breath on one of them.

“Mm… deeper, harder—” That’s all that comes out of Kirishima before he’s overtaken by moans again.

Bakugo works out his pace. Usually, he just goes fast. But Kirishima isn’t asking for faster anymore, he’s asking for deeper. Harder. Same speed, but just—

SMACK!

“GUH!” A guttural cry escapes Kirishima’s throat, and Bakugo groans along with the hard thrust. It echoed off the walls, the bed creaking to show its displeasure with the move.

“Yes! Like that! Just like that!” The scratches are numerous and ugly now, covering the majority of Bakugo’s back.

“Good boy,” Bakugo mumbles, pressing a kiss onto Kirishima’s forehead adorned by beads of sweat. “You did good. F-fuck.” Now Bakugo’s getting incoherent, unable to form a singular thought as he continues the punishing thrusts and slow pace. “You f-feel so good, baby, so good…”

“Close…I-I’m close,” Kirishima warns, crossing his ankles behind Bakugo’s back to push him even closer. He drops his hands from Bakugo’s back and cradles his face with them, bringing his boyfriend’s face back to being nose-to-nose with him. “God, I love you. Make love to me, Katsuki. Love me, love me, love me—”

“For the rest of my life,” Bakugo murmurs back against Kirishima’s lips. “For the rest of my goddamn life, I’ll love you.”

That’s all that Kirishima needs. Yes, the pleasure he’s receiving from his prostate being abused by Bakugo’s cock is more than enough to push him over the edge. But hearing his boyfriend, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, confirm that he in fact feels the same way and is using passionate sex to communicate that to him…it’s more than enough.

“Katsuki, I’m gonna come—I’m—!”

With one last snap of Bakugo’s hips, Kirishima’s done. White blurs his vision, his entire body racked with pleasure, tears, and electric pulses, both across his skin and deep in his muscles. His hair stands on end, goosebumps decorate his skin, his body is pink and glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his come is the last garnish on the eye candy that is Kirishima’s orgasm.

Bakugo would’ve come anyway from how tight Kirishima’s clamping down on him, but just the look of ecstasy on his love’s face pushes him over the brim. He buries himself deep inside Kirishima and grabs one of Kirishima’s hands on his face for support, burying it in the mattress. He rides through the demanding orgasm that commands his entire body, his hips continuing to snap forward because of the aftershocks, causing even more oversensitivity to torment his body. He feels the ends of his hair singe from how hot he’s burning, and he’s afraid that the intense orgasm will lead to him burning down the apartment.

“Fuck!” he growls, using Kirishima’s lips to silence himself.

“Katsuki, Katsuki…” Kirishima pants, trying to separate from Bakugo’s kisses. “I love you…”

The two men stay there for a few more moments catching their breath, Bakugo long since collapsed on top of his redhead. Their chests rise to meet each other, their skin sticking together like glue. Their hands are still joined together, making a nice imprint on the mattress. Everything about them is joined together.

Somehow, Bakugo finds the courage to push himself off Kirishima and pull out. Both men hiss with displeasure, the loss of warmth on Bakugo’s end and the loss of fullness on Kirishima’s end. He carefully rolls the condom off him and ties it at the end, tossing it in the trash and flopping onto his back. Kirishima immediately saddles up next to Bakugo, tossing a leg over Bakugo’s hips and laying on his chest.

“Thank you,” Kirishima mumbles, giving the skin underneath him a kiss.

“For what?” Bakugo asks then laughs. “For giving you the best night of your goddamned life?”

Kirishima laughs and hardens his fist to punch Bakugo playfully on the chest—delicately enough to not scar, but hard enough to hurt. And it does: it elicits a great yelp of pain from his boyfriend.

“No. I mean, yeah, but—I mean, there will be other nights—ugh, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He props himself up on his elbow to look Bakugo directly in the eye, unhardening his fist to slide it up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding. For not making fun of me. I…” He sighs. “I regret not talking to you. I’ll always regret that. But I just wanted to make you happy and being rough seemed to make you happy. So, I went along with it.”

“Eijiro—”

“Let me finish,” Kirishima stresses. “You didn’t force me. I liked those times. But this…this is different. I’ll tell you what I’m in the mood for. I will let you know.”

Bakugo’s eyelids are heavy with fatigue, but he nods and runs a hand through Kirishima’s damp hair, shaking the hair into his boyfriend’s eyes with an amused smile. “Okay, babe. Just don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Kirishima says. “Manly men don’t break their promises.” He winks before relaxing back into his boyfriend’s side. “I love you.”

Bakugo snorts and drapes a lazy arm over Kirishima’s waist. “I love you, too. Idiot.”

They’re both drifting off to sleep when Kirishima whispers, “Who would’ve known you’re just a big ol’ softie for lovey dovey sex in the end.”

Bakugo stares at the grinning redhead through the darkness.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, sorry! Stop burning me!”

…

When Kirishima awakes, Bakugo’s already left for the early shift he picked up from Ingenium since he’s sick. When Ingenium’s sick, that means something is really wrong with him since that nerd always clocks in, even if he has to wear a face mask because he’s hacking up his lungs from the flu.

He stretches his arms over his head, delaying the inevitable: the sharp pain in the ass from sitting up. He’s woken up with this pain one too many times, so he turns to slip off the bed instead of sitting up. However, out of habit, he sits on the edge of the bed to stand up, and he almost misses it before he stands up. His ass is fine. He has no pain. He feels nothing. It’s almost as if they didn’t have sex last night.

Did they? Yesterday feels like a fever dream, but that doesn’t make the fact that he feels no pain after sex any less real. He stands up, almost as if testing the waters, and walks around. No pain. He slips on some boxers, which includes lifting his legs, which also elicits no pain. He sits down on their ottoman. No pain. He gets in the shower to clean himself up, pressing his fingers inside himself. No pain, other than the usual sting from going in dry. No throbbing, no swelling, no puffiness. Nothing.

No more pain.

Kirishima has successfully had sex without needing to call in sick afterwards. And he’s ready to celebrate.

He cooks himself a giant breakfast fit for a king and goes out on patrol with a grin so big, it startles a few children. He knows his coworkers know that he got laid, but they don’t know why specifically he’s so happy about getting laid. He can actually walk. And use his Quirk without a flare-up of pain in his lower back. And he doesn’t need to worry about bruises or hickeys to cover up. Mina sees his joyful demeanor and tries to “accidentally” wipe away the concealer on his neck as a joke, only to reveal that there’s nothing to cover up.

“Did you even have sex?” she asks, and Kirishima gleefully nods.

“Yep.”

Mina’s eyes snap open. “What? How are you standing? Why didn’t you call in sick?”

Kirishima smirks and shrugs. “No pain.” He winks at his pink friend and throws her two finger guns. “I worked it all out.”

Bakugo, on the other hand, is suffering from taunts from everybody in his department. He has a relatively conservative costume compared to Kirishima’s, but his shoulders are still exposed for all the world to see as a spectacle. Kirishima made sure of that. They’re tattooed with angry red scratch marks, and anybody can see that they lead to a maze of many more rows underneath his shirt. Bakugo can’t even think of an excuse. Yes, a villain is an obvious excuse, but with how airy and normal he’s acting at the agency, anybody can infer what happened. He’s blowing up a lot less and isn’t using his Quirk on innocent bystanders to intimidate them.

“You should get laid more often,” one of the Pro Heroes in his agency mutters under his breath, and in return gets his eyebrows singed off.

But it’s true, and Bakugo can’t deny it. When he gets home, he finds Kirishima on the bed sitting back on his heels, his eyelids heavy and his sharp teeth tugging on his bottom lip in a smirk. He takes full advantage of the fact that his good behavior at work earned him a day off and that Kirishima got a day off from so efficiently handling villains by making love to his boyfriend all night. When Kirishima wakes up the next day to reveal, yet again, that he has no pain, he can’t help himself to a morning lovemaking session as well. And the cycle continues.

Eijiro Kirishima likes sex. Keyword: likes.

#my hero academia #mha smut #mha #mha bakugou #mha kirishima #boku no academia #boku no hero academia #my hero fanfic #mha fanfiction #boku no hero fanfic #kirishima smut #bnha kirishima #kiribaku #bnha bakugou #bakugou smut

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fanfiction-inc · 3 years

Text

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis.

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased.

He needed a reality check.

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.”

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?”

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?”

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?”

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.”

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.”

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

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

Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win.

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.”

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money.

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!”

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready.

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.”

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?”

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?”

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?”

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked.

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate.

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through.

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two.

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up.

1st: (First initial). (Last name)

1st: H. Zemo

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before.

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.”

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night.

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

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round.

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?”

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone.

“Oui.”

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name).

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you.

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything.

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth.

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress.

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego.

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind.

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce

#Baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #racing au #daniel brühl #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo x you #baron zemo x reader #john walker #john walker is STILL an asshole #multichapter story #chapter 2 #“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

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clearlynotjanus · 3 years

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Moceit Appreciation Week :: Aftermath

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Art by @nonchimerical

tag list: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @the-snekwhisperer-world @varthandi @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody

CW: Alcohol/Wine mention, food mention, insinuated swearing Word Count: 5646 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: Teen Ships: Moceit, implied Loceit, implied Intruloceit, implied Dukeceit, implied if you squint Prinxiety

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“Well,” Janus started, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Seems like things worked out after all,” Here it comes, he thought, another round of the Blame Game. “Guess I was wrong about everything,” It didn’t matter that they had just come to some sort of understanding; after years of passing the buck between them, Janus was awfully accustomed to Patton saying his input was wrong -- Especially in a situation like this, where evolving circumstances made his advice seem moot.

“You and I both know …” Patton’s soft voice interrupted Janus’ bitterness. The tone caught him off guard, though as far as he knew, the sentence would end in a crushing you’re wrong. It was best not to get his hopes up, but the silence dragged on too long, and Janus’ defenses fell with his racing thoughts. “That’s not true,” Patton finished finally and Janus couldn’t help but to look over at the wistfully pensive expression that accompanied Patton’s admission. Perhaps it was just a sense of victory he felt, but humorlessly, his lips reciprocated.

“Is that--” Janus began only to be comedically interrupted by the vagrant and imaginative impression of Leslie Odom Jr. With a heavy sigh, the specter was dismissed and the sounds of Thomas with his friends began to fill the apartment.

Awkwardly, Janus and Patton stood next to each other. Sidelong, Janus caught Patton’s expression softening as Thomas laughed loudly at something Lee just said.

“Well, even if things did work out,” Janus started again, chin raised like he expected a fight. Patton blinked and turned his head, wearing a curious expression as though he had actually been content standing in silence together. “You should still consider what Logan and I said today.”

“Oh, well, yeah,” Patton said like that was a given. The sentence trailed off in an unusual and nervous way that made it feel like he had more to say, but more never came. Janus resigned himself to being content with that. Patton had seen the repercussions of his actions; there was little more he could do now besides press the issue when need be.

“Good,” He paused, nodding slightly. Speaking of Logan, the thought crossed his mind that he should check on him, given how their bargain had gone. “At any rate, I suppose I’ll … see you another time.”

Patton forced a smile, pulling at the fabric of his shirt anxiously. “Yeah! See you around, Jan,” The old nickname slipped out and Patton cleared his throat.

A week later, Patton squeaked an, “Oh,” as he walked into the Light Side kitchen. “Hiya, Janus,” He greeted in a pitchy, nervous voice. A weird feeling blossomed in his stomach and he thought he might be getting sick.

“Hello, Patton,” Janus gave a half-lipped smile as he finally reached into the fridge, having stood here for the better part of an hour.

“Didn’t expect to see you over here,” Patton’s anxiety was evident; just holding the cup he had come to place into the sink was a gamble given how shaky his hands were suddenly. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, just peachy,” He responded sweetly, tipping the freshly retrieved carton of milk into his now cold cup of tea. “We were just out of milk you see,” He explained, holding the carton up as evidence before sliding it back into the fridge.

“Oh, okay,” Well, that made sense, as long as Patton didn’t think about it too hard. Brushing his hip against the counter on the far side of the kitchen, Patton placed his cup into the sink and promptly turned back around. “Well if that’s all, I’ll--”

“There was one more thing actually,” Janus interrupted, absentmindedly opening a drawer to borrow a spoon. He turned to face Patton, expression unreadable. “Just while I have you here, of course.”

“S-sure!” Patton stuttered. “What’s on your mind?” He gripped the lip of the counter he leaned against, knuckles soon going white.

“Well I was just wondering,” Janus continued slowly as he stirred his tea unnecessarily. “If you had any, oh I don’t know;” his tongue clicked with a shallow, one shouldered shrug. “Dilemmas, problems, maybe some quandaries of poor Thomas’ that you needed to … bounce ideas around for?”

Patton gulped and quickly shook his head. The lively feeling in his stomach suddenly felt unpleasantly warm. “Nope!” He laughed humorlessly as he pushed himself forward and started to stumble backwards out of the kitchen. “None at all! Thomas has, hah, Thomas has been doing just great lately! No problems here!” The air sweetened and Janus lost his appetite for his overly sugared cup of tea. “If that’s all--”

“Yes, yes, whatever then,” Janus raised the spoon out of his cup and waved it dismissively with a sigh, flicking drops of tea on the floor.

Patton hopped the last two steps out of the kitchen and was hardly down the hall when he heard a new voice. High pitched and nasally, it was unmistakably the Duke’s. Patton’s body froze in fear.

“Janny! What’s taking you so long?” Janny? Patton questioned internally. That’s … actually kind of a cute nickname…

“Remus,” Janus sounded annoyed and surprised. “I told you to wait.”

“I was waiting! For like, a whole hour! How long does it take to get milk?” The frustration in Remus’ voice grew and Patton’s brows furrowed. An hour? Janus was … in their kitchen for an hour?

“However long it takes,” Janus mumbled and Patton got the sense he wasn’t talking about getting milk anymore. Suddenly the clattering sound of Janus carelessly tossing his teacup into the sink rang in his ears; until then, Patton didn’t realize how hard he was listening, or how quickly his heart was beating. He squeaked, too loudly, and then the voices in the kitchen stopped as he threw a hand over his mouth.

“Who the fu--” Remus abruptly stopped. Patton’s ears twitched, going red. He could almost make out the sound of a whisper. Fear set adrenaline lose in his blood and he silently sank out.

Later that month, Patton and Roman sat on the couch, watching some show together. Between Roman becoming distracted with the notebook in his lap and Patton dreamily staring out the window, neither of them really knew what was happening on screen; but that much didn’t really matter. Patton enjoyed sitting there, listening to Roman’s scribbles, and Roman enjoyed not being holed up in his room, burning his candle at both ends. It was a pleasant afternoon, for all intents and purposes.

“I’m going to grab a Coke,” Roman said with a stretch, setting his notebook aside. “You want one?”

“Huh?” Patton blinked, “Oh yeah, sure. Thanks!” He said with a typical smile.

The cushions had hardly risen from Roman’s absence before the couch was jostled again. “That was fas--” Patton started before registering who had actually taken Roman’s place. “Oh, J-Janus, hello,” His voice hitched and the television suddenly felt muted.

“Hello, darling,” Janus greeted warmly, an arm over the back of the couch.

“What’s up?” Patton questioned, taking a deep breath. Nerves wracked his stomach familiarly and a warmth made the back of his neck itch. “Everything alright?”

“Splendid, of course, thank you,” Janus charmed and paused. With curiosity, he reached for Roman’s notebook between them.

“Oh, you shouldn--” Patton started but it was too late; Janus had flipped open the cover and started admiring the haphazard yet beautiful doodles on the first page.

“So I was thinking,” Janus began, thumbing to another page. His eyes glazed over the curly cursive writing. Patton glanced anxiously behind Janus; if Roman walked in right now… “Have you noticed anything … off about our dear Thomas lately?”

“Off?” Patton echoed. He tried to think; ever since the reconciliation he had with Lee and Mary-Lee, things had been … better. Patton had been trying to lay off of reacting to things so quickly and he thought he was doing well with it. “N-no, I don’t think anything specific’s been wrong,” He surmised slowly. “Why do you ask?” Had Janus noticed something he didn’t? His stomach tightened uncomfortably now.

“Just wondering is all,” He dismissed with a curt smile. A pause ensued and Patton could hear Roman hum-singing to himself in the kitchen. Janus placed his palm on the couch and stared at Patton from under his lashes after a moment. “Though that brings up an interesting question, don’t you think?” His voice was low and provocative. Patton had to listen closely to hear anything at all, which made him lean towards Janus unconsciously. He felt like a useless fly; did that make Janus something dangerous? Something that’d burn him or swallow him up if he got too close?

“D-does it?” Patton stuttered, trying to keep his voice as quiet as Janus’. Admittedly, he wasn’t exactly following; too paranoid about Roman coming back, too nervous about what Janus was about to say, too flustered from suddenly being this close. Butterflies cut up the inside of his stomach.

“Mhmmmm,” Janus exaggerated, “Tell me,” He batted his eyes and Patton’s cheeks warmed. “Would you even let me know if something was wrong? ... Would you let me help in that case?”

Patton’s mouth opened like he had a response immediately, but no words followed; only a rush of warm air that blew sweetly in Janus’ face. He didn’t have an answer to that question, and thankfully, he wouldn’t need one.

“One Coke for the Marvelous Morality~” Roman sang as he rounded the kitchen corner, two filled glasses in his hands.

Patton blinked and Janus was gone, making him wonder if he had imagined the entire thing. Roman slid the drinks onto the coffee table and plopped heavily back on the couch with a gruff sound. Patton straightened his back as Roman reached for his notebook.

“Hm?” Roman’s brow furrowed, “Did you open this, Pat?” Patton struggled with his words for a second before Roman laughed. “If you wanted to read what I was working on, you could’ve just asked! Here,” Roman flipped through the pages, ignorant to the dumbfounded expression on Patton’s face, “I’ll read this much to you, but prepare yourself; it’s a little rough,” Roman said with grandeur before clearing his throat several times.

If asked, Patton couldn’t recall what Roman had read to him then. Janus’ words kept repeating in his ears until Patton was so dizzy, he felt faint.

The warm month of May shifted impatiently towards the sweltering Flordian heat of June. Even as the sun set, the summer continued to loom with heavy, humid air. Realizing that the apartment showed no signs of cooling off any time soon, Patton went to his room with the intent of changing into something lighter than his usual khakis. His heart stopped and all traces of a coherent thought process came to an abrupt halt, however, as he spotted someone on his bed.

“Oh hello, dear,” Janus purred as though this was a chance meeting. He was lounging back, head resting against Patton’s pillow, one leg crossed over the other. His hat was placed on his stomach, revealing a crooked hairline that seemed to be pushed back by the encroaching scales on the left side of his face; a sight Patton had caught glimpses of by now, but not one he was altogether familiar with.

“J-Janus!” Patton managed through the shock, a hand clutched the fabric of his shirt at his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!” He panted, forcing himself to take a gasping, deep breath.

“Apologies,” Janus offered a half smile, but hadn’t yet looked at Patton for more than a glance. Instead, he was focused on flipping through the rectangle shaped memories in his hands. Patton recognized them, once he gathered his senses enough to register the scene fully.

“You ... came to look at those?” Patton assumed, leaning to the side with a raised chin to peer at the one Janus was now staring at. It was an old memory that had begun to go grayscale at the edges. From Patton’s point of view like all of them, it showed Janus; smug at all of ten years old in an oversized hat that fell lopsided on his head. He looked as smart as any actual lawyer might as they won their case. Janus could tell Patton had been smiling when this memory became dear enough to actualize here, in his room.

“In a way,” Janus admitted. Unlike prior conversations, his voice was soft and now he, too, wore a rather endeared smile -- at least for a silent moment, as they both appreciated the memory. Soon he sighed and flipped to the next. The color of this one was vibrant and tinged in an idealistic, soft pink; the color of a schoolboy’s blush. Janus, now perhaps thirteen, reached over with a puzzle piece in hand. It was one of the last few Patton needed to finish the border he had been working on all afternoon. He remembers having begun tearing up, frustrated at not being able to complete something like that. But then Janus walked in. He had simply blinked between Patton’s watery eyes and the pile of pieces, sat down, and began to rifle through them for a moment before locating the one Patton needed. He pressed it into place easily and smiled. It hadn’t been his usual egotistical or knowing smile. It was one that made Patton’s little teenage heart race.

Janus sighed with finality and placed the pile of memories on Patton’s bedside table. As he sat on the edge, he put his hat back on. “Mostly I wanted to see if my own memories lined up,” Janus said as he stood, busying himself with adjusting his clothing. “You’ve been so obstinate lately, I had begun to think we never worked well together.”

Patton’s heart sank and so did his head. “We used to,” He whispered at the floor.

“We did,” Janus said, bittersweetness on his tongue. He shrugged and took slow steps around Patton. “It’s a shame you won’t just let us be like that again,” Janus shrugged a flimsy wrist, sounding mockingly disheartened. “But,” He amended as he reached the door behind Patton. “You’ve had everything handled without me for years now, so,”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed, instantly regretting how loud his voice was. “I have had everything handled! This whole time!” He spun around and Janus’ hand froze on the doorknob. “Without you! and now you’re trying to be around, acting like we can just go back to how it was, assuming that the others will just -- just -- get over it or something,” Patton’s voice gained an exasperated and humored edge despite finding absolutely none of this funny. “Roman nearly had a breakdown at just the idea of trusting you! Virgil can’t be in the same room with you! I just -- I don’t,” Patton’s anger began to fizzle out into despair.

His breathing caught up with him, now heavy and quick. The hand that had been pointing with accusation at Janus’ back fell with the intent of gripping his shoulder, but as though Janus saw that coming, he pulled away.

“I see,” He said, after a silent moment with an unreadable tone. “You have a lot to worry about,” Janus released the door knob. “Don’t let me keep you then,” and as fast as Patton could blink, Janus was gone.

One night, a little over a week later, Patton couldn’t sleep no matter what he did. Supposing he deserved a cookie for his trouble, he wandered into the kitchen, only to find the light already on. He froze and blinked sleepy eyes at the scene; was that … Janus? and Logan? Sitting at the small table by the bookshelf together? Patton gulped and the pair noticed him before he could digest much more.

“Patton,” Logan greeted curtly, sitting up as he seemed to notice how far over he had been leaning. “It’s late. What are you doing up?”

“Well I could say the same thing to you!” Patton joked, but his tone was off. The three sat in awkward silence and Janus busied himself with retrieving the nearly empty bottle of wine from the floor between them. “Wh--What are you guys up to?” Patton asked conversationally, pressing his knuckles together nervously.

Janus and Logan exchanged a look and Patton’s face became feverish. He had never felt so terribly out of place before. He shifted on his feet, realizing how uncomfortable his skin was.

“Well if you must know,” Janus answered, refilling Logan’s glass before meeting Patton’s eyes. His gaze was lidded, knowing, and it set Patton on fire. “We’re trying to find a solution to a problem you insist doesn’t exist.”

“Oh now, that can’t be true!” Patton objected eagerly, taking a half step forward only to receive a dubious expression from Logan.

“And why’s that?” Janus asked as he refilled his own glass. “Because you know everything?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm and wine. Janus could feel Logan’s gaze on him now; curious, wondering how he had gone from laughing demurely at something one moment to passive aggressively reproaching Patton the next. Janus wondered in turn what Logan would think of him for his words, but figured the judgement wouldn’t be too harsh. Patton annoyed them both most of the time. “Or because you think we’re too inept to solve anything for Thomas?”

Patton’s hands shook as they anxiously balled fists in the fabric of his shirt. Why would Janus say something so mean? His stomach twisted into intricate knots. Is that how Janus thought he felt? Did he really think Patton thought he was inept? His eyes stung as he stared at the ground. He couldn’t cry here, that’d just add more shame to this horrific, nightmarish moment.

“N-neither, really,” Patton whispered, not trusting his voice to be any louder.

“Why then?” Janus pressed insistently, staring Patton down with hands folded atop the haphazard papers. Logan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This felt like a grotesque mockery of their court scenario the other day...

Patton sniffled quietly, trying to keep from snotting all over himself. “I didn’t realize anything was wrong…” His voice pitched and broke with the effort he extended to keep from sobbing on the spot. How awful it was, to be misinterpreted this gravely, to not have the words to explain himself, to think Janus hated him for not knowing how to ask for forgiveness.

Janus swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to roll his eyes. “Well that’s your mistake then,” He mumbled, sitting back in his chair. As he reached for his freshly poured glass of wine, Logan hesitantly pressed feather-light fingers against his sleeve.

“I think that’s enough,” Logan whispered without much tact before looking back at Patton. “We were almost finished here. The kitchen is all yours in a few moments,” Janus scornfully met his serious gaze and soon clicked his tongue. This time, his eye roll was genuine.

“Yeah sure,” Janus snarked to no one in particular as he stood. “Let’s leave it all to Patton. As usual.”

“Thank you all for joining us today,” Logan began professionally, briskly meeting everyone’s eyes.

“Yes, thank you all so much for taking the time out of your very busy schedules,” Janus snarked in good humor from his position next to Logan; an easel with a balanced poster board stood between them. The information on the board was utilitarian in design; flat colors with thick black lines. Altogether, it was very easy to read and especially clear that Janus, with all his dramatic flair, didn’t have a single hand involved in the writing of it.

“Sure thing,” Patton interjected from his usual spot near the sliding glass door. He raised a finger like one would raise their hand in class. “But uh, I’m a little confused. What’s this all about?”

“I’m glad you asked, Patton,” Logan began, immediately getting cut off by Virgil, who had shoved himself in the very corner of the stairway.

“This is a waste of time, why am I here? I have nothing to do with stuff like this,” he gestured at the poster board, clearly not actually reading anything written there.

“You’re here so we can get your input,” Logan gestured between Patton, Roman, and Remus, who seemed to be fidgeting with some wires behind the television, “Along with everyone else’s.”

“I say let him go if he wants to,” Janus mumbled cynically, adjusting his capelet. “He’s not at all capable of providing helpful feedback.”

“You mean I don’t feed your ego,” Virgil replied bitterly with a scowl. His mouth opened to continue but no sound was produced as Logan met his eyes expectantly. Virgil sighed and shifted stubbornly against the wall. “But fine. If Logan has something to say, I guess I’ll listen. For a bit.”

“Thank you, Virgil,” Logan said, offering a small smile.

At some point during Virgil and Janus’ bickering, the twins began to argue. The quarrel increased in volume and Janus cleared his throat.

“Darling?” Janus called, brows and chin raised. Remus’ head poked up from behind the television; black, blue, and red wires were between his lips like thick spaghetti noodles. Roman crossed his arms with a loud huff and a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Care to clue me in on what’s going on over there?”

Using his tongue, Remus maneuvered the wires to the right side of his mouth. “Roboat thinks he can stop me from eating these wires,” He explained with his mouth full. Janus scrunched his nose delicately and shook his head.

“Leave their wires alone, dear,” Remus deflated and opened his lips, letting the spit-soaked things fall out and back onto the floor. Patton went visibly queasy at the display, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously.

“Okay,” Remus pouted exaggeratedly.

Janus turned and smiled pleasantly at Logan, who adjusted his glasses with a hint of exasperation, though both Janus and Remus knew the irritation was only ever meant with fondness for the Duke.

“If we’re ready to begin,” Logan started and everyone fell begrudgingly silent. “For several weeks now, Janus and I hav--”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Virgil interrupted, sitting up again and waving his hands hastily. “You and Deceit have been talking for weeks now?” Patton chewed his lip and tried to look at anything but the inevitable fight currently breaking out.

“Hey, yeah!” Roman agreed, pointing in Logan and Janus’ direction. Anger creased his expression. “I haven’t even seen that Sneaking Snob around here at all! Wouldn’t we have noticed if he was stalking around here like some B movie villain?”

“Maybe you would have if you were more perceptive,” Janus mumbled to himself, looking busily down at his gloved hand as though to inspect his nails. Remus snickered and whispered an oooo, like Roman had just gotten called to the principal's office.

“I’m plenty perceptive, thank you, Boa Bitch-stricter,” Roman dropped his arm heatedly.

The bickering continued for several more minutes, insults flying towards Janus from both Virgil and Roman. He took them in stride, giving his own snide and sarcastic comments back that only served to fuel both of their tempers. Patton’s nerves grew with each passing second; he shifted on his feet, pushed his knuckles together, debated sinking out silently but figured he’d better not cause more tension than there already was. Eventually, Logan spoke up above the roar.

“If you would all just listen,” He said, managing to gain everyone’s attention. “I promise we’ll be through in just a few minutes,” Everyone mumbled a respective, incoherent comment each as they shuffled and settled back to their original positions. Remus gave a cheer in support of Logan, which was followed by a whispered curse and apology as the latter gave a pointedly serious look.

To a silent and mostly attentive room, Logan explained what he and Janus had been discussing and planning for the last two months. Thomas’ financial situation, they all agreed, wasn’t spectacular. To that end, Logan had asked the newly accepted Janus if he had any ideas or solutions. Despite Janus’ surprise at being asked for input (and being considered ‘accepted’ at this point), he offered to go over the issue in detail with Logan; something none of the others had done to date. Over late nights of tasteful wine and the occasional dinner beforehand, they had crunched numbers, mapped solutions, and thought up lists of pros and cons to a multitude of different fixes.

Hearing this, gears clicked into place for Patton; the time he had stumbled on them late at night made a lot more sense now. Though even with the explanation, Patton’s stomach continued to knot painfully. He would really rather not recall that moment. It was filled with such shame and guilt and suspicion, he almost refused to believe it had even happened.

“And so after all that,” Logan approached the end of his explanation, “We settled on a very reliable and doable solution; Thomas and his team should, by all means, open up a Patreon.”

The audience’s eyes went wide as they stared at each other. The fact that the numbers had gone over their heads was clear on their faces, but the conclusion was easy enough to understand.

“So wait,” Virgil said, sitting up slowly, “Basically, what you’re saying is, we should ask the viewers for money, for something Thomas already gives them for free?” He asked incredulously.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t provide them with a little something extra every now and again,” Janus chimed in with a flourish of his fingers and an enigmatic grin. “The amount of things Thomas keeps hidden...phew, let me tell you,” His brows raised dramatically.

“You’re considering airing out his dirty laundry? For money?” Roman interjected, tone fantastically offended. “Preposterous! Who do you think you are, treating Thomas’ classified secrets like they’re some measly prince being sold for ransom!”

“Like that isn’t what our series is already based on?” Janus asked skeptically. Roman fell silent after a few sputtered and disjointed, rather useless words. “The point is,” Janus continued after a moment, meeting everyone’s eyes seriously now. “Thomas can’t afford to keep making videos if we don’t do something. I know you’re all against me, but you could at least extend the courtesy of considering it for Logan.”

Again the room became hushed, but only for a moment before Remus decided to speak up.

“It’s a great idea. Lolo! But I think he could make even more money if he did an OnlyFans!” Remus said too loudly for the room’s atmosphere. Patton flinched and grimaced distastefully, beginning to regret not making a bigger fuss about letting the Duke attend this meeting.

“No one asked you,” Roman snarked, turning slightly to glare at his brother.

“Actually,” Logan interrupted, “We did ask him, all of you,” He gestured with an open palm. “We’re asking you to consider it, as Janus said. No big decision needs to be made right now, even if I don’t quite understand what the hold up could possibly be,” Logan glanced at Janus with a hint of aggravation, “But something bad will happen if we don’t do something.”

“Alright,” Patton said quietly, nodding. “I think we get it, so,” He looked sheepishly around the room; Roman and Virgil had perked up significantly at Patton’s words. They both clearly waited with expectant expressions for Morlaity’s opinion. The twisting in his stomach grew uncomfortably hot. “So,” He repeated before drawing in a breath through his teeth, “Why don’t we all take the night and think about it. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow after … after we’ve all had a little while to think.”

“Very well,” Logan responded immediately, almost cheerfully -- at least cheerfully for Logan’s standards. “That’s quite alright with me, though please try to be quick about it.”

Janus’ brow pinched subtly as he stared at Patton for a moment too long. Logan had called his name twice before the third reached him through his thoughts.

“Janus?”

“Oh, yes,” He cleared his throat and nodded shallowly a few times, “By all means, do drag this out.”

Logan nodded, agreeing with the true intent of Janus’ sarcastic comment as he removed the poster board from the easel. As he collapsed the set up, Patton sunk out silently; the twins began fighting again and Virgil had somehow gotten pulled into their bickering. “That went well,” Logan summarized quietly to Janus, who was still staring distractedly at the space Patton usually occupied. “You were right unfortunately,” Logan paused, waiting for Janus to respond, only continuing when he realized no immediate retort was coming. “About them needing time to think about it?”

“Huh? Oh, yes,” Janus mumbled. Logan frowned; did it not go over as well as he thought? “You have all this handled, correct?” Janus gestured vaguely at the room, taking steps away.

“I suppose…?” Logan answered slowly. He started to say something else, but Janus had already disappeared.

Janus knocked on Patton’s door three times, the sound muffled by his gloves. From his bed, Patton flinched and instinctually squeezed the pillow in his lap tighter.

“B-be right there!” Patton called out, forcing his voice to sound cheerful. He inhaled a ragged breath and scrubbed at his face with dry hands. Please let it be Roman, please let it be Roman, please let i--

“H-hey Janus,” Patton greeted, swallowing his disappointment as he opened the door.

“Hello, dear,” Janus’ voice matched the serious tone he had used in his closing statement at the meeting just a few minutes ago, though the edges of it were softened. Patton thought his brow was creased and wondered what he was worrying about. “How are you?” He asked, and Patton had a hard time believing the question was genuine.

“Oh, I’m fine!” Patton said and Janus’ mouth watered. “Was just getting ready for bed,” he gestured behind him with a thumb and hoped that was enough to deter Janus from any kind of conversation. “S-so if you really don’t mind,” He continued, taking a half step back and starting to close the door slowly. “I sure am wiped from that meeting,” Patton forced a yawn.

“I know you’re lying,” Janus said pointedly, tone deliberate and unamused as he reached a hand to stop the door in its tracks.

Patton frowned, almost pouting as he stared at the floor. Janus’ eyes were too severe just then, and meeting them made his chest hurt. The silence dragged on as Patton found himself in an impossible situation; Janus knew he wasn’t okay, but that didn’t imply he was concerned enough to hear what was on his mind. Even if Janus did want to know, Patton wasn’t sure he could manage to sound coherent. To make matters worse, if all that weren’t true and he did get his feelings across to Janus, they felt silly and inconsequential in the face of Logan and Janus’ idea. They spoke so surely, so convincingly, and all Patton had was … feelings.

“Patton,” Janus said softly, letting his hand fall from the door, “How are you?” He asked again, sounding more insistent.

“I’m,” Patton started to repeat himself again but looked up to see Janus’ face. He wore such a distressed expression, Patton almost wanted to ask if he was okay. “I’m,” He began again, voice shaking as he clutched his shirt. “I’m scared,” Patton admitted in a whisper after a long pause.

Janus’ posture relaxed with a quiet sigh. He remained silent, knowing Patton well enough to predict that he would continue of his own accord now that the dam was open.

“I’m scared that I’m doing the wrong thing, but I’m … I’m not even sure what I’m doing. I’m scared that the others will hate me if I … If I,” Patton swallowed, “If I start letting you help again. B-but I’m also scared that,” His voice quickened, gaining speed like a rushing torrent of unstoppable water. “If I don’t let you help, I’ll just keep hurting Thomas. I’m scared that Virgil will lose himself again and leave us, I’m scared that Roman won’t be able to help Thomas if--if Remus is around, I’m terrified that Remus will hurt Thomas, and,” Patton inhaled a ragged breath. When he continued, his voice was a slow whisper again. “I’m scared of you, of--of not knowing how much selfishness is just right. I know you don’t want to hurt Thomas, I do, but …” He looked up with teary eyes finally, meeting Janus’ patient gaze. “But what if we get it wrong?”

“Then we’ll fix it and get it right together,” Janus replied instantly, like he knew exactly where Patton’s words were going to end up. “Like we always have,” He affirmed calmly, his tone and expression implying that, while this conclusion was obvious, Janus didn’t mind saying it as often Patton needed to hear it.

Patton gasped and the tears in his eyes fell. Hastily he reached up to brush them away with mumbled apologies. Janus rolled his eyes and muttered a sarcastically impatient, “Come here,” as he reached to hug Patton with both arms.

“Just because you’ve done it alone all this time doesn’t mean you should continue to, darling,” he said as Patton gripped the front of Janus’ shirt, letting himself be selfishly consoled, for just a second he told himself. “You can rely on me, that’s all I’ve been trying to say,” He chastised gently. “The others will get used to it again. Thomas isn’t giving them much of a choice on that one,” His tone gained a humored edge and Patton whined softly. Janus chuckled and gave him a final squeeze before gently pushing him away with hands on his upper arms. “As for everything else,” He continued as Patton sniffled, “We’ll figure it out,” Janus said nonchalantly, with a fond smile.

“Together?” Patton whispered, his voice cracking.

“Together.”

Chapter One || Chapter Two

#moceitappreciationweek #moceit appreciation week #moceit week 2021 #moceit #sanders sides

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) -- chapter 5

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: With Max’s condition deteriorating and Alex struggling under the weight of his worries about his family and Project Shepherd, Michael goes to drastic lengths to get strong enough to protect them.

Excerpt:

All the soft spots they’d ever shown each other, all the ways they knew to dig in and hurt, and new pain was still a revelation, Michael discovered as Alex set his jaw and bared this truth: he didn’t believe in Michael, didn’t trust him as an ally, saw him as a liability before he was absolutely anything else. A burden.

“I never asked you to protect me,” he said.

Alex’s face twisted. Michael wanted to take the words back, but he didn’t know which ones. Maybe all of them.

He replied, “You never had to.” Then he stood. “I should get going. Thanks for the beer.”

And he got in his car and was gone.

Michael sat for a while. It was late afternoon, and it was hot, but Michael stared into old ashy iron like he was watching a bonfire. Storm clouds built up all billowy on the horizon. Static built up inside Michael’s head.

But it wasn’t Max’s kind of static, kinetic static, moveable, actionable, dangerous. Just a lowkey anxious buzz, formless and useless, a passenger in his skull alongside thoughts he couldn’t parse, like Michael himself.

His whole life he’d been a passenger. On a ship, in the system, in his own life, in the lives of others.

Maybe it was time to change that.

---

The bags under Max’s eyes grew heavier and darker, but he carried on like Isobel and Michael weren’t supposed to notice or care. Surprisingly, he hadn’t put up a fight when Isobel finally put her foot down and decreed he was staying with her until they figured out what was going on, but, more than likely, he was just too tired to fight her on it.

He was, of course, already awake when Michael let himself in and fired up the stove to make breakfast; Michael glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a door opening, and Max didn’t acknowledge him as he settled himself on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, his journal propped on his knees.

“What’s up?” Michael called over to him as he mixed the pancake batter.

“Same shit, different day,” Max replied.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Michael shrugged and let it go. If Max preferred to write about it, that was his prerogative.

“You working today?”

“Nope. You?”

“Not unless Sanders calls me in.”

Michael spoke without putting too much thought into it, but he ducked his head in embarrassment when Max smiled at him. Max’s open happiness whenever Michael let slip his own growing acceptance of the connections in his life was something Michael didn’t quite know what to do with—but he wasn’t going to snap at Max over it, especially when Max was struggling already.

“Chocolate chips or blueberries?” he changed the subject.

“Chocolate,” Max replied.

“Coming right up.”

He finished up the batter and poured the first three pancakes onto the heated skillet. As it sizzled, Michael’s mind wandered. When would Isobel get up? She was usually too nosy to let Michael and Max carry on for long without her, but maybe that was changing, or maybe Max’s state was driving it home for all of them the value of good sleep. Should they talk to Maria about giving Max more time off? No, she had a business to run, and she had eyes, she’d make an executive decision if Max became a liability, and he was capable of advocating for himself…

What was Maria up to? Maybe Michael should invite everyone around for breakfast instead of Thursday nights drinking; but then again, he enjoyed hosting Thursdays too much to draw attention to himself with a suggestion for a change of plans, in case everyone noticed and popped the soap bubble. He was pitiful enough already; any shift at all would be perilously close to begging.

Michael flipped the pancakes over and pictured doing the same to his stupid maudlin thoughts, getting out of his head and focusing instead on the patterns on the pancakes. One had a line going down the middle that almost resembled one of the sides of the alien symbol. That’d be something easy enough to make if he wanted to try his hand at something as frivolous as pancake art, but then, was he bold enough to go out of his way to create something they barely understood like that?

Jones would probably know the meaning of the symbol. He spent seventy years trapped behind it.

Nope. Michael’s ears prickled and he almost turned around to glance Max’s way; he had to force his head to stay still. No thoughts of Jones right now. Fuck that guy.

He slid the pancakes from the griddle to a waiting plate and poured three more. His phone buzzed in his back pocket, so he fished it out and thumbed it open. He had a text from Isobel, but nothing from Liz, still. And nothing from Alex, either, even though…whatever, it was fine, he’d probably fallen right asleep after a six-hour round trip to the airport last night. Michael would try calling him again later. Maybe. Or maybe he’d overstepped in asking him to check in. Alex didn’t owe him anything, he had a boyfriend, he was fine. Maybe Michael should just leave him alone.

The text from Isobel read: How are things going out there.

He texted back: Fine. Making breakfast.

It smells good. How’s Max?

Michael chanced a look over his shoulder; Max had his head down, focused on his journal, so Michael couldn’t see his face.

Tired.

From further in the house, Isobel’s door opened and shut, and Michael shoved his phone back in his pocket and flipped the pancakes, which had gotten a little over-experienced on one side.

“Morning,” Max said in a hoarse voice.

“Morning.”

Isobel dropped down onto the couch, almost landing on Max’s feet, which he yanked out of the way.

“How was your night?” she asked softly.

“Iz…”

“Max.”

“You know how it was.”

“Please, just talk to me.”

They were quiet for a bit, with only the sizzle of the pancakes filling the silence as Michael flipped them, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and turned around again.

Max and Isobel were staring at each other; Michael didn’t think Isobel was in his mind, more that they were just doing the freaky twin thing. Either way, it wasn’t going well, if the tense and drawn looks on both their faces were anything to go by.

“One of you want to help me out in here?” He interrupted them bluntly, handing Max the out as Isobel shot him an unhappy look.

Sure enough, Max took him up on it, swinging his legs around and standing up, going to put his journal in his room (away from Isobel’s prying eyes) before coming back to the kitchen and fetching silverware, plates, and syrup. He spread them out on the kitchen table—Isobel hadn’t gone full breakfast nook, much to her mother’s dismay—and took a seat, Isobel ambling over, while Michael slid the last pancakes onto the plate and brought them over to serve.

“Thanks, Michael,” Max said, taking his first.

“No problem.”

Isobel took her own, too, but she didn’t even pick up her fork and knife, folding her arms on the table and staring at Max with a line between her eyes.

“Please talk to us. Or, if it’s hard to put into words, let me look inside your head. Maybe I can make sense of what you’re seeing in dreams—memories—whatever they are.”

“There’s nothing to make sense of,” Max snapped. “Nothing I haven’t told you before. It’s the same nightmare from years ago, being chained to the floor.” His voice faded, and he said much quieter, “It’s the dread that keeps me awake. But I can’t tell if it’s dread for what will happen to me…or what I’ll do to someone else. I don’t know if I’m afraid of Jones, Louise, or myself.”

“Jones, of course.” Isobel’s eyes flashed, and she folded her arms. “When do we run errands for him again? I’d like to have a chat.”

“Please don’t make things worse,” Max said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He really did look exhausted. Haggard and gray in a way Michael hadn’t seen since the days after they brought him back to life. How long could he keep going like this?

“Have you talked to Kyle?” he asked.

“Yeah. But what is he supposed to do? I can’t go in for a sleep study or anything, sleeping pills don’t work, we don’t have a lot of options.”

“The fact that you think confronting him might make things worse just proves that he’s doing something to you!” Isobel burst out.

“How could he be doing something to me from underground, twenty-five miles away? What is he doing, breaking into your house, past the security Alex installed specifically for you, and disappearing into the night after just…giving me a bad dream?”

“We don’t know everything he can do with his powers, no matter how much work I’m putting in. Maybe he is!”

Michael watched back and forth as they argued, Isobel’s anger and worry, Max withdrawing deeper into himself. Breakfast was forgotten, unsurprisingly, Michael’s attempt at caring for his siblings insufficient for the situation they were in.

“Whatever!” Isobel said, pushing herself back from the table. “You’re not him, Max. I don’t care how many times I have to tell you before it sinks in. You’re not him, he can’t be trusted, and I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger because you’re too trusting.”

She stormed off before Max could respond, slamming her bedroom door in an echo of every fight the two of them had ever had, going back decades into childhood.

“And what about you?” Max asked Michael, his arms folded, body slumped in his chair. “You’ve usually got an opinion on my life.”

Michael snorted and didn’t take the bait, not caring if Max sensed his newfound restraint was born of pity. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think having an evil clone sucks. Better you than me.”

The words rang false. Michael would take every nightmare and sleepless night if he could. But hopefully Max was too tired to drag that out of hiding.

“Having an evil clone does suck.”

“Cheers.”

Michael clinked his glass of OJ against Max’s and downed it.

“Everything I thought I knew—everything I thought I was—it was all just a lie,” Max said, staring at the table. “Who am I supposed to ask, if not him? Maybe a new lie would be better than having nothing. Lies Jones tells…I don’t have any way of disproving. It would be something. Fucking anything. Isobel doesn’t understand.”

“Maybe she doesn’t understand your perspective,” Michael allowed. “But what she understands better than either of us is how mind control works. Buddying up with Jones is literally playing with fire, considering one of the four things we know for sure about him is that his first act on Earth was burning Hector Valenti alive for shits and giggles.”

Max raked his hand through his hair. “If it means I can get some fucking sleep? I might be willing to roll those dice.”

Michael’s eyes fell away from the exhaustion on his brother’s face. What was there to say to that? The only protection he could offer would be pollen to hopefully keep Jones from fucking with him, but with Liz still ignoring him, he wasn’t confident that the weakening effect of the pollen wouldn’t have a worse effect on Max’s already compromised health. Maybe he should get Valenti’s advice, but what would he even have to say? They had no way to test something like this.

So Michael was useless. What else was new.

“Isobel’s just scared of you getting hurt, man. Nothing’s changed for her; you’re not any less her person than you were six months ago.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said with a sigh. “I just want to talk to him. Want to make him talk. I’ve thought about using L—about using some serum to get answers, withholding the antidote until…”

He trailed off, and lifted his eyes, and Michael looked at him, and he looked back, and tears welled up in Max’s heavy eyes.

“Max,” Michael said.

“I know,” he choked.

Last time they had a conversation like this, their roles were reversed, and Max had a gun. But they had nothing, now, the only thing between them the table laden with the breakfast Michael cooked, sun streaming pleasantly through Isobel’s gauzy curtains. Michael stood—Max flinched at the scrape of chair legs across the floor—and he rounded the table, fisted his hand in Max’s t-shirt, and hauled him in, hugging him tightly to his chest.

Michael left Isobel’s place an hour later, after he and Max had separated without saying a word and cleaned up the kitchen, saving the pancakes for later, also in silence. Isobel stayed in her room, so Michael resolved to call her later as Max convinced him to leave, that things would be fine.

But just because Michael capitulated and left eventually didn’t mean he felt any lighter as he rattled down the road home, his phone bouncing along on the seat beside him. He’d never been so attached to the damn thing, but with everything going on with Max, with Jones walking around, with Project Shepherd rearing its head, quiet moments were indistinguishable from the teeth of a trap just visible around him. So the phone went where he did for the foreseeable. If someone called, if someone needed him, he’d be there.

He pulled into the junkyard and sat up stiff when he saw a familiar black SUV waiting for him. The day was warm and bright, no weather for a fire, but Alex was there at the fire pit, hands folded between his knees, eyes fixed on some point in space. He glanced up and waved, one corner of his mouth picking up in a distracted-looking smile as Michael pulled closer and parked.

“Hey,” he called, clearing the ground between them in a few long strides.

“Hey,” Alex responded.

“What’s up? You’re super early—Thursday’s still a few days away.”

“It doesn’t have to be a Thursday for me to want to see you,” Alex said, and, heart fluttering, Michael swept his hat off his head just for something to do with his hands.

“You, uh, you didn’t text me last night. Or this morning,” Michael blurted.

“I know. I’m sorry. When I got in last night, I—didn’t want to wake you up, and this morning…it was kind of a rough night. It slipped my mind.”

“Don’t gotta apologize. I was just worried, is all.”

“Then I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“I just said you don’t have to apologize.”

Michael sat himself down in the chair beside Alex and squeezed his knee to reassure him; his eyes fell to Michael’s hand, so he pulled it away self-consciously, stomach twisting when, a few seconds later, Alex rubbed his own hand over the spot Michael touched.

Fingers tapping nervously, he settled his hands on his own knees in a mirror of Alex’s position and said, “So what brings you out here? What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just,” Alex pre-empted his next words with a shrug. “Wanted to say hi.”

“Oh.”

Michael didn’t quite know what to do with that, how to exist without a looming crisis, no matter how many Thursdays’ worth of practice he got. Most of those were about triaging some kind of bullshit in someone’s life anyway.

Casting round for a conversation topic, he said, “You look tired.”

As if commenting on his appearance was so neutral and inoffensive. Way to go, Guerin.

Before Alex had to try and come up with a response to a comment that inane, Michael added, “Of course, you were up all last night. Stupid question.”

Alex laughed, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah, but it’s true I’ve had a lot on my mind lately anyway.”

Michael itched to reach out again. First Max, now Alex, and there was nothing he could do for either of them.

“If you need, Isobel can make Fields leave town,” he said. “I know it’s not exactly above board, but I want her gone as much as anyone, so…”

“No,” Alex shot down. “We don’t know what kind of defenses a Project Shepherd operator might have, and I won’t put a target on Isobel. It’s not just Fields, either, it’s personal stuff, too. Life’s not exactly stress-free.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

They fell quiet, but at least Alex settled back in his chair, relaxing from his tightly coiled posture enough that Michael forced his own shoulders to drop too.

“So how’re things going with Forrest?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, fine. Landed safely in DC. I need to text him back, actually.”

The question had been more about the general state of the relationship than Forrest’s physical wellbeing or whereabouts, but Michael wasn’t going to push past Alex’s discomfort or misunderstanding. No matter how far they progressed in their friendship, they might never get to the “dishing their romantic joys and woes” stage, not with their history. That was okay.

Alex made no move to take his phone out and send that text. Something else was clearly still weighing on him, so Michael resolved to quiet his own self until Alex was able to speak.

“I thought I saw my brother. At the airport,” he said eventually, folding his arms across his chest.

Michael sat up straight. “What? Which one?” By the tone in his voice, it clearly wasn’t Greg.

“Clay. If it was Flint, how bad I freaked out might at least make a little more sense,” Alex said with a snort and a shake of his head.

“What…what happened?”

“Nothing drastic. I chased some guy into the bathroom ready to confront him, but then it wasn’t Clay and I managed to play it off. Probably freaked Forrest out with the way I was acting.”

A pang went through Michael’s chest at the thought of Alex, alone and three hours away with only Forrest, who knew nothing of the truth about Alex’s family and the conflict between them, for backup. If it had been Clay—if he’d gotten the best of Alex in that shitty airport bathroom like Jesse did in the junkyard—

Michael rubbed his chest over his painfully racing heart.

Alex continued, “I can’t be sure. If he was tailing me specifically or if he suspected I noticed him—I only checked one set of stalls; I was too conscious of how I was acting.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “But I’m probably just seeing things, and it was just a similar-looking guy in a crowd, and I seriously need to figure my shit out.”

“Well, join the club,” Michael said. “It’s alright, man. It’s not like you worried over nothing; your family don’t know when to quit.”

“Forrest thinks working with Project Shepherd might help. He thinks it could help me understand my father more, and therefore move on,” Alex said with a humorless smile, a flat-soda expression, blankness where it shouldn’t be.

“He what?”

“Ugh, no, that’s not fair.” Alex ran his hands over his face again. The front of his hair stuck up from how many times he’d mussed it. “He doesn’t know. Anything except that my father and brothers are bastards—minus Greg. He didn’t mean anything by it—I shouldn’t be so fixated on it. I didn’t even realize I was until it just…came out.”

Michael couldn’t reach out and touch him to give him comfort; that wasn’t allowed. But he could go grab him a beer, so he did, and let him compose himself without Michael hovering. When they both had drinks and he was settled back in his chair, Michael took in Alex’s appearance again, the wrinkled collar of his black canvas jacket, the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness of his hands clasped between his knees. So much tension he could do nothing to soothe. He worried the inside of his lip between his teeth until he tasted nails.

“Have you heard from Greg lately? Maybe he would know if Clay was really in the area,” he said.

Alex shook his head. “No. With Fields and Project Shepherd hanging around, I don’t want him involved.”

And that, Michael couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just let Isobel take care of—”

“I said no, Michael!” Alex snapped, head jerking up, his eyes black and glittering and finally meeting Michael’s, and now it was Michael’s turn to want to look away, but he couldn’t. “Getting any of the three of you involved, it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I’m already involved if you’re involved,” Michael protested, gesturing wildly. “I’m not letting you face this bullshit by yourself!”

Alex’s nostrils flared. “I can take care of myself.”

“Duh. But you don’t always have to. I’m going to have your back.”

“Not if you get bagged and pumped full of anti-alien drugs, you won’t. I’m not letting my father’s legacy hurt you again, no matter what you say.”

Helplessness rose in Michael’s lungs like water, like flood and fury. His fingers flexed around his beer bottle, and he dropped it into the chair’s flimsy cupholder before he threw it away.

“I never asked you to protect me,” he said.

Alex’s face twisted. Michael wanted to take the words back, but he didn’t know which ones. Maybe all of them.

He replied, “You never had to.” Then he stood. “I should get going. Thanks for the beer.”

And he got in his car and was gone.

His whole life he’d been a passenger. On a ship, in the system, in his own life, in the lives of others.

Maybe it was time to change that.

There was only one road connecting Sanders’s to the main drag, so Michael’s tires hit the same ruts as Alex’s, at least for a little while. Then he was in town, then he hit the desert, and he was alone, at least for a little while. He rolled the window down to catch the breeze and squinted into the horizon.

Isobel was gonna fuckin’ kill him.

By the time he pulled up to the caves, the sun was hitting the stormclouds over town just right, burning them up against the broader lavender sky. He popped the glove compartment and grabbed the second pollen bracelet he’d made for Maria and slid it onto his wrist, pulling his sleeve down to cover it. He’d get it to her after this.

Climbing out of his truck, Michael stood and watched the sky for the while, the smudge of falling rain as the distant lights came on, and he smelled the storm, and the wind of it tugged his hair in a hundred different directions.

He headed inside as the first few raindrops reached him.

The tunnel wound long and dark into the earth, and Michael took it slow, hands in his pockets. Would Jones sense him coming, or would the bracelet protect him from even that? Isobel couldn’t sense Maria when she had the necklace on, but things were more uncertain with Jones. Even Michael, hollow-headed and senseless to so much of the psychic feedback Max and Isobel claimed they were capable of, couldn’t help but know when one of them was approaching. So, as advanced as Jones was, who knew what he would be able to sense.

He followed the ragged old footpath to the end of it, one hand trailing on the rough wall, trying to picture how it happened that Jones was marched down here and sealed away. And despite everything else he felt, he felt a twinge of pity—maybe they should let Jones choose a new place to hide out, somewhere away from his seven-decade prison.

The ground beneath his feet was worn by his mother’s feet, among so many ancient others, but walking it brought him no closer to understanding her, understanding anything. His mind reached out and came up empty for answers, again, and again, and again, and he understood, why the DeLuca women made the choices they did, what made the future and the past and the road between them worth any other sacrifice.

He came to the end of the path, where there was no door to knock on.

“Michael! What a pleasant surprise.”

Despite his words, Jones was the picture of serenity, clothes clean and pin-straight as always, hair and beard well-groomed, his cave home as neat and tidy as possible. He wasn’t nearly perturbed enough to actually be shocked by the visit.

“Cut the crap, you knew I was coming,” Michael said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of a welcome,” Jones replied. “Come in, have a seat, and tell me what brings you here.”

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

Jones held up his hands, an edge of mockery to the motion, and he crossed the cave to his hot plate, where he had a pot of tea brewing.

“I suppose I shouldn’t bother offering you any?” He asked as he poured himself a mug.

Michael ignored that statement of the obvious and said, “Are you fucking with Max’s head?”

Adding sugar and stirring his tea and setting himself down on his one chair, Jones took his sweet time before he answered.

“Now, Michael.”

He sounded almost disappointed, like a school principal. It put Michael’s back up; he worked his jaw back and forth, unable to stay still, but maintaining every muscle of his body to keep from looking as much like a surly, misbehaved child.

Jones continued, “I couldn’t begin to tell you what’s going on in Max’s head, as much as I’d love to be of assistance. But then, if you were serious about getting him some help, you would have brought him along with you, now wouldn’t you? How about you tell me what this is really about.”

“Like I’m stupid?” Michael scoffed. “Giving you access to Max is the last thing we’re going to do. All I need to know is how desperate you are to get in good with him to know that.”

“And how would Max feel if he knew that you thought so little of him that you think him not capable of making his own decisions? I bet he doesn’t even know you’re here right now. Would he thank you for what you’re doing right now, Michael?”

Shut the fuck up. Michael didn’t bark it out loud; he held his tongue in the face of the glint in Jones’s eye. He was being toyed with, as ever. The beads of the bracelet were cool and smooth against his skin, and he couldn’t do anything but hope they were working as he resisted the urge to fiddle with them and draw attention to his attempt at self-defense.

“I don’t get thanked for a lot of shit,” Michael said flippantly, stepping further into the cave. “But it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Jones just gave him a beatific smile at that, taking a deep swig of his tea.

“Well, I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, but without Max here for me to examine, there’s really nothing I can tell you. Perhaps we’ll all sit down together the next time you three come through with supplies.”

Fists clenching in his pockets, Michael scrambled for a way to speak up that wouldn’t put him on his back foot, wouldn’t give Jones all the advantage; at least, no more than he already had, now that Michael had come to him. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—be dismissed. Not if he wanted to be strong enough to support Max, strong enough to stand beside Isobel.

Strong enough to protect Alex. To never be a burden on him again. A pillar of strength, never a weak spot. He had to be better, more, than he was. Jones was an imperfect key, but the shackles around him were too heavy, too tight to stand any longer, so without any other way to free himself, he groped in the dark for anything that fit the hole.

Fuck it. Silence wasn’t making his position any stronger.

“What if I told you let’s play ball?” he demanded.

“What do you mean?” Jones asked mildly.

“You’re always going on about all the things you could do for us if we gave you a chance. Well—I’m here. Asking. I want to be stronger, so. Teach me.”

Jones leapt to his feet, sloshing tea over his pants and hastily putting the mug to the side as he spread his arms wide.

“Michael, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad you’re finally ready to take the next step.”

“It’s not wonderful, it’s not anything,” Michael snapped back. “I just want you to teach me what you know about using our powers so I can get something other than the telekinesis going. Don’t get excited.”

“Of course! Of course.” Jones summoned a towel from the box he used as a bedside table and dabbed at the tea stains on his clothes. Then he paused, giving Michael a wry look. “If I’m teaching you, you can’t spend the whole time standing in the doorway. Take a seat on the bed so we can talk.”

What served as his bed was the mattress from Isobel’s old guest room, and Michael sat on it cross-legged, folding his arms and leaning back against the cave wall.

“Now, tell me. When did you first develop your ability to move things at will?”

“Uh. I dunno, I was a kid, we don’t know our exact ages. But I was probably around eleven, it wasn’t long after I came back to Roswell. Some…stuff was going on in my life, I was mad all the time, and one day when I got really pissed, it just happened.”

Jones was nodding as Michael spoke, and he poured a second mug of tea, stirred some sugar into it, and handed it to Michael, who still wasn’t drinking a damn thing this guy gave him, so he set it aside. As he prepared the tea, his chair moved across the ground to sit across from Michael and he sat himself down in it.

“That’s common in all children,” Jones said.

He radiated an aura of calm that had Michael’s skin crawling, blunt nails digging into his knees. But even as his senses paced, waiting for the trap to slam shut, he had to force himself not to reach for these scraps of affirmation—the slightest confirmation that he wasn’t the freak he’d grown up feeling he was—like some new and fragile green thing toward the sun.

Jones continued, “Emotional outbursts, that is. Early adolescence is a little old to come into your activation, but not abnormal, and considering the environment you were raised in…” His voice dripped disapproval, to the point Michael opened his mouth, furiously set to defend his own orphaning, but Jones didn’t leave room for interruption. “Well. Frankly I’m shocked yourself and Isobel developed anything at all. We never could have tested the capacity for offspring to activate in the complete absence of communal psychic feedback…or even the capacity to survive and mature. And Isobel, at the very least, had Max. You…you were completely alone, weren’t you? To do that to a child, in our society, would have been, forgive the expression, inhumane,” Jones smiled, as if he’d told a joke. “But, here you are, despite such awful neglect. It’s wonderful.”

Uncomfortable, Michael flexed his left hand and flattened both palms over his knees, dragging them slow and hard against the rough texture of denim. “It’s not like I did anything special. Just survived like any other kid.”

“Well, pardon me, but you survived like any human child. And you are quite a bit more than that.”

There was a time Michael might have agreed with him, angry and hurting and needy to be anything that wasn’t garbage someone left by the side of the road. Litter, lower than garbage that someone cared enough to put in its proper place. But now, praise like that—if it could be called praise—just put him more on edge.

“Can we get on with it?” he asked. “I don’t actually have all day. I don’t have a set schedule with Sanders, so regular lessons might be hard to make, but I can work something out with him…”

“Oh, never fear,” Jones replied. “The first step is the hardest. If you had had a responsible parent, this knowledge would have been introduced slowly, but as it is…”

“Hey!”

“As it is, your mother’s gone, so it falls to me. Isobel will come around too, in time. It’s good for the both of you that I’ve always considered myself a teacher before anything else.”

Jones got to his feet.

What the fuck was Michael thinking? He rose along with him, but Jones had the advantage, and he seized Michael by the temples before he could get to his full height.

“All the things you haven’t seen, haven’t felt or learned—” Jones enthused, “You, your sister, your brother, all your raw potential…I’m so glad you’re finally ready to take the first step toward seeing it realized.”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

One hand wrenched tighter in Michael’s hair as the other snatched his wrist. He shook it in front of Michael’s eyes, face serious, voice booming.

“This? Is sacrilege.”

His nail scraped the thin skin of Michael’s wrist as he shoved a finger between the cord and him and yanked, then tossed the broken trinket away.

“Now, don’t struggle. This may hurt a little, but pain, I’ve found, is a powerful teacher.”

His hands began to glow, searing into Michael’s skin, so bright his eyes streamed, and he gasped for air in the heat and the pain, writhing in Jones’s grip, thrashing, but Jones gripped him tight and poured light into him.

It went on for seconds, an eternity, seven decades of lonely torture, then the light died, and Jones took his hands away, and Michael fell.

Every cell burned, an ant crawling, biting beneath his skin, in triple vision he stared at his shaking hands expecting to see his veins lit from inside, imprinted on his visual receptors shifting gold and pink and violet, scrawled with shimmering symbols, words he could read, words that had meaning that capsized under the next wave, he couldn’t grab hold of it, not for pain and not for wisdom, there was no order, sign and signifier, his mind was a symphony in a single note, cacophonous, fundamental, elemental, atomic disorder of minutes compressed to an instant.

He was screaming. He heard screaming. The sky was red and he held himself, screaming. The sky was blue, and he remembered screaming.

“M-M-M-i-i-i-c-c-c-h-h-h-a-a-a-e-e-e-l-l-l—"

Three voices spoke to him—he heard them three times. There had to be three, and there were, bending over him, hurting hands outstretched.

Get away! he cried, but it left his mouth as a wordless howl, and he flung out a hand, sending Jones flying away from him, slamming against the far wall of the cave.

While he was stunned, Michael scrambled to his feet—got himself moving, somehow, trapped in the chaos and agony he had no sense left of his own body, but he propelled it down the tunnel, stumbling and catching himself and where his hand hit the wall he left behind a handprint of pearlescent glass. He let out a moan of confusion and dread but couldn’t do anything but carry on, toward the sky.

The storm was loud enough to drown out whispers, cold enough to sting and soothe his skin, and he threw his head back to drown in the relief, rain in his eyes, in his ears and nose and mouth as he panted to the sky.

His vision still wove triple, in and out, but—had to get away—he staggered toward his truck anyway, but he lifted his foot, put it down, again, third time, then he was blinking, collapsing, clutching a slat of wood—park bench—center of town, how did he—he stepped again, and—gone.

When he landed he fell to his hands and knees, scraped them, parking lot, stared at his blood on the outside, until more blood joined the grit on the heels of his palms, and the agony, in three waves, poured out his mouth, out his nose, out his eyes, and there was only one thing he could do.

He screamed for his brother, for the healer, for Max.

He forced himself upright and—had to trust—where to put his feet—he sent himself to safety, to shelter, home.

#my fic #malex fic #roswell new mexico #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #things we could burn in one go (eminence)

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bettydice · 3 years

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I didn’t expect you to be lonely (too)

Xicheng, Modern AU, JC&WWX reconciliation, E-Rated

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 8

On Thursday, they meet in front of the park where they first kissed. Lan Xichen greets him with a smile, gratefully accepting the tea Jiang Cheng had bought for him at the café. Jiang Cheng went with a plain black coffee today, himself. Since they’re not ‘dating’, he doesn’t have to pretend his coffee orders are interesting, which is a stupid thought he shouldn’t have had in the first place anyway. Today, they should just do whatever they want and whatever they’re comfortable with.

For once, it’s not raining. The sun bathes everything in a golden glow and the air is crisp and clear. They walk hand in hand, sipping their hot beverages. They don’t talk much, simply enjoy this lovely autumn day together. Jiang Cheng isn’t used to taking walks without a purpose or a destination. He likes it, a lot. Likes just looking. Likes spending time with someone without the need to fill the silence with words. Well, and he likes Lan Xichen. A lot.

Once they’ve circled the park twice, they walk back to Lan Xichen’s apartment, where Jiang Cheng attends to the duties he has as someone who was ‘claimed’ by a bunny. Lan Xichen gives him some treats he can spoil Cloud with while petting her thoroughly, while Lan Xichen (spends some time with Jade). They keep sitting on the floor even after the bunnies have lost interest in their services and hopped away to explore the territory under the coffee table. The sun is shining through the window, perfectly illuminating a square for them to sit in. Lan Xichen leans back on his hands and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth. He looks deeply content and so fucking beautiful, it’s almost painful.

Jiang Cheng feels the overwhelming urge to touch him. He’d like to run a finger over the bridge of Lan Xichen’s nose, his lips, down his neck. Wants to know what Lan Xichen’s smile feels like. Wants to caress the strong line of his jaw. He’s not quite sure why, and he’s sure Lan Xichen would be weirded out if he actually did it, so he doesn’t. Instead, he contents himself with simply looking. Traces the contours of Lan Xichen’s face with his eyes, not his fingers.

Naturally, Lan Xichen opens his eyes the exact moment Jiang Cheng’s eyes lovingly follow the soft curve of his upper lip. He flushes, but before the full force of his embarrassment can hit him, Lan Xichen scoots closer, gently pulls him closer by his neck, and kisses him.

Jiang Cheng touches him then, lifts one hand and cradles Lan Xichen’s face. Strokes his thumb across his jaw, his cheek. And that’s when he does feel it, feels Lan Xichen’s lips pull into a smile against Jiang Cheng’s mouth, feels his cheek move under his thumb. He wants to -

The doorbell rings.

Lan Xichen immediately lets go of him and sits up straight. Jiang Cheng would like to give whoever interrupted them a few choice words. Lan Xichen looks confused for a second, then looks at his watch and … seems to suppress a curse. “I… did not realise it was so late already. That’s… that’s my brother, we’re having dinner together…”

“Ah, okay… Oh!” Jiang Cheng sits up, wants to follow Lan Xichen, who jumps to his feet, smoothing out his clothes. “Should I…?” What should he do? Hide in the bathroom? Jump down from the balcony? Which is a ridiculous thought. They’re not some kind of dirty secret… The instinct to hide is there anyway.

“Oh, no… just stay here with the bunnies.” Lan Xichen squeezes his shoulder and rushes out of the room. “Don’t worry!”

Don’t worry? Unlikely. And indeed, his brain immediately comes up with a fuckton of worries: Lan Xichen’s brother! He doesn’t know they’re together! But he probably knows who Jiang Cheng is! And only knows bad things about Jiang Cheng, because whatever Wei Wuxian told him can’t be good! What if he doesn’t like Jiang Cheng and then Lan Xichen can’t be with him anymore? What if -

His panic spiral gets interrupted by Cloud, who lovingly gnaws on his finger. Clearly a demand for more pets. He immediately takes her back in his lap, grateful for the interruption.

He can hear Lan Xichen open the door. It’s not too late to go hide somewhere. Maybe he could squeeze himself under the couch.

“Wangji! You’re early!”

Granted, Jiang Cheng may be a little paranoid right now, but Lan Xichen sounds breathless, the kind of breathless people are in dramas when they try to pretend they do not have their secret lover over in front of their strict mother who’d frown upon pre-marital relations.

“I’m two minutes late.” Oh no, oh fuck, this is going to be a disaster. Lan Wangji’s voice is calm and doesn’t carry any particular emotion, certainly no anger or criticism, but... it makes Jiang Cheng feel like he did something wrong.

Lan Xichen laughs, clearly nervous. A beat of silence.

“You have a visitor?” Right, his shoes. He’s definitely seen this exact scenario in a drama before.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I forgot the time.”

“You said you didn’t have to work today.” Lan Wangji’s voice hasn’t changed at all, but Jiang Cheng still winces in sympathy.

“Well… it’s not work.”

“I see.”

More silence. Jiang Cheng wishes he could see their facial expressions, because their voices don’t tell him how things are going. He can only make assumptions, which is… not helpful. Jiang Cheng begins calculating whether he would survive a jump from the balcony. It’s possible he’d just break a leg. That’d be fine, he can handle a broken leg.

“Should I… leave?”

“Oh, no! Sorry, please come in!” Lan Xichen sounds… a tad too bright to be natural.

The door closes. Presumably after Lan Wangji has fully come in.

“This is for you. And this is from Wei Ying. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you! That’s very kind.”

Wait, what? What… Birthday? Wei Wuxian is giving Lan Xichen birthday presents via Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng didn’t even know it was his birthday! Today!? Why didn’t he know? Did Lan Xichen mention it? He doesn’t think so!!!??? But he wanted to meet today? Maybe he did mention it and Jiang Cheng didn’t notice???

There’s movement in the hallway and Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet, clutching Cloud to his body like a grumpy security blanket.

Just when he has the thought “What am I doing, I should put Cloud down so I can greet Lan Wangji properly”, Lan Xichen returns to the living room. His brother enters behind him.

Even if he hadn’t known that they’re related, he’d have suspected it. Lan Wangji is just as tall and handsome, but in a more… distant way. Even though Lan Wangji’s face is as carefully blank as his voice, Jiang Cheng immediately feels judged. His eyes rest on Jiang Cheng only for a second, before turning to his brother, waiting for an introduction.

“Wangji, this is Jiang Wanyin, he’s-”

“Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Wangji turns the full force of his gaze to Jiang Cheng. He should’ve jumped off the balcony. “You’re Jiang Cheng.”

Not a question. A judgement.

“Uh… yes. Nice to meet you.” Jiang Cheng forces himself to smile but Lan Wangji… does not seem pleased at all to meet him. If looks could kill, Jiang Cheng would already be dead and coming back as a ghost to haunt Lan Wangji, because what the fuck! Lan Wangji looks as though he wants to fucking deck him! He’s carrying a bunny, he can’t get punched right now!

Lan Wangji manages to hold back his bloodlust and within seconds, his face is back to being completely expressionless. He turns to his brother and says, no, spits out: “Jiang Cheng?”

Woooooooooooow, okay. That was clearly ‘Jiang Cheng is the guy you’ve been meeting? Of all the people in the world? I expected better from you, brother, and demand you throw him out right this instant.’

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen frowns at his brother. Has Jiang Cheng ever seen him frown before?

The brothers have a silent conversation for a few seconds that ends with Lan Xichen sighing and Lan Wangji turning around and stalking towards Jiang Cheng. Fuck, he’s going to get punched in the fucking face.

He does not get punched. Instead, Lan Wangji takes Cloud away from Jiang Cheng and carries her out on the balcony.

What the actual fuck? According to this guy, Jiang Cheng is not good enough for Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen or a bunny. And this guy is Lan Xichen’s brother. This is… not going great!

Jiang Cheng turns toward Lan Xichen with an incredulous expression. Lan Xichen has stepped closer, so he can put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“I’m sorry. Wangji just… needs a little time to process.” He smiles, though it’s a strained one, and inclines his head in apology.

Jiang Cheng is not optimistic that 'time to process' will help get rid of the visceral dislike in Lan Wangji’s eyes, but well… they don't know each other. It’s possible this is how Lan Wangji looks at everyone he meets. Doubtful, but... He gives Lan Xichen a - probably unconvincing - smile.

“This is really not how I wanted this to go. I’m sorry.” Lan Xichen sighs and drops his hand. He looks so unhappy... He should never be unhappy, especially not on his fucking birthday! Jiang Cheng tries to get his shit together and make his smile more convincing. He takes Lan Xichen’s hand and squeezes it. Before he can convince Lan Xichen that this situation is in fact all Jiang Cheng’s fault, Lan Wangji returns. His frosty gaze falls on their linked hands. Lan Xichen tightens his grip instead of letting go, Jiang Cheng tries to not look surprised.

“Wangji, would you like some tea?”

Lan Wangji looks at his brother, hesitates for a second, nods, then picks up Jade and carries her out to the balcony as well.

“Does he think I’m going to fucking steal them, or what?” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath.

Lan Xichen huffs a laugh. “No, it’s just… They’re his bunnies and you’re a stranger.”

“Mhm. And he hates me.”

“He doesn’t, don’t worry.”

“Well, he definitely wants to punch me.”

“But he won’t.”

Lan Xichen smiles, no, smirks at him and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, even though he has to laugh. He also wants to kiss Lan Xichen, but Lan Wangji returns from his bunny rescue mission and Jiang Cheng likes Lan Xichen more than he wants to irritate Lan Wangji.

Five minutes later, they’re sitting around the couch table for the most awkward teatime Jiang Cheng has attended in a long time. Lan Wangji has taken to not looking at him at all, which is somehow even more offensive than his “how dare you touch my bunnies with your dirty hands” looks.

Lan Xichen, who has so far unsuccessfully tried to get a conversation going, sets down his teacup maybe a bit more forcefully than necessary and looks at his brother, jaw set with determination. “So-”

“Did you order already? It’s almost half past six, we don’t want to eat too late.”

“I put in the order this morning already, the food will be here in about ten minutes.” Lan Xichen actually sounds irritated. It’s a polite kind of irritation, but still.

“Will he be joining us?” Lan Wangji says, of course without looking at Jiang Cheng.

Honestly? Fuck this dude! Jiang Cheng sets down his cup as well and gives Lan Wangji his best fake smile. “Actually, I’ll be leaving now. I still have some work to do for class tomorrow.”

He doesn’t. Well, he does, but he wasn’t planning on doing it. But staying here seems like a very bad idea. Lan Xichen opens his mouth, clearly wants to protest, but Jiang Cheng gets up before he can say anything. Lan Wangji gets up as well and nods goodbye to a spot on the wall above Jiang Cheng’s left shoulder. Lan Xichen gives him an exasperated look, then accompanies Jiang Cheng to the door.

Jiang Cheng does his best to appear relaxed and unbothered by asshole brothers who hate him while putting on his jacket and shoes. Going by the look on Lan Xichen’s face, he didn’t fully succeed. Jiang Cheng smiles extra hard as he reaches for his scarf, but Lan Xichen grabs it first.

He wraps the scarf around Jiang Cheng’s neck, worry pulling his eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, this is not-"

"It's okay, don't worry." Jiang Cheng rests his hands on Lan Xichen’s and tries to smile the way his sister would. "You should have a nice dinner with your brother and not worry about anything."

"He's not… " Lan Xichen starts, then stops, obviously at a loss as to what exactly his brother isn’t. Hostile? A bit of an asshole? Full of hatred towards Jiang Cheng and only partially justified to feel that way? “I hope you have a nice evening, too. You shouldn’t worry either.”

Still unlikely, but Jiang Cheng gives him a reassuring nod. Lan Xichen seems to be content with that, because the smile finally returns to his face and he tucks in the ends of Jiang Cheng’s scarf before letting go.

After saying goodbye, Jiang Cheng turns around to leave, but then remembers he almost forgot something very, very important. He turns around again, leans forward, rests his hand on Lan Xichen’s chest and kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

Lan Xichen exhales softly, surprised. Then he smiles at Jiang Cheng, warmly, his whole face lighting up. Ah… this definitely helps dispel some of his worries. “Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng very intently tries not to think of anything until he gets home. He takes off his shoes and jacket. Takes off the scarf and carefully hangs it up. He sits down on his couch, checks his phone for messages. There aren’t any. Alright. Then...

What the fuck? What the fuck was that? Why does Lan Xichen’s brother hate him? Jiang Cheng didn’t even do anything yet, isn’t it too early to hate him? What… what did Wei Wuxian tell him? It must have been bad, for Lan Wangji to react so strongly. Is he currently telling those things to Lan Xichen? Is he telling him to stop seeing Jiang Cheng?

His mind conjures an image of Lan Wangji taking away Lan Xichen from him like he did with Cloud and carrying him out to the balcony. Despite everything, he has to laugh, though it sounds slightly hysterical. Why is family so… Why is family?

He lies down on the couch and looks at his phone. He opens Wei Wuxian’s Selfie Of The Day and studies it intently, as though it hides the answer to his questions. But there are no answers to be gained, it’s just a picture of Wei Wuxian’s face. He’s smiling, but it’s a very standard Wei Wuxian smile. The background is blurry, so there’s nothing to analyze there.

Wei Wuxian, do you really hate me?

Just a few days ago, Jiang Cheng had arrived at a very different conclusion, was getting comfortable with the idea of contacting his brother, was feeling hopeful...

But Lan Wangji had looked at him so coldly.

Fuck this shit. He’s going to stop thinking about it, it’s not like that has ever helped him.

Jiang Cheng scours his kitchen for food and ends up eating a bag of chips for dinner. (Some kind of weird novelty flavour that has a very fishy aftertaste -- he should stop buying things just because they’re on sale.) He's still hungry after, so he makes some ramen.

Tomorrow, he should really go out and buy proper groceries. He distracts himself by making a very elaborate shopping list and planning his meals for the next few days. It's highly unlikely he’ll actually follow through on this, but at least he’s considering it.

While trying to think of something else he can distract himself with, he remembers the stuff for uni and decides to forget about it again immediately. Instead, he starts cleaning his kitchen.

Sadly, there’s not much to clean, the rest of his flat is pretty tidy, too (except for Wei Wuxian’s room, which he will not enter). When did he turn into a tidy person? He can’t remember the last time he looked around his flat and thought ‘what a mess’, which used to be a weekly occurrence.

… Maybe this is connected to him feeling a strong urge to clean whenever he sits down to do something for his degree. Maybe.

With nothing left to clean, he returns to the couch with his laptop in hand. Somehow, he gets sucked into watching a bunch of videos by a vet explaining how to best care for different pets. He only intended to watch the bunny videos, but suddenly it’s an hour later and he’s watching “10 Things You Should Consider Before Getting A Pet Snake”.

Suddenly, his phone rings. His sister is the only one who calls him, but it's 9 p.m., and she never calls so late. Unless it’s an emergency?

He almost falls from the couch trying to grab his phone without getting up.

It's Lan Xichen.

"Hello?" Jiang Cheng sits upright, trying to sound like he spent the past few hours doing something productive.

"Wanyin, hello, it's me, Lan Xichen."

"Yes… Hello. Is… everything okay?" Why is he calling him? It’s probably bad news, right? He is going to break up with him. His brother convinced him that Jiang Cheng is the worst, and-

"I'm sorry, it's too late to be calling you isn't it? I should have sent a message first. I can call you tomorrow-"

"No, it's okay! Don't worry, I go to bed pretty late. Is something the matter? Did… the dinner with your brother not go well?"

"Oh, it was nice! Well, mostly. I was just worried about you. I feel bad about how that all went down. You must’ve been very taken aback. I hope you don’t think-”

"It's really not your fault! It just was bad timing. And you would’ve told your brother earlier, if it wasn’t for me and the whole Wei Wuxian situation. I understand why your brother was so…” Well, he can sort of understand it. He still thinks ripping Cloud out of his hands was an asshole move!

"Wangji was just surprised. And, well, he likes Wei Wuxian a lot. And, hm… he’s very protective. Of us both.”

"I understand. Wei Wuxian must have told him that I’m... told him what happened, so of course he dislikes me. He would not want someone like me to be with you." Jiang Cheng had not meant to put it so bluntly, but it’s too late to take it back now. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Lan Xichen to confirm this.

“Ah… You must be worried about what exactly Wei Wuxian told my brother,” Lan Xichen says softly.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply to that, which seems to be answer enough. Lan Xichen’s next words are urgent, almost rushed.

“It’s not what you think, Wanyin. Wangji knew about the situation, but it seems Wei Wuxian prefers not to talk about it. And he seems to think it’s his fault, which Wangji disagrees with, and that’s why he was so… Don’t take this as a sign your brother wouldn’t want to see you. If anything, this is even more reason for you to talk to him!”

Jiang Cheng really doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t expect these words at all. This is quite different from how calmly Lan Xichen reacted after Jiang Cheng had poured out his heart about the Wei Wuxian situation.

“I… You’re right, I was worried about that. I’ll try to… maybe just forget this happened. I’m sure the next time I meet your brother, he’ll even let me hold Cloud for a few minutes.”

He said that to lighten the mood, to make Lan Xichen laugh, but it’s quiet on the other end. Did he sound like he didn’t mean it? Was his tone sarcastic or bitter?

“Are you… really okay?” For some reason, Jiang Cheng has to think about Lan Xichen in the café, pale and with shaking hands.

At the other end of the line, Lan Xichen draws in a deep breath. “Yes, of course, sorry… You… I... “ He takes another deep breath, then gives an embarrassed laugh. “I think I managed to talk myself into a little anxiety spiral in the past twenty minutes. You’re… you’re not mad at me, right?”

“What? Why would I be mad at you? What the fuck?!” Jiang Cheng gives his phone an incredulous look. “If anything, you should be mad at me!”

“Of course not! But ah… I don’t know. I had the thought maybe you were displeased about how you had to meet Wangji without warning… “ Before Jiang Cheng can protest, Lan Xichen continues, almost stumbling over his words, as though they’re leaving his mouth without his permission. “Which was my mistake, I forgot the time, or I could’ve just told you he was coming for dinner but I didn’t because in my mind that meant telling you it was my birthday, which I didn’t want, because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to buy a present or had to spend time with me, even if maybe you didn’t have time or weren’t feeling up to it anymore or…”

Jiang Cheng, who is very familiar with a brain that goes on tangents like that, tries to channel his sister’s best understanding-and-loving-but-firm voice. “Xichen-ge… I’m not mad at you. Not at all. I had a great time with you this afternoon and while meeting your brother was, uhm, quite the experience, it didn’t fill me with more doubts and worries than I manage to give myself every other day.”

“...Okay. Thank you.” Lan Xichen laughs again, a little less embarrassed this time. “Ah, I was calling you to reassure you, not the other way around.”

“You did though! You were right, I was actually spending the evening actively avoiding thinking about that stuff, because I knew I’d just freak myself out.” Jiang Cheng wishes he could hold his hand, hug him, just… look at his face to see whether he’s feeling better. “Was I able to reassure you, though?”

“Mhm, yes.” A short pause. “Do you… could we maybe switch to a video call? If you don’t want-”

“Yeah, sure!” Jiang Cheng immediately pulls back his shoulders, runs a hand through his hair and smoothes his shirt, before holding his phone in front of him and switching to video. Lan Xichen’s face appears on the screen, smiling. Jiang Cheng smiles, too. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Lan Xichen gives a cute little wave, Jiang Cheng returns the wave and they both have to laugh. Then they just look at each other without saying anything, smiling. Eventually, Jiang Cheng relaxes and the nervous energy seems to have left Lan Xichen as well, as far as he can tell.

"Happy birthday again."

"Thank you."

"I hope it was a good day? Despite…" Jiang Cheng grimaces and wiggles his fingers.

"Yes, it was! I… am also perfectly capable to give myself worries all by myself, every other day. So this is just business as usual."

"WYou can call me the next time it happens, too,"Jiang Cheng says without thinking. He cringes. "Well, if it would help."

"Seeing your face always makes me feel better," Lan Xichen says with a completely straight face. What the fuck? Since it's a video call, Lan Xichen can see Jiang Cheng's dumbfounded face. He chuckles. "I mean it, Wanyin."

"Well, if you like it so much, you should let me do something for your birthday," Jiang Cheng sputters. That doesn't really make sense, but what Lan Xichen is saying isn't making sense either. "From now on, you better tell me about any birthdays you have, or anything else you want to celebrate!"

Lan Xichen nods, clearly amused. "Alright. Though I promise, I only have this one birthday."

"Even more reason to celebrate it properly," Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but smiles. "Okay, do you have time this Saturday? We can go somewhere nice, or if you don't want to go out, I can cook you a nice dinner here."

Lan Xichen widens his eyes in surprise. "Oh! Yes, Saturday works. I'd… I'd love that."

"Good! It's a date then! Well, a not-date… whatever!"

Lan Xichen looks at him for a second with a soft smile. Then, the smile deepens. "I do really like your face very much."

Jiang Cheng frowns at the camera and is glad it isn't really picking up that he's blushing.He’s never been known for being able to graciously accept compliments, so instead he replies with a needlessly aggressive-sounding: “Good, because you’ll be seeing it a lot!”

Lan Xichen doesn’t even look surprised this time, he simply starts laughing and Jiang Cheng soon joins him.

They talk a lot that evening. Lan Xichen tells him about what they had for dinner and the presents he received today. Apparently Wei Wuxian drew him a picture of the bunnies surrounded by plants, which is really sweet if he ignores the weird feeling squirming in his chest when he thinks about Wei Wuxian giving presents to Lan Xichen, his probably-boyfriend.

They talk until Jiang Cheng - now lying on his side on the couch, phone propped up on the coffee table - feels his eyes begin to droop. On the other end, Lan Xichen has to yawn and they finally end the call at 10:30 p.m.

When Jiang Cheng falls asleep that night, he does so with the utmost certainty that he’s deeply in love with Lan Xichen. And still utterly terrified of talking to his brother. But the first is larger and more important than the latter.

#xicheng #the untamed #Jiang Cheng #Lan Xichen #cql #mdzs #modern au #To Meet You verse #betty drabbles

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aros001 · 3 years

Text

Read through light novel vol. 16. Random thoughts.

"Who is this OC looking f**kboy?"

Those were genuinely my first thoughts upon seeing the art of Takt on the throne. And it would seem my immediate dislike was not unfounded.

Seriously though, everything about him is like someone's self-insert original character for their shitty power fantasy Shield Hero fanfic.

"He dresses really cool, like all modern with jeans and pockets, and he can use all the holy weapons and vassal weapons, and his level is above 300, and he has a harem of totally hot powerful women, and he's the king of his own country, and he can counter everything that people use against him, and he can steal powers he doesn't have, and he can beat Naofumi and all the other heroes with, like, no sweat at all!"

I want All For One to come in and kick this little twerp's ass. Show him what a real OP villain who can steal powers is like.

This isn't a critique of the writing by the way. It feels like Takt is supposed to feel like that kind of character who plays to those tropes and is REALLY easy to hate.

I both do and don't like how Naofumi is acting in the prologue. Obviously I don't like specifically what he's doing because it's creepy and uncomfortable, but I really like the reasons for why. The dude is fried from everything that's happened and unlike Itsuki it's not because of a curse. He's grieving from a heavy loss, easily the biggest he's had since coming to this world, and unlike with Ost's death he has no one he can yet focus his anger on, so he's feeling completely lost and mixed up. Another great moment from Sadeena in helping him regain at least some of his sanity. Sex is a common way people try to find comfort after a terrible loss and if that had been the case I think she would have slept with him or even encouraged Raphtalia to be the one for that. But she could see pretty clearly that wasn't the case. Naofumi wasn't looking for comfort. He was practically a zombie, just going through the motions.

“It seems that from among the four holy heroes, the Shield and Bow have been most active over there. Based on their level of activity, there’s also a bias in the legends about the seven star heroes. They mainly talk about the Hammer, Claws, and Whip.” A bias. The Shield and Bow did complement each other well, that was true.

F**k that! Sword and Shield, BroTP!

“Putting that together with what we learned in Kizuna’s world, it sounds like the effects of the fusing of worlds,” I pondered. There was a wave that had combined the Shield world with the Bow world, and then the Shield and Bow world had been fused with the Sword and Spear world to create the current one. It was only natural that a bias in the legends would arise.

"Worlds lived, worlds died. And nothing will ever be the same."

I've talked before that I'm a big fan of the concept of a Multiverse in fiction, especially in superhero comics. Right away I liked that the four Holy Heroes came from different parallel universes and then getting Glass and L'Arc showed that there were also parallel fantasy universes also fighting the waves. And now we get this theory from the characters that Raphtalia's universe is an amalgam, made up of other previous universes that fused through the waves. It's very Crisis on Infinite Earths and JLA/Avengers.

Reading Queen Melromarc describe the king of Faubrey and I'm just remember a scene that I and many Overlord fans love to the depths of our hearts, of Sebas the butler encountering a naked little fat man who got his sexual thrills off beating the women the brothel provided him. Sebas, like any true gentleman, kicked him in the dick so hard he exploded. Is there some to hope that a similar fate befell the king whom apparently married and killed (and probably even worse than that) 9,999 women? Not even Witch deserves that. Nobody deserves that.

Even though it'd probably take him to a dark place he shouldn't go, part of me was hoping for some karma to occur when Witch revealed herself as Takt's ally to Naofumi. He no longer had the shield, meaning he could attack her like he never could before, meaning he could kill her with his bare hands. I'm glad he used the defense rating attack on Takt, because there's been great long-time set-up for that, but yeah, I wanted Naofumi to at least get to break Witch's nose after everything he's been through. And if Witch wasn't irredemable before, she most certainly is now, proving she has no loyalty to anyone other than herself. She used Naofumi and the other heroes from the beginning for her own goals. Her mother had enough control that she couldn't just do whatever she wanted. And Melty was standing in the way of her getting the throne. She's still a terrible person but there were at least reasons for her to be against these people. But Trash? Her father, who has been loyal and on her side since the beginning, who doted and spoiled her from a young age because of how much he loved her? She had no hesitation in ordering him killed along with everyone else. There was no reason behind it. It was just pure cruelly, greed, and self-satisfaction.

And then...there's the Queen. ...F**k. Y'all bastards were really good at keeping that spoiler hidden. I was accidentally spoiled that Alta was going to die but not through this site. I had no idea the Queen was going to die. Of course Naofumi couldn't have the Shield during that part. If he made Mirellia into a shield like he did Ost and Alta he probably would be unstoppable, because she was just that f**king awesome.

We're pouring one out for you, your majesty. May your youngest daughter inherit your great wisdom and unbelievably hilarious slapping ability.

I'm really glad with Trash's development in this book. Like I've said in past posts, I can feel basic empathy for him given his backstory, but feeling sorry for him was not enough to actually put me on his side, because he was not putting in any work to actually be better or redeem himself. He was just acting angry and crazy and then just sad and withered. Here? While he had to be shaken and roused into it (can't blame him for that as he just lost the love of his life), he puts in the effort to make use of himself and holds himself accountable for his past actions. I really like that he wants to continue being called Trash. That is his penance. Not more feeling sorry for himself or blaming the rest of the world. It's time for him to be the man he knows he's supposed to be.

With all that though, Melty was definitely the person I felt the worst for after the death. Of all the younger characters, despite being royalty and mature for her age, she is the person who feels the most like a real kid, and her crying her eyes out while clinging to Naofumi hurt just like it should, because this little girl just lost her mom. No idea what the expectation is in Melromarc for when Melty should take the throne but for her it's always going to feel too soon, because how could it not?

“Daddy . . . thank you for approving my marriage. You’ve finally agreed to let me marry Ollie,” she said dreamily.

“I’ll make you forget this ‘Ollie’ soon enough, although his keeping you a virgin for so long is something to be thankful for!” Takt cackled. It was clear that he was using some kind of illusion to make her think he was her beloved. “Those who don’t give proper thought to their daughters’ happiness have no right to live!”

Oh good! He's a rapist too!

So Naofumi was the Shield's first choice and the other three were the Bow, Sword, and Spear's third choices. I like the credit that's given that the first choice is not guaranteed to be the best, as they can become just as corrupt or egotistical, or the third choices are not guaranteed to be the worst, as they can grow into real heroes. I'm just wondering how the selection process worked and why they all couldn't get their first choices. The Holy Weapons apparently have some sway over the universes they pulled them from, given the promise of granting wishes if they want to return to them. My immediate theory is that the weapons all set up paths that'd lead their choices to being summoned but just through sheer coincidence and randomness all the first choices, save for Naofumi, kept missing the path. Going down the list, the weapons become more desperate and thus are more willing to use more extremes to get their choices, thus why Ren, Motoyasu, and Itsuki had to be killed in order to be summoned. They missed their window with their first and second choices so now they absolutely have to guarantee they get their third, even if the methods are less than ethical.

With the big final boss, the World Eater as Naofumi called it, I'm theorizing that he/she/it is using the waves to fuse multiple universes into one so that he/she/it can eat it all in one go.

I only have two issues with this volume and they're both kind of nitpicks. The first is with Trash's plan, specifically with the Glawick ore. I don't remember it ever being established before in the series. I really liked the Rucolu fruit being used in the Cal Mira wave battle because it was set up way beforehand, so it feels like a lot less of a Deus ex Machina. Same with Naofumi using defense rating attacks after his battle with Glass. That's good set-up. The ore doesn't break the story, it just feels very convenient that such a thing happened to exist. If I'm mistaken and it was set-up before and I just forgot, please let me know.

The second is Naofumi and Raphtalia being separated again after a trip into another universe. The story next volume seems like it'll be very different from last time but that part does feel like a repeat of what we've already seen. Plus, with the new status quo of Naofumi knowing how she feels about him, I want to see their interactions now that he's recovered a bit from the loss of Alta. Again, it's a nitpick, since I'm certain they'll find each other again, but I don't like feeling like I'm being deliberately kept away from what I want to see.

“The source of your power, the one true hero, now orders you. Reconsider the state of all things once more and bring down a storm of flame upon my target! Drifa Firestorm!” Takt completed the spell.

...

“The source of your power, just a hero, now orders you. Reconsider the state of all things once more and scatter the storm that would burn its target! Anti Drifa Firestorm!” I read the magic Takt had incanted and activated magic to nullify it. With that, the fire tornado scattered into nothing, as though it had never existed.

Biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!

“I’m here to destroy everything you possess,” I menaced quietly. “Your pride, your dignity, everything you treasure. I’ve already half-destroyed your composure and your arrogance. Now it’s time for the other half. False hero, possessing six of the seven star weapons and the shield from the four holy weapons! Now face the reality of being defeated by a regular guy who holds none of the legendary weapons!”

No wonder Raphtalia couldn't be in this part. After hearing that line I don't think she'd be able to hold herself back and would have tackled him like a wild Albedo in heat right then and there.

I am so looking forward to when this volume's final battle is animated, especially the part where Naofumi gets his shield back. That is going to feel like such an epic, heroic moment.

So Rishia unlocked Pay-to-Win. ...I don't really know what to say to that. What do ancient magical relics care about money? ("What does God need with a starship?")

So the person Malty had Ren give a sword lesson to back in vol. 11, was that Takt, King Faubrey, or someone we don't know yet, like the mastermind behind everything?

Is Kizuna marked for death now? From how Fitora made it sound to Naofumi, when a Holy Hero dies a new one can't be summoned if the others are still around. If Kizuna's world works similarly, she might have to die or there'll be no Holy Heroes other than her.

Naofumi really likes his Dragon Ball Z, doesn't he? Which is appropriate given I just realized that the Energy Blast from the Spirit Tortoise Shield is almost literally the Kamehameha. Seriously, Kamehameha translates to "Turtle Destruction Wave".

So...what the heck do I do now? I've spent about a month reading through 16 volumes of Naofumi's rise and I know there are at least 6 other volumes that haven't been translated to english yet. I'll probably go find another LN series to read until vol. 17 comes out in July. Though I am curious if RoTSH has a fan translation site like Overlord and Konosuba do.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/fot3tj/read_through_light_novel_vol_16_random_thoughts/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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Lesson In Love (Gigi x Jackie) - Mina

A/N: So excited to participate in one of these challenges again, you treated me so well last time so I’m so excited to release this! Ty so so much to @dollalpaca for being an angel and betaing

Summary: Gigi may or may not be failing her music studies class. She also may or may not have caught feelings for the pretty Persian woman that offered to tutor her. Maybe. She’ll never tell.

“Janet,” Gigi groaned, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch as she rolled over and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was leopard-printed, a gift from Jan to themselves from when they moved into the apartment. “Do you think ‘Intro to Floral Arrangement’ sounds like an easy class? Or do you know anyone who’s taken it?”

“Isn’t it an evening class? I feel like we went over that one like… twenty minutes ago.” The blonde hummed from the floor, not bothering to look up. She was probably right, too. She had her own laptop in front of her, in the process of color-coding her online calendar. Blue for lectures, green for labs and purple for choir practices. Gigi had seen her do this enough times - every semester since they met on move-in day their first year - to be able to recognize the blocks in her schedule at a glance. Sometimes it motivated her knowing that Jan could be so on top of things while also being the most chaotic person Gigi knew, other times it made her want to die and be reborn into someone who could organise her sock draw by diameter.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She frowned, letting out a deep sigh and closing the tab. Goodbye, department of nature studies. So long, her potential florist career.

The thing was, Gigi knew she couldn’t really afford to be particularly picky with only five days before the registration period ended, but still. At least, she thought, she’d long been enrolled in all her textile-related classes for the semester. She was looking forward to most of them too, especially the design ones. Really, it was just that one additional stupid arts gen ed course she needed to get out of the way, and then she’d be free for good.

“How about ‘Art of Listening’?” Gigi asked a few minutes later, reading over the course information. She heard the sound of Jan typing on her keyboard come to a halt. “That kinda sounds like a class for people that want to become therapists or something. Or marriage counsellors?”

“Maybe people that are gonna need marriage counselling, sure,” Jan replied, her typing picking up again.

Gigi laughed, running a hand through her hair and looking back at her screen. “It doesn’t seem too bad, y’know. Just two papers and a final.” She hummed, scrolling through last year’s syllabus. “And it’s actually about music, I could totally do that.”

“Wait, who’s the prof for it?”

“Uh… something-Nguyen I think?“ Gigi paused as she scrolled back up. “Yeah, Andrew Nguyen, why?”

“Oh, that’s the one!” Jan nodded happily. “Rock took it last semester, I think. I remember her talking about it when we first met, she was always complaining about the prof who—”

“Great, you should have just lead with that.” Gigi rolled her eyes as she closed the tab. Rock was one of the more easy going people she’d ever met when it came to that stuff, so she couldn’t imagine what a prof that annoyed her would be like. Probably awful, or at least had a bad taste in anime. A soft but slightly damp piece of fabric hit her in the nose before falling down in front of her, disheartened. She scrunched up her nose in distaste when she realised what Jan just threw at her.

“Why are you throwing your dirty socks at me?” Gigi screeched, picking it up and throwing it back in the blonde’s general direction. “And why is it wet?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” She rolled her eyes pointedly, leaning to grab the sock again. It was a little too far for her to reach, and Gigi watched her stubbornly wiggle to the side until she could close her fingers around it. She smiled victoriously, huffing a little as she leaned back against the couch and made herself stand up straight. “As I was saying,” she started again, enunciating carefully.

“Before I rudely interrupted you.” Gigi grinned down, picking at her nails.

“Yes, before you did indeed do that,” Jan huffed, “Rock took it last semester. And she was always annoyed because the prof didn’t always let them use their laptops in class, but she also said that it was really easy. Most of the time they just had to listen to some music and write about how it made them feel, that sort of stuff.”

“That sounds pretty easy.”

“Right?” Jan nodded excitedly, “And I think she mentioned one of her friends is taking it this semester too. A senior, so she’s probably in the same boat as you.”

Gigi didn’t think that’d make much of a difference, but she didn’t bother telling Jan that. It wasn’t like the class had group projects anyway, so she could hopefully get by with just showing to most lectures and turning in the assignments.

“I really should have done this over the summer, you were right about that,” she exhaled, shutting her laptop and falling back into the couch. She could have gotten those mandatory art electives outside of her major done as a freshmen, or even last year, like most other students in her program did.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,“ Jan chuckled, moving closer until she could rest her head comfortably on Gigi’s shoulder, blonde hair falling all over her face. “You’ll do great, because you always do; you’re talented, but you also work hard. So you’re gonna ace all your actual photography classes, pass this one, and be done with all your dumb degree requirements. And then next year you can take all the textiles classes you want, I’ll take all the music production classes I want, we’ll go to each other’s senior showcases, and barely even remember all the time we wasted on the ugly classes we didn’t care about.”

When Jan put it that way, it sounded pretty easy. *** After three weeks of classes, Gigi felt like she could safely conclude that the class was… Not that bad. If she had to give the class a grade it’d be a solid C-, bordering on a straight-up C. It was mostly filled with freshmen from the arts faculty trying to get an easy A, a solid half of whom had already stopped showing up to lectures. And yes, it was weird being back in a two hundred-person room when most of her other classes were forty at most. She had to turn in weekly written assignments, which was also not fun, but writing five hundred words once a week wasn’t a time commitment she couldn’t handle. The problem, though, was that as far as she could tell from those three first weeks, that supposedly-easy class would also n’ot rate the level of effort Gigi had put in as anything more than a C either. Which was definitely not what she wanted out of it. Far from it.

The class did have one major saving grace, a light in the dark and a minor help in stopping Gigi from quitting the class on day one, in the form of a fellow student.

Gigi didn’t know her name, or her major, or anything tangible about her, which was a little unfortunate. She did, however, know that the girl had legs. Long and strong, with toned thighs that suggested at least some form of semi-regular exercise, and looked equally good in the kind of wide-legged, loose cotton pants Gigi herself favoured as they did in denim cutoffs. She had really nice hands too, which the brunette found out about when they accidentally reached for the same assignment sheet. They looked soft, strong and capable and careful. They’d be nice to hold, or to have holding her down tightly, or tangled in her hair while she sucked bruises into her equally-beautiful thighs.

So yeah, you could say Gigi was kind of enjoying the course, sure.

The girl usually sat at the front of the room, in the very first row from where you kind of had to strain your neck upwards to see what was on the board. Gigi knew, because that was also where she sat during the first two weeks, until she realised this wasn’t going to be the kind of lecture where she could talk all the way through the lesson without the professor caring, not if she wanted to do more than just pass, anyway. The girl usually brought her laptop to class too - covered in political stickers and pictures of cartoons Gigi didn’t know. One time the brunette walked past her, only to see a video of a crab walking up a pile of sand playing in the corner of her screen.

Gigi could remember that she made a point about the role of music in religious movements when prompted, and how that connected to society’s idea of liveliness within places of worship. Gigi didn’t really remember the details, mostly because some of it had just flown way over her head, but their professor had been very impressed. When he had said so, instead of the self-satisfied smile that the brunette had been expecting, the girl had looked down at her notes, one arm twitching like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Gigi thought she’d even blushed a little, and really, no one should have had the right to be both this attractive and adorable at the same time. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the crab video, which was definitely weird, even by art faculty standards. But for her, she thought she might be willing to overlook it.

geege ok this girl at the front of listening class? so hot she’s like 90 percent leg and 40 percent sexy aunt energy

janjanjan sounds Hot

geege i’d let her walk all over me and say ty she’d just be like :] and tell me about the periodic table or smth

janjanjan okay maybe let’s stop there like keep the rest for when you’re alone at home

geege or in the shower

janjanjan thanks not like i use that shower too The thing was, Gigi wasn’t new to having crushes. At all. So perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to herself that she ended up developing crushes on more than a few of the people she met. Most of them were great, a lot of them were cute, and a few left her heart beating that much faster as she found herself wishing for their conversations to never end.

What was new (or disconcerting, if she were to listen to the Jan voice in her head), was Gigi feeling that way about someone she’d never talked to. Gigi still didn’t know anything about her, other than what she looked like and the sound of her voice - but god did she want to know.

And it felt like it’d been years, so many years, since Gigi had felt too shy to just go up to someone she wanted to know better and introduce herself. She’d felt anxious before, maybe a little self-conscious, but not the kind of shyness that turned into complete inaction. She found herself looking forward to the class, though not the actual work. *** She, Gigi thought, was currently winning at life.

She was done with classes for the week, had no plans that required her to get out of her sweatpants for the next twenty four hours, and was currently sitting back on the couch surrounded by food and two of her favourite people.

So yeah, life was pretty fucking great right now.

She leaned back against one arm of the sofa, a forgotten ball of yarn and half knitted almost-scarf in one hand and the other casually playing with Jan’s hair. The blonde was laying down on the couch, the only one out of the three of them that could kind of do so without most of her legs hanging off one end. Her head was resting on Gigi’s lap while her feet were in Rock’s.

Friday evening was their unofficially -designated group hang out time, a tradition that developed the last few months without any of them being aware of it, but now it was something that she wouldn’t miss for the world. It usually just meant Thai food, bitching about their classes, and whatever booze one of the other two decided to pick up. When Rock made grabby hands at her, Gigi grabbed an unopened can of sparkling water she brought for today and passed it on.

“Thank you,” Rock chuckled as she cracked it open, leaning forward to catch some of the foam that came out before it had a chance to further stain the couch. “Y’know,” she started, as she watched Gigi reach over for the mostly-empty bag of popcorn on the table. “I could just ask Jackie to help you out with the class.”

The brunette’s fingers closed on thin air, the bag of popcorn she was aiming for remaining just out of reach. “Who’s Jackie?” she asked absently, shuffling forward gently and trying not to dislodge Jan’s head from her lap.

Jan flicked her on the thigh regardless. “Rock’s friend, the one I told you about when you signed up! And, y’know, the one that’s also taking the class right now.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised. She totally remembered that, right. Her fingers grazed the bag of popcorn again, but in her haste she just ended up pushing it a few inches further away, balancing precariously on one edge of the table. “That Jackie.”

“I think she tutored, like, half her contemporary fiction class last year. So you know she’s gotta be good at actually teaching things, and not just smart,” Jan continued, as though Gigi’s attention was mostly captured by the pursuit of academics. One more inch, she leaned in a little further, balancing her weight on one arm. She just needed to get one inch closer and the bag would be hers. She could already taste the powdery, buttery, amazingness on her tongue.

“And Rockie’s always talking about how her old professor still basically cries about not being able to convince her to stay in the department. I’m pretty sure she’d totally still take him on as a grad student if Jackie just asked, nevermind that she transferred out more than two years ago.”

“So what do you think?” The blonde finished, a little more loudly, like she realised Gigi had tuned her out a bit. And Gigi had, yes, but she could finally feel her fingers closing in on the bag, triumphantly reaching in and stuffing a handful of popcorn - fat free - into her mouth. “Do you want Rock to ask Jackie when she has some time to meet up with you? Or maybe just give her your number, if that’s easier?”

“What? No, don’t do that. I’m not doing that bad.” Gigi laughed slightly, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m all good.”

“It’s too late anyway,” Rock laughed, all faux-casual. “I already messaged her.” She shoved her phone in front of Gigi’s face, and yeah, right there, that was a message saying just that, complete with her own number at the end.

“Why would you do that?” She complained loudly, tapping at the screen furiously to try and make it delete. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of getting help with the class, but mostly she was reluctant to have it taking up more of her time than it already did. Especially when she didn’t even know the girl.

“You need help!” Rock said with a yelp, avoiding the kick Gigi aimed at her. “She can help! It’s a perfect solution, why are you trying to hit me!” The last one landed just under her armpit, drawing out a higher-pitched squeal. “Besides, Jan agreed with me that it’s a good idea,” she added, turning expectantly towards her. “Tell her how you were the first one to even suggest it.”

Next to them, Jan had indeed been suspiciously quiet. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Gigi asked, poking the older woman in the chest.

“Don’t you want to see what your soon-to-be tutor looks like, Geege?” Jan giggled, ignoring her question.

“Oh, you’re right, let me show you her insta,” Rock butted in, her thumbs moving on her phone screen for a moment before handing it to Gigi with an evil smile.

Jacqueline Coxx, the profile read, next to a very familiar, grinning face. The same very familiar, grinning face that Gigi had spent many a lesson fawning over. This had to be a mistake, there was no way. “You should really be better at Instagram-stalking people,” Jan laughed as Gigi felt her mind going blank. “I think it’s the only skill that’s going to save our generation from lifelong unemployment. Or underemployment, for that matter.”

The brunette didn’t give it a second thought before she pushed her off the couch and onto the floor, screams of unacceptable betrayal and terrified excitement echoing loud in the room.

*** geege hiiiii is this jackie cox? this is gigi, roxanne’s friend from the listening class she said she’d told you i would message you geege but in case she didn’t i wanted to ask you about some tutoring if you could tutor me i mean geege but if you can’t that’s all good !! don’t feel like you have to say yes just bc of rocks stupid puppy eyes oh and sorry about the triple-text ***

“I more than triple-texted her, but three separate times,” Gigi groaned, burying her face in between the couch cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jan comforted, running a hand through her hair. Gigi would maybe feel a little bad about how much complaining she’d been doing over this, but everytime she thought of stopping, she reminded herself that Jan was at least forty-five percent to blame for this in the first place.

“It’s been more than two days. When’s the last time you went forty-eight hours without checking your phone? And be honest.”

Jan’s silence was enough of an answer. *** Jackie Hey Gigi! Rock did tell me about you, it’s all good Do you want to meet up after class on monday to figure out the details? Oh and sorry for such a late reply My phone was broken after i dropped it in a lake while i was hiking *** In an ideal world, Gigi would have planned things so she could get to class nice and early on the day she was supposed to properly meet Jackie. She’d have maybe put a little more thought than usual into her outfit, and made sure her hair looked good. Worn that red headband she knew did great things for her forehead and her eyebrows, maybe. Not that Gigi ever looked like a slob, but she definitely had clothes she liked more than others, and that she thought served her better for seduction purposes. Or even for just ‘making a decent first impression’, which she’d really settle for right now, as she ran up the final flight of stairs. Nothing said ‘I’m serious about needing help with this class’ like showing up late, especially for a course where attendance was actually recorded.

She spotted the door to the classroom still cracked open at the end of the hallway and slowed down a little, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping that’d tame the mess a little and her cheeks wouldn’t be too red from the unexpected burst of athleticism. At the front of the room, their professor has already started talking, and Gigi quietly slipped into the first free seat she spotted, grateful to have avoided drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

It was only minutes before the class ended that Gigi thought to look around for Jackie, peering across the middle rows of students before she accepted that she wouldn’t dare sit anywhere but the very front row. She tried to lean forward to glance at the first row once or twice, eventually accepting that there was no way she could be subtle and standing the slightest bit up from her chair. The first row was mostly empty, as it usually tended to be. Gigi recognized a girl from the Image Composition class she took last semester, and thought about saying hi to her after class when she remembered she had a goal here. As she let her gaze move through the other students in the front, it eventually landed on Jackie, although Gigi had to do a double-take to make sure it was definitely her.

The thing was, she’d gotten to see - unknowingly, at the time - Jackie often enough since the semester started to get a sense of her style. And from Gigi’s weeks of casual observation, she tended to favour loose, comfortable clothes, and mostly neutral colours. She liked floral patterns too, especially on shirts, which the brunette could appreciate.

However, the first thing she noticed today was Jackie’s hair. And really, Gigi thought that if it wasn’t for the bright smile and the longest legs known to humankind, she wouldn’t have even recognized her.

The messy dark brown hair that Gigi had gotten used to, and maybe dreamt about running her hands through once or twice, was now four inches shorter and numbingly straight, effortlessly falling over her forehead and almost into her eyes when she looked down. Something about the flawlessness of her hair combined with the white hoodie she was wearing seemed to make her face glow, skin tanned and radiant with pearly teeth glinting through a bemused grin as she laughed at something her friend was saying.

Damn.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by the sound of students around her packing up their things, and Gigi realised that she most likely missed the professor dismissing their class. As she struggled with the zipper of her bag, the same one she’d been meaning to get fixed for the last three months but still hadn’t, she felt a hand hesitantly tap on her shoulder, warm against the thin material of her shirt.

“Hey, Georgia right?” A voice asked right behind her, and when Gigi turned around Jackie looked just as good as she did the first time she saw her at the beginning of the semester.

“Gigi. I’m— my name— Yep, hi, that’s me. What’s shaking?” The brunette chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, I really appreciate it! Or at least agreeing to consider it I mean, I know we really just said we’d talk about the details today, so you technically haven’t agreed to anything yet. And you don’t have to, obviously.”

Jackie didn’t seem thrown off by the sudden explosion of words and gratefulness, which Gigi took to be a good sign. If anything, her smile only grew less hesitant, the tiniest dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“We could, like, go to that library around the block? It’s a nice place to study, so.” Gigi nodded, following Jackie and making awkward small talk until they made it inside. She learned in those quick minutes that Jackie liked crabs, and geography, and obscure movie references no one else understood.

“It’s been a while since I was here to be honest.” Jackie grinned, swiping at her phone casually. “I missed it.”

"Right, Rock mentioned you’d transferred out of the faculty.”

The brunette hummed in agreement, looking a little surprised at Gigi’s knowing about this. “Yeah, I swapped my major and minor back halfway through my second year. Geo major with a minor in stage production now.” She made little jazz hand motions as she said it, and the brunette really wished she didn’t find it half as endearing as she did.

“Okay, so, tell me more about what you’ve been struggling with so far,” Jackie asked with a tilt of her head, and they got down to business. *** Maybe it was a little self-sabotaging (or self-serving, she could never quite decide), but part of what Gigi quickly found out she liked best about their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, was how much time she got to just stare at Jackie. She’d finish writing up the draft of her weekly listening assignment and pass it on for the older woman to read over, and get a solid five-to-ten minutes of ogling out of it.

Not that she was ogling her per se, that sounded bad. She was just… appreciating. Appreciating Jackie’s arms, and her neck, and her cheekbones, and her brain as she read through Gigi’s outline. Every now and then, Gigi would catch her frowning slightly, bringing her pen to the paper and tapping over the words as she read a section a few times over before making a quick note and moving on. It was kind of embarrassing how devastatingly cute Gigi found the whole thing, honestly. Like how the way she was resting her head on one hand, her fingers accidentally creating a gap that just perfectly framed the dimple on her left cheek.

“Hey, Geege,” Jackie suddenly smiled as she turned towards her. Fuck. Gigi really hoped her face wasn’t making what she was just doing incredibly obvious. “What did you have in mind for this part here?” She asked, shuffling her chair to bridge the space between the two of them.

“Which part?” Gigi shakily replied, leaning in a little. The paper she wrote her outline on was on the table, technically close enough for both of them to read, but just barely. Gigi told herself that was her excuse for moving in a few inches more, until their hands were almost meeting on the sheet of paper. Almost.

Jackie was making it hard for Gigi to focus, leaving her stumbling through the start of an explanation of the admittedly somewhat unclear point she’d made in her outline about the sudden change in rhythm. As she got into the meat of her point, she could feel herself getting more confidence, gesturing with her hands as the words started coming out more easily, and Jackie nodded in wordless understanding. It only took a few sessions to realize that if there was one thing Jackie was good at, it’s listening. It never felt like she was trying to put answers into Gigi’s mouth - letting her explain her perception of the music instead, and asking questions when needed. She made Gigi feel like even if writing about how she experienced music as an art form would never come all that naturally to her, not in the way sewing or even most visual arts did, it was something that was still within her reach. Something she could understand and relate to.

“So, are you saying it felt expected to you?” Jackie asked eventually, after Gigi paused. “Like it was building up to this in the previous parts? Or that it caught your attention specifically because it was sudden? Or out-of-place, maybe.”

The brunette took a moment to think, replaying the lead-up to that section in her head.

They weren’t even touching, but she could feel the heat radiating off the older woman’s skin. She could feel the warmth, could see it in Jackie’s gaze as she looked softly back at her, she could smell it even. And Gigi knows that didn’t actually make sense, that all she was probably smelling was laundry detergent and sweat and maybe coffee. Gigi didn’t even like the smell of coffee. But right now, sitting side-by-side in the library and alternating between emphatically talking and listening to each other, Gigi felt like all of those things.

It was only when they both moved on from that particular point, a few messy notes from Jackie hastily written to Gigi’s own words, that she realized just how close they’d gotten. She was well into Jackie’s personal space, their shoulders no longer content just brushing against each other occasionally but rather aligned against one another. No wonder she could smell the coffee.

She started to move back slowly, not wanting to draw attention to how close she’d gotten, but a sharp sting on her ear stopped her mid-motion. She let out a small cry of pain, Jackie immediately turning to face her. The older girl felt impossibly closer than a moment ago.

“I think my earring got caught in your shirt,” Gigi said quietly, a pained and nervous giggle leaping from the back of her throat. She remembered putting them on this morning, long and dangly strips of silver shaped like eyes, and thinking about how they might get stuck in her hair. If the lack of distance between the two of them went unnoticed earlier, it was definitely no longer the case. Gigi felt incredibly conscious of every exhale of her breath, of Jackie’s face only inches away from hers. The guy in the seat in front of them threw them a dirty look, like he was annoyed at how wrong Gigi’s flirting attempts had turned out. She couldn’t really blame him because, what the fuck, they had turned out pretty bad, huh.

“Hold on,” Jackie breathed, “let me untangle it for you.” Gigi knew she was speaking quietly because they were in a library, and so close to each other anything above a whisper was unnecessary, but she was struck hard by the intimacy of it nonetheless. She couldn’t decipher whether choosing to wear those earrings today was the best or worst decision she’d ever made.

Jackie reached for the end that got caught, carefully lifting it away from the threads of her sweater. It was the kind of tangle no one could probably ever manage to achieve if they tried, and yet happened without either of them realizing it. When she moved to grasp at the fabric a little more firmly, her fingers brushed against Gigi’s neck, unexpected. And maybe it’s stupid to feel so thoroughly destabilized by the mere touch of a fleeting hand, but Gigi found herself forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.

“There,” Jackie chuckled as the earring finally came free, looking in Gigi’s direction without directly meeting her gaze. “I think you’re all good now.”

Gigi thanked her politely, but she’d be the first to admit she found it hard to focus during the rest of their session, every brush of air or clothing against her neck making her shiver at the memory of Jackie’s fingers. ***

“Wait, Jackie Coxx?” Crystal asked the next time Gigi met up with her to catch up over some drinks in their favorite dive bar. Crystal had technically been Jan’s friend first, but she and Gigi had gotten a lot closer over the years, bonding over a love of what their friends would lovingly call ‘loud’ and ‘confident’ clothing choices. “‘Trips on her own feet’ Jackie Coxx?” Crystal continued, the grin on her face widening as Gigi felt her cheeks heating up. “Follows at least three Twitter accounts dedicated to Star Trek? Rockie’s junior year baby crush? The same—”

“Rock is still a junior, Crys,” Gigi interrupted, laughing, because— what. What. “And wait, she has a crush on Jackie? My Jackie?”

“So not the point,” Crystal answered, still smiling like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “My Jackie huh? God, you’re such a simp—”

“No.” Gigi groaned, dragging out the ‘o’. “Back to Rock. My best friend, Janet fucking Sport, is head over heels, stupidly in love with Rock. And I don’t care how adorable she is, if what you’re telling me is true, she’s just been… been using her! And that really this whole time she’s just been waiting and pining for Jackie! As if Jan didn’t—”

It was Crystal’s turn to interrupt this time, the smile having faded away from her face to leave way for a confused expression. “Gigi, Gigi, stop for a second,” she repeated, a little more forceful than the brunette was used to hearing her speak. “Come on, think of all the time you’ve spent with Rock, with both of them. Have you ever gotten the impression that she was anything that a hundred and ten percent in?”

The brunette closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of Jan ditching her and Nicky to go hang out with Rock every Friday. Of Jan dragging her to go shopping on the weekend before Valentine’s day, an itemized and color-coded list of stores and potential gifts saved on her phone. Crystal definitely has a point, Gigi let herself recognize, deflating as the potential anger left her body as quickly as it had arrived.

“Rock did a tour of the university, back when she was still in high school and she wasn’t completely sure what program to apply for. Jackie was the one doing it apparently.” The red head paused to take a sip of her drink, grimacing a little at the taste. Why she kept ordering those novelty IPAs everywhere they went despite knowing full well she didn’t like how hoppy they were, Gigi had no idea. “I think she just made Rock feel comfortable, you know? Like, it was fine that she didn’t have everything figured out already, and made sure she knew she wasn’t making a decision at seventeen that she could never walk back. So Jackie gave her her number in case she had any questions, and then they actually started hanging out together once Rock started this year.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised, “that does really sound like her, yeah.” She could imagine it in her head, Rock a little younger and more unsure, not all that dissimilar from how she behaved when Jan first introduced the two of them to each other.

It was strange, remembering that a few months ago she would avoid directly meeting her gaze or spending any one-on-one time with her, when she could also recall the ‘u up’ and ‘netflix? :)’ texts she received from the shorter woman last night. It also really sounded like Jackie, although she didn’t tell Crystal so. It was just as easy to imagine her taking the time to reassure a worried high-school student without making her feel like she was being talked down to.

Crystal was still looking at her expectantly, and Gigi couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at how strongly she reacted. “So, not an actual crush then?”

“Nope, she just thinks Jackie is really cool. God knows why, because based on what I’ve heard, she’s kind of a giant dork.”

“Hot giant dork.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should have asked you that first.”

“Uh-huh,” Crystal replied, giving Gigi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should ask her for the full story, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before, but she tells it much better than I do. And maybe you want to spend some time thinking about why you reacted that quickly, because we both know Jan is a pretty flimsy excuse.”

The brunette sighed loudly. “It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” It didn’t sound convincing even to herself. Back when Jackie was just the hot girl in her class, that would have probably been true, but it felt like a long time ago now.

Crystal rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile. “That was a lot more believable five minutes ago, but sure.”

Gigi made sure to hit her in the leg for that, laughing easily and sputtering mindlessly about how she had it all wrong.

“Wait, what did Rock used to want to study, back when she was in high school?”

There was a long pause, before Crystal finally cackled., “Video game design.” *** geege do you think it’s weird

rockstar YES

geege … to ask someone if you can platonically caress their cheeks kiss them on the forehead at least wait till i finish to be mean

rockstar u know what this is both not as weird AND weirder than i expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

geege what do I do roxanne she’s not gonna tutor me forever. the final is less than a month away how do i tell her i wanna date her without seeming like i wanna date her

rockstar go up to her and be like ‘if we played pokemon together, we’d be a pokematch’ ;)))

geege what

rockstar will you be the nidoking to my nidoqueen

geege tf those sound like the names of drugs

rockstar yk it was one thing when you were just thirsting after the hot girl in ur class but now it’s actual feelings how embarrassing

geege u have given me a solid amount of advice. none.

rockstar k fair how about i pick up noodles on my way back? and we can eat that for dinner while you tell me all about ur gay crush without my consent

geege i like the chicken stir fry ones

*** “Do you want to listen to it again, maybe?” Jackie asked, reaching for her headphones. “Then you can tell me the exact part you’re thinking of.”

It was another Wednesday afternoon, but this time they’d ditched the library in favor of a small coffee shop that was closer to where Jackie lived. It was artsy in a way that Gigi was used to, a little hipster, but not actually fancy enough to properly lay claim on the word. The tables were a little worn in and wobbly, the lattes a little too cheap, and the art prints on the wall either too well-known or not enough.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gigi took the earbud the Persian woman offered her, making an aborted motion towards the computer, before following through as Jackie nodded at her with a soft smile. The older woman’s phone vibrated on the table between them, and she took a quick glance at the screen before putting it back down with a little more force than necessary.

It took Gigi a few tries to find the part she had in mind when mentioning texture, replaying the same part a few times over until she was fairly certain she found what she was looking for. “That part here, until the tempo slows down again—”

The brunette was cut off by the sound of Jackie’s phone vibrating on the table again, lighting up with a missed call notification and some texts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the Persian woman cursed sheepishly. “This is so rude. I’m sorry, Geege, I should have just turned it off earlier.” She sounded a little annoyed, but mostly flustered, taking a quick look at the screen before flipping it back over facing down.

She flashed the younger woman an apologetic smile, her cheeks coloring a little as she pointedly pushed the phone away from her.

“Are you sure everything is okay? We can take a break if you need to deal with some stuff? Or even just cancel for today, I think I have basically everything I need to finish writing this up, so.”

“No, no, âsemun be zamin nemiyâd,” Jackie protested, mind clearly elsewhere. “It’s nothing, really. Or, well, it is something I guess, but it’s kind of stupid and I shouldn’t let it distract me, you know?”

Gigi hummed noncommittally, not wanting to force her to talk about whatever this was if she didn’t want to, but finding herself unwilling to acknowledge it as something stupid either. She offered Jackie what she hoped was a quick and comforting smile instead.

“I just…” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from this prof about a recommendation letter for grad school? And she’d said yes before, but some more students asked her, and she has this thing about not writing more than five letters per year, I don’t know. So she said she’d get back to me today or tomorrow to confirm, and I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. That sounds really stressful.” Gigi brought a hand to Jackie’s shoulders, squeezing the back of her neck lightly. She tried to avoid doing too much extensive thinking about what she might do after college, but she doubted it was a train of thought that’d ever made anyone feel good.

“It’s okay, I should be used to it.” Jackie shrugged with resignation. “It’s just that every time I remember I’m waiting to hear back from her it makes me think of next year, and what’ll happen if I don’t get in? Or if I do, because it’s like I really know that grad school is what I want to do, you know?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and Gigi really wished they were close enough friends for her to offer Jackie a hug or something.

“Just call your prof back now. You should have said something earlier, and we could have rescheduled.”

“Oh,” Jackie breathed out, sounding inexplicably surprised as she turned towards her. “No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary. That wasn’t her. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess today, let’s just get back to this thing, yeah?”

Gigi nodded, reaching for the headphones and passing one on to her. In a lot of ways, this had grown to be her favorite part of their sessions. Not that she didn’t enjoy listening to Jackie talk about music, which she did; mostly because she was practically tone deaf and found it magical that Jackie was so good at it, or trading ideas back and forth on the pieces they listened to, both of which were rewarding in their own ways. But there was something about sitting next to each other, silent save for the shared music, that just got to her.

They were standing outside the coffeeshop, Jackie struggling to undo the lock on her bike, when Gigi thought back to their earlier conversation. “I know it’s not the same because I’m not graduating yet, but you know I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone, right? Like, no pressure or anything, but I just— just wanted to put it out there, I guess.”

Jackie stopped mid-motion and looked up at her, half of her U-lock in hand. “Thanks, Gigi.” She grinned, all bright and pearly and warm. “I think sometimes I just get too in my own head, you know? Especially about things I can’t do anything about. And yes, I know how stupid it is to stress out over these things so much, I really do.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, though,” Gigi mentioned, as they started walking towards her bus stop. It was really nice of Jackie to walk there with her, rather than just take off on her bike straight away. It maybe made sense now that they knew each other well enough, but her heart still kind of fluttered whenever she offered it. “I mean, maybe it’s not productive because you’re worrying about things you can’t control, sure, but it also means you care, right? And I don’t think that’s something stupid, even if you wish you could just… not care less, but care better, you know. Still care, but in a way that’s better for yourself. To yourself.”

She thought of her parents, and of the guilt she used to feel every time she overheard someone asking them if they really thought it was wise to let her go to college for fashion, how she overworked herself to the point of passing out alone in the studio her freshman year in a misguided attempt to redeem herself from having failed a class. Like she thought she could atone for her perceived academic failures by working her body into the ground. She thought of the conversations that had started to happen in her periphery, whispers of ‘What are you thinking of doing after next year?’, ‘Have you also applied for the internship at this gallery?’, ‘Have you considered doing a minor in business?’, and how she sometimes struggled with not letting these thoughts invade her brain late at night.

“I just think it’s hard sometimes, but it’s even harder if we don’t let ourselves accept it. Or talk about it. So I guess all I’m saying is that if you need someone to listen, you know where to find me,” she finished with a deep breath.

When she looked up, there was a quiet smile on Jackie’s face, and Gigi felt warm at the thought of maybe having been the one to put it there. ***

geege you know i suddenly understand why you do the shoulder thing like i use to never really get it but that was before

janjanjan the shoulder thing??

geege wait more important how did ur audition go did they love you when are you gonna hear back

janjanjan it went pretty okay i think they’re def looking more for someone that does modern

geege so that’s good! very good!!!

janjanjan and one of the choreographers sort of smiled and nodded at me at the end i think he was on the dance team my first semester but that was before he graduated ig anyway idk maybe it was just in my head

geege no but that all sounds really good!!! look at u go diva!

janjanjan gigi just finished twenty minutes ago she was wearing this stupid ass shirt a really loose tank bc it’s been hot af and one of the straps kept falling of her shoulder

janjanjan oooooooooh oh no that shoulder thing

geege i saw collarbone and so much shoulder and upper arm

janjanjan how tragic tell me, did she lift it back up

geege yeah but it kept falling back down

janjanjan that’s rly good though!!!

geege no it was torture did you know she has a mole on her shoulder? right at the top and all i kept thinking of was that i wanted to kiss it

janjanjan cute also i don’t know how to tell you this but that shit doesn’t happen by itself

geege well it’s not like it was her fault

janjanjan listen a shirt can be a too big sure but you still kind of have to make it happen it doesn’t magically keep falling off

geege hm

janjanjan believe me i would know *** No matter how much she tried to forget about it, Gigi’s last session with Jackie was a thing that was very much happening right now.

It was strange, thinking back to the beginning of the semester, how she almost didn’t sign up for the class. How she maybe would have never met Jackie if she hadn’t, or maybe would have just pined from afar without ever learning her name were it not for her meddling friends. She found herself spending the last half of their session wondering more about how to casually ask Jackie if they’d still hang out once finals are over. Or if their semester-long friendship was, well, just that.

In the end, she just blurted it out as they packed up their things, subtlety thrown out the window.

“I mean, you’re friends with Rock, so I’m sure I’ll at least see you around, yeah?”

Jackie only hummed noncommittally in reply. She was busy packing her things back into her khaki tote bag, checking each pocket like she was looking for something. It reminded Gigi of what she used to do in middle school, every time she hadn’t done the homework or just really, really, really didn’t want to be the one called on to explain her work in front of the whole class. She’d just lean down, and start searching through her bag very obviously, making a show of opening every zipper, her head almost disappearing inside it if she could manage.

“Do you, like, need help finding something in there?” She asked, her voice coming out more harsh than she’d intended, just as Jackie seemed to decide she’d found what she was looking for and decisively slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I— it was—” she stopped and started, letting out a resigned sigh and shaking her head at herself. It made Gigi want to cringe. “Yeah, I’m good now, and yeah, I’ll still see you around. At least for the summer, but after that too I hope! I mean, I’ll still be around and you’ll be around too, so, y’know…” she trailed off. Her cheeks were tinged pink, just barely. Her ears, too, or maybe it was just the white of her sweater making everything appear brighter in contrast. “Besides, you still haven’t shown me any of your work, and you promised you would.” She was right about that, Gigi knew. She usually wasn’t shy about showing her designs to other people, but somehow she’d found himself unsure of what to show Jackie first.

She settled her bag on one shoulder, and they started making their way out in companionable silence until Jackie spoke again. “Hey, actually, do you maybe want to grab coffee before heading back? I have a bit of time before my next class and I could use a pick-me-up.”

They ended up just stopping by Starbucks, because it was on their way and surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon on campus. Gigi got a mocha frappuccino (almond milk, extra whip) and managed to sneak in Jackie’s usual cold brew order before she had the chance to protest.

“Gigi…” She sighed fondly, kind of like a grandma would when her grandchildren were doing something they’d regret. She was shaking her head in resignation, which Gigi took as a sign that she’d decided to leave it at that.

“No, I’ve been stealing almost three hours of your time every week since almost the start of the semester and—”

“How can that even be true when Rock only introduced us in what, February?” Jackie laughed in protest, reaching out to grab her drink from the brunette’s hand.

“No, not the point!” Gigi replied, moving her arm back until the cup was just out of Jackie’s reach. “You’ve given up a lot of your free time for me, is what I’m saying. And you didn’t even really know me, I could’ve been a total freak.”

Jackie opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but Gigi continued before she had the chance.

“And you were so nice about it. Not ‘nice’ like when you have nothing actually all that good or specific to say. But nice in that you never made me feel like I was being stupid, you know? And you actually took the time to explain things to me so I’d understand them, not just the bare minimum so I could pass. You did all that when you didn’t really have to, so that meant a lot. Means a lot. I enjoyed spending that time with you, and not because it means I’m going to pass the class.”

Gigi forced herself to stop there, even though she knew for a fact that she could’ve easily kept going. She could feel her words coming out a little rambly, probably sounding more confusing than appreciative. At least she hoped that was what they sounded like, because the only other alternative was frightening. The idea that Jackie was in fact hearing everything Gigi was saying, her poor attempt at expressing the warmth she had felt growing inside her all semester long every time she was beside her, was infinitely more terrifying.

“Geege.” Jackie looked away, smiling after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Gigi could feel her cheeks getting hot, but when she looked up she could see that Jackie’s cheeks were tinged pink, too. It was almost funny, feeling what she felt and seeing the physical reflection of it not on herself, but on the person causing it. She wanted to reach out and let the tip of her fingers brush against Jackie’s cheeks, to see if they felt as warm as her own face did.

“You don’t have to say anything, I wasn’t trying to, like, I don’t know, get anything. I just wanted you to know what I meant, and that I really did mean it, when I was saying thank you.”

Gigi was laid bare, like her body was nothing but a lens, and behind it were all of her feelings jumbled together in a tangled mess, conclusion still very plain to the eye.

It was a surprise, when Jackie stepped forward and kissed her.

Gigi closed her eyes reflexively, but she could feel herself inhaling sharply, her body failing to catch up with what her brain was also struggling to process. When she eventually kissed back, it was only because she could feel Jackie’s body starting to move away, the fear finally pushing her into action. She brought one hand up, resting it on the side of the older woman’s neck, fingers gently brushing against her hair as she kissed back a little more confident. She could feel Jackie’s hand on her waist, warm and solid. Her grip tightened slightly as they separated, not strong enough to keep Gigi anywhere but a reassurance of where she was wanted.

Neither one of them really stepped back when the kiss ended, just stayed standing right in front of each other, breathing the same air. She heard Jackie swallow, loud in the silence of their shared space. She licked her lips, a reflex she didn’t even think about, and it was like the realization that, oh my god, they just kissed, hit her all over again when she found them wet. She suppressed a small shudder, although she wasn’t sure how successfully.

It was Jackie that finally broke the silence and stepped away from her, letting her hand fall away from Gigi’s side, brushing against her wrist and then gone before she had a chance to realize it.

“I,” Jackie breathed, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time, Gigi.” She laughed a little, maybe a bit self-conscious, and that was what brought the younger woman out of it.

“I spent hours talking to Jan about this gorgeous girl in my listening class,” she started, words leaving her mouth almost of their own volition. “How I didn’t even know her name but god, I really wish I did. Then I did know, even if I didn’t realize that you were, you know, you, when Rock said he knew someone who could tutor me. And then you were there and still the same person, but also so nice and understanding and just… good? Like, being around you just felt good.”

She paused, forcing herself to meet Jackie’s eyes again. “And I still mean everything I said earlier too, you know. Even if you weren’t interested in me, that’s not why I was saying it, but I still mean it just as much now.”

“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth was gaping so wide Gigi was worried it might actually fall to the floor. Maybe if Gigi were a different person, or if her brain wasn’t currently busy processing and reprocessing their kiss on an endless loop, she would have felt a little self-conscious at her outburst, but that just wasn’t who she was.

Especially not right now. Not when Jackie’s lips were right in front of her, still a little wet, still a little too red.

“That’s, that’s pretty good, then,” she finished quietly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, only interrupted when Gigi let out a small snort.She couldn’t help but realise they were kind of ridiculous. Her face was taken over by an unashamedly stupidly large grin. Jackie properly stepped back then, far enough that Gigi could no longer feel the warmth of her body. She missed it immediately.

“I really need to get to my next class.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “So I can talk to the prof about her feedback on my draft first, but text me, yeah? I know it’s really shitty timing because we both have finals to take and papers to write, but I’ll make it work. Or I’ll call you, if that’s better? But I’m not running away, I promise.”

Gigi flashed her a bright smile and nodded in understanding. “I have your number too, y’know, so maybe I’ll just be the one to text you.”

“Okay, great, nice.” Jackie replied. She had her bag and coffee in hand, but made no clear motion to leave, kind of like she was worried if she did Gigi might disappear forever. It was so, incredibly, frustratingly cute and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if Jackie would mind being kissed on the forehead.

“Jacks, it’s fine.” Gigi grinned. “I need to go too, anyway. Just maybe don’t drop your phone in any lake before you text me back this time, yeah?”

She turned away with a laugh of her own this time, and Gigi sipped through the plastic straw like it did anything to hide the smile on her face as she watched Jackie walk away.

“Wait!”

The Persian woman startled, turning back to her with an unsure smile. “What, did you forget something, Geege?”

“My first final is tomorrow,” Gigi said, looking up at Jackie with glinting eyes. “And it’s my first actual written exam this year, because I didn’t have any midterms, so how about another kiss for good luck, huh?”

Gigi’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she watched the uncertainty leave Jackie’s face, only to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and deep smile. Her shoulder’s rose slightly, like her instincts were telling her to hide her face in embarrassment at the cheesiness, but her eyes didn’t leave Gigi’s anyway. They didn’t leave Gigi’s, until they closed and their lips met again, and the younger woman thought it felt like more luck than she thought she had the right to ask for.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #jackie cox #rock m sakura #Jan Sport #Crystal Methyd #gigi goode/jackie cox #jan sport/rock m sakura #jiji #jock #lesson in love #mina #lesbian au #back to school 2020 #day 4: lesson #submission

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catboymingi · 4 years

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your majesty, the simp - veninder chap. 5

navi/masterlist

story masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: a little crack, fluff; eventual best friends to lovers

word count: 6.4k

warnings: no specific ones! some moments of anxiety but that is simply how it be with this fic

a/n: there is one (1) single link in this in the same manner as in bittersweet, taking to the song the lyric was taken from with the translation on hover! also shoutout to that one very specific german friend in the language discord that is always right there to answer to my (INSERT WORD) IN ENGLISH BUT I NEED THESE VERY SPECIFIC VIBES, you’re the real mvp and without you none of my chapters would ever be finished

de ved hvad vi lavede / gid at de var ligeglade / for de vil blande sig i alting - they know what we did / let’s hope they don’t care / because they want to meddle in everything

of course your alarm rang at five again, because even though you probably should have you hadn’t turned it off last night, too tired to even remember you had it set in the first place. or rather, that mingi didn’t have an alarm set for five. and now that it was ringing you couldn’t turn it off, seeing how the giant was still entirely wrapped around you, effectively caging you between him and the wall. it seemed like he hadn’t yet realised that the unpleasant sound was your alarm, because he made no effort to move, just groaning a little and holding you even tighter rather than letting you slip free.

“mingi”, you whined out, poking his side in an attempt to get him to let go so you could turn off that annoying beeping alarm that was most definitely going to give you a headache if it kept ringing. but no reaction other than him shuffling slightly.

you tried again, dragging the last i of his name in hopes that he’d maybe react if his name lasted upwards of ten seconds, though you found yourself disappointed once again.

“why is it so impossible to wake you up”, you complained, and because you really wanted the alarm to stop because you could feel the headache approaching already you shifted slightly, and then you pushed against the wall with your legs as hard as you could, hoping to be able to move the giant next to you this way.

you hadn’t expected it to work as well as it did, maybe having pushed a little too hard, because next thing you knew you were on the floor, on top of mingi, whom you had just successfully caused to fall out of bed. it wasn’t a high fall, he most definitely wasn’t actually hurt, but you still felt bad, apologising profusely, though you couldn’t keep yourself from laughing.

“don’t laugh at me”, you heard a huff from underneath you.

“just let me turn off the alarm.” he could clearly hear the pout in your voice, and first then did he realise that he was still somewhat wrapped around you and that there was an incredibly annoying background noise making this situation even less pleasant.

“you’re lucky you’re so cute”, you continued as you made your way to where your phone was and turned off the sound that had you inclined to just throw the phone against the wall to let out your frustration.

“how is getting kicked out of bed at five in the night lucky?” he’d sat up and was now looking at you with an incredulous expression on his face.

“you’re lucky because i let you go back to bed now”, and even though he didn’t exactly consider himself lucky for being allowed to sleep until the same time any normal person would he wasn’t about to complain and risk having to stay up. instead he just launched himself back into bed, looking at you expectantly.

you joined him with a sigh and laughed when his arm was wrapped around you just a few seconds after you’d laid down.

“you’re so cuddly when you’re sleepy.” you weren’t one to talk, because that was most definitely a characteristic you had as well, but right now he was the only one still incredibly tired since unlike him you were used to getting up at this time, so you could tease him without the risk of being teased back.

“like a baby.” but you weren’t complaining; it was cute, to be honest, so you gladly let him pull you into his chest. he just hummed at your teasing, seemingly too tired to even care, and you checked on your phone to make 100% sure the alarms at least until eight were turned off and you wouldn’t wake him up in less than half an hour again.

it was then that you saw the messages in ‘hyung hate club’ - apparently mingi had neglected to inform the boys that he wasn’t coming home, and they were worried, naturally, considering what kind of weather it had been the day before. so you decided to shoot them a message letting them know that he was fine, and that was a good decision in itself, but what was much less good was the fact that when you exited that chat you were faced with the reality of the girls’ group chat again. you immediately left the app and locked your phone, once more inclined to throw it against the wall.

despite how sleepy he was, the tall redhead noticed that you were tensing up, and he held you even closer ever so slightly, stroking up and down your arm with calm, rhythmic movements. it helped, but you knew you’d have to leave the chat sooner or later, and you wanted it to be sooner rather than later. wanted it to be now.

“mingi?”

“hm?” he sounded somewhat awake now and you started feeling guilty about that, because it was illegally early and you knew he wanted to sleep, but here you were, keeping him up.

“can you leave for me?”

if you hadn’t been holding on to your phone like that he might have been confused by what exactly you meant in his half-awake state, but he quickly understood what you meant. “of course. now?”

you unlocked the device in reply, opening the app before you handed it to him. he’d turned around now, laying on his stomach to be able to more comfortably hold the phone, and it was your turn to move as close to him as possible.

a few silent seconds later mingi faced you, still holding your phone.

“should i delete the chat from your list or do you want to keep it?”

you might just have to marry him. you hadn’t even thought of deleting the chat, but now that he suggested it you wanted nothing more than for it to be gone right away, and you were so glad that he was willing to get rid of it for you.

“delete.” so he did, tapping on the screen a few more times before turning back to his side and giving your phone back to you. you looked at the list of chats for a moment, relieved to see the group chat gone, but handed your phone back to the boy next to you, having selected several private chats (all the chats with your now ex-friends), and it didn’t take long for him to realise what you wanted him to do.

“block or just delete?”

“both.”

he nodded, doing as asked, and once the chats were gone he pulled you back against his chest. you didn’t even need to ask him to - he could tell this was hard on you, and while he couldn’t do much he could be there. you appreciated it a lot, because you’d always been one to feel more comforted by physical contact rather than just words, especially since you often didn’t even want to talk about what was wrong in the moment it affected you most. and even though mingi barely even knew you he instinctively managed to comfort you the way you needed to be comforted.

“try to sleep some more”, mingi told you with his deep, calm voice, and because you didn’t want to have to deal with your anxiety yet you did, the tall boy wrapped around you and making you feel safe.

you were surprised that you’d actually managed to sleep some more when your 8am alarm rang; you’d expected yourself to just lay there anxiously and trying to reduce your nervous heartbeat until it beat at the same rate as the redhead’s, but it seemed like your body had been desperate for any small break it could get.

you were greeted with a low “good morning” once your alarm was turned off, and “morning” you said back. his arms were still around you and you were weirdly happy about that, enjoying the warmth he provided. but you knew you’d have to get up, and soon at that, since it wasn’t weekend yet and you’d have to go to university at some point.

“do you want fruit loops again?” you could feel him nod against your head, so you let yourself slide off the bed and onto the ground before getting up and fetching your breakfast.

“with milk or do you have taste now?”

“i’ve always had taste”, you heard mingi huff from the bed behind you, resulting in a grin spreading across your face, “it just got better since yesterday.”

“so no milk.” and even though you weren’t facing him yet he could hear the smile in your voice, and he felt a weird mix of pride and happiness because he was the one that’d made you smile.

his expression showed these emotions as well, though you weren’t able to interpret the grin on his face when you sat back down next to him.

“please don’t tell me there’s drool on my face”, you groaned as you handed him the bowl, and first then did his expression change from whatever it had been before to a surprised one.

“why would you?” his wide, curious eyes and messy bed hair were way more adorable than they should be considering he was also sporting abs and no shirt.

“because you’re staring at me all weird!”

it seemed like he hadn’t even realised that he was doing that, though, because as soon as you called him out he averted his gaze, staring at the fruit loops instead as if he’d never seen anything more fascinating in his entire life. you didn’t fully understand his reaction, but you were still somewhat dazed from having woken up not too long ago, so you didn’t ask about it. instead you followed his example and gave the fruit loops in your own bowl your undivided attention as you started eating.

the first few minutes were spent in silence, just crunching at each other as if it was a valid method of communication - you were morse-crunching, except neither of you knew morse code, so you were probably just keysmashing in morse -, until your fake conversation was interrupted by a real question.

“what language was the movie in yesterday? like, the voices.”

“finnish. i watched it like that as a child, too, so that might be why i fell asleep so fast.” you let out a short, embarrassed laugh because you’d just straight up fallen asleep on him while he was watching the movie that you had chosen. but he didn’t think it was embarrassing at all; quite the opposite, he thought it was cute.

“it sounded nice. though i felt like they said twice the amount of words than the subtitles showed.” the last statement was a little bit of a whine, because mingi was scared he’d missed something just because he’d been dependent on the subtitles rather than being able to understand what was being said.

“i checked the subtitles a little in the beginning to make sure they were good, don’t worry”, you reassured him, your voice laughter-adjacent, “finnish words are just extraordinarily long.”

and again he seemed actually curious about the language you’d grown up with, asking you to tell him the longest word you could think of.

“it’s probably by far not the longest”, you warned him, “but i think käyttämättömällämmeköhän is long? don’t quote me on that though.”

“what does it mean?” his eyes trained to your face as he waited for the translation.

“unused even by us? it’s hard to translate, there’s a lot of grammar in there.”

“that’s one word?” he couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it because that was so many different things going on at once and you just claimed half a sentence was a single word in finnish.

“yeah. we stan linguistics”, you joked, trying to hold in your laugh as his completely dumbfounded expression.

“but… how?” it seemed like he was unable to wrap his head around the fact that so much could be said with a single word, so you tried to break it up into its components, and a delighted ‘aah!’ left his mouth when he finally understood it after the third attempt.

“you’re learning so much already”, your voice half teasing, half impressed.

“because you know so many things to teach me, i need to keep up with you somehow!”

“don’t act like you don’t know a bunch of things that i don’t know! aren’t you like, a maths major?”

and though it hadn’t been your intention to get this result, you just couldn’t decline when mingi offered you to teach you some maths in return because he seemed equally as excited about his subject as you knew you were about yours.

“only if you keep geometry away from me. that’s a hard no”, you let him know, and he nodded right away.

“no geometry! got it.” then he continued crunching, incredibly satisfied with himself, and you were convinced that this was the first time that you’d ever heard someone chew on their fruit loops in an audibly self-satisfied way.

the rest of the morning was spent comfortable like that, as well - you finished up breakfast, then got changed and went to the boys’ place (though you took a little detour because the weather was much nicer than it had been the night before and the air smelled fresh), where you hung out until you had to go to university. the giant insisted on giving you a hug before you each left for your own class, and a hug as soon as he saw you at lunch, and then he all but kicked wooyoung off the bench so there’d be space for you next to him, and then he kept sitting shoulder to shoulder while you ate. you were painfully oblivious to the knowing glances the two of you got from your friends while mingi was once more about to use the cutlery to commit a crime. instead he focused on aggressively eating, claiming he was just hungry when you shot him a slightly worried look.

“oh!”, you exclaimed in response, and then, “take some of mine! i’m not that hungry!” and before he could protest you were holding a spoonful of rice to his face and telling him to say ‘aah’. he shook his head because he knew if he’d let you feed him the boys would never let him live this down, but when you looked at him with big pleading eyes and a small pout on your face before slowly lowering the spoon, thinking he didn’t want your food, he grabbed your hand and guided it to his now wide open mouth.

while the boys were trying their best not to laugh at mingi’s completely whipped expression, you were focused on feeding him the rest of your food, because you really weren’t hungry anymore and your brain had apparently decided that he needed to be babied.

feeding people was a weird situation for you, as was the majority of affection that koreans seemed to not think twice about displaying towards their friends. there was a weird level of dissociation between what you were willing to display towards others and what you were willing to accept from others, and the standard varied from act to act, as well - with holding hands, you’d accept if someone else grabbed yours, but you wouldn’t grab someone else’s, while with feeding it was the other way round, which confused the redhead as he tried to feed you a piece of his dessert and you refused to accept it.

when he’d finally given up on his attempts to give you some food you looked at him apologetically and said: “that’s a boyfriend thing.”

“but you fed me?” he sounded so confused, and you could really understand it, because these double standards didn’t exactly make a lot of sense.

“that’s not a boyfriend thing”, and at the complete lack of understanding apparent not only on his but also the other boys’ faces, “i know it’s fine to feed friends, like, technically. but it feels like when others feed me, that’s way too intimate to just do it? because my parents would never just randomly feed even each other, the standard is so different. it’s weird.” and you laughed to mask your embarrassment, because this really didn’t make any sense at all if you didn’t grow up with this experience.

“it is”, hongjoong confirmed, but he was grinning, obviously somewhat amused. “but it’s also kind of funny.”

“why’s it funny?” now it was you who didn’t understand, but the boy was quick to elaborate.

“you’ve been feeding mingi half your meal but as soon as he tried feeding you you got all flustered, it’s cute.”

him calling you out like this didn’t exactly help to make you less flustered though, hiding your face in the boy in question’s shoulder and whining out. the chorus of ‘cute’s you got as a reaction only made it worse, and now you were trying to hide your entire upper body behind mingi.

“it’s not my fault! finns just don’t show affection like that. i don’t think my parents have ever actually hugged in public, so of course i think it’s weird that you just run around acting all cutesy all the time!”

now your shelter from the others’ teasing glares got worried, though, because he had very much been acting all cutesy with you and there was no guarantee that you hadn’t secretly been weirded out about that, and he moved so he could look at your face.

“you think i’m weird?” and maybe he shouldn’t be admitting to having acted cutesy with you when the boys were all sitting there (they’d barely witnessed anything, so he just outed himself, basically), but his worry about having made you uncomfortable was stronger than his embarrassment.

“no!”, you were quick to disagree. “you’re not weird. you’re cute.”

it was near impossible to not tease the two of you, but somehow the boys managed to hold it in, maybe partly because they were scared that it would become weird for you if they commented on it too much. while teasing was always fun, none of them ever wanted to genuinely make someone feel bad - so they formed a silent agreement that this would be off limits. that didn’t mean they wouldn’t tease mingi about it, though, and yeosang was the first to do so.

while his victim was busy giving you heart eyes he got out his phone, tapping around a little before sending a screenshot to their group chat. the others quickly did the same, knowing they might regret this the moment the only boy that hadn’t joined in saw that all seven of them had changed his contact name to ‘simp’. but he was very much whipped for you, obvious to everyone but the two of you.

“how was class?”, the redhead now asked you, body turned towards you completely to show you that you had his undivided attention.

“it was okay. though i’m still anxious whenever i see them, but that’s just how it is.” and then, because you didn’t want to talk about it further: “how was yours?”, a question directed at all eight of the boys.

the rest of lunch was spent happily chatting away about whatever came to mind, until mingi reminded you of the pyjama party you, in all honesty, had already forgotten about.

“friday to saturday for the pyjama party or saturday to sunday? which one’s better?”

your attempt at protesting was shut down immediately with a “but you promised!”, and because he seemed so excited and because you might have been whipped for him too, just a little bit, you sighed but agreed.

"saturday would be better for me", you informed him then, "how about you all?"

since no one had any objections you decided that you'd come over saturday around noon and that then the fun would start, as wooyoung claimed, which left everyone but him worried that fun was the last thing you'd call whatever would happen. but you were somewhat excited, admittedly, because you’d not been to a pyjama party that wasn’t held with the intention of getting into someone’s pants since you were like twelve, and though it maybe was childish you just wanted to have a pillow fight or something.

lunch was over soon after, and to your surprise your afternoon class that day was cancelled, so that you were able to go home already. though you weren’t sure if mingi had intended to study with you again that day you texted him, saying that class got cancelled and that he could come over as soon as his was over to study if he wanted to.

you made use of your extra freetime and finally got the groceries you’d neglected to get this entire week, and then just relaxed a little, reading one of your moomin books (that you had to search for because your bookshelf was both incredibly full and incredibly messy because it was so stuffed) with a long neglected playlist of finnish music running.

by the point mingi came over the book was long neglected, your room instead having become a single person-disco as you sang along. you felt more relaxed than you had all week, and though you tried to not embarrass yourself when you opened the door for him your attempt at that quickly failed when you registered that the chorus of your current song was playing in the background, joining in as you dragged the surprised redhead into your flat before resuming your silly dancing while still holding on to him, your energy forcing him to at least somewhat move along to the beat.

“tanssi mun kanssa!”, you laughed at him while attempting to get him to actually dance, and though he had no idea what on earth was going on he did - but unlike you it seemed like he actually knew how to dance, taking the lead as he swirled you around in the little space you had.

“so what exactly were we studying just now?”, mingi asked once you’d dropped to the floor out of breath, laughing.

“cultural differences in dance culture? no idea”, you replied, laughing just as much.

“what’s the difference?”

“if you’re representative for koreans and i’m representative for finns we can conclude that koreans are much better at it”, you informed him, “but finns are more likely to start an embarrassing dance party.”

“a sec.” and without explaining anything more he got out his phone, typing for a moment before locking it again and smiling at you.

“hm?” you cocked your head in curiosity, but all he told you was that it was a surprise and that it was time to start studying now. you weren’t pleased, but you nodded, soon forgetting about it as you became fully immersed in the topic.

he stayed rather late (for a study session, at least), leaving around ten after several hours of trying to understand the topic which you only interrupted in order to eat.

“you’re doing great!”, you praised him as you said goodbye, “it seems like you’re getting a hang of it really quickly.”

“that’s just because you got like a dozen different examples for everything, so at one point it clicks even for me.” the giant was getting shy at your praise, though he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. it made him feel accomplished, in a way - he wanted to impress you, and it seemed like he might if he continued like this.

“i think you’re just smart”, you waved him off before hugging him. “get home safe?”

and because he was an embarrassing idiot taken aback by your hug, he replied: “you too”, even though you were literally standing in front of your building.

“i’ll try not to break my neck on the way back in.” but the smile you gave him was genuine, not teasing, and he nodded. then he took off, walking backwards and waving at you, almost running into a street lamp when he turned around to actually see where he was going. that made you laugh, waving at him one last time before you went back inside.

the next two days were spent similarly, studying with mingi after university, though you opted for a café near university on friday since both of you only had a morning class and thus wouldn’t be getting lunch there together.

“what do you want?”, with his head tilted to the side in curiosity, and even though you’d spent quite some time with him this past week you still couldn’t understand how someone his height could be so cute sometimes.

“you’re not going to pay for me.” he still insisted on paying for your train tickets whenever you took the train together, and you plain refused to let him pay for this, too.

“but maybe i’ll accidentally order two drinks even though i only wanted one and beg you to please drink the other one so i didn’t waste my money on it” was how he let you know that he would pay for your drink, whether you liked it or not.

“why are you like this”, you whined out in reply, but told him your order nonetheless.

“find us a seat? i’ll come once the drinks are done.”

you did as asked, though you wouldn’t have if you’d known that he planned on getting more than just your drinks. when he returned with a small tray you smiled at him, moving the notes you’d looked through while waiting out of the way, but that smile became a fake-annoyed expression when you saw the piece of cake he’d gotten. you knew he wouldn’t sit there and just eat by himself, so at least part of the money spent on the cake was spent for you.

“you’re the worst”, you informed him while rolling your eyes, even though you knew he wouldn’t care about that.

and he didn’t, just grinning at you as he said: “i hope you like chocolate.”

“you’re impossible.”

“i’m impeccable.”

“let’s see if you still think so when i get out the big guns”, you teased, the big guns being contextual prestige related to different lects.

as expected, he did no longer think so when he had to understand not only the different lects (which you’d tried to teach him these past few days) but also that the prestige varied from situation to situation and that some people, depending on context, would choose to speak a usually less prestigious lect because of other factors.

“i’m going to die”, he groaned out, getting some cake because he really needed emotional support sweets right now.

“you’re doing fine”, you tried to reassure, patting his arm and smiling comfortingly. you were impressed he even managed to learn this much in such a short amount of time at all, so struggling with one topic that combined a lot of different ones wasn’t something that undermined the fact that you were dealing with a genius.

“do you want to take a break?”

you knew he wouldn’t ask for one (you had noticed that during your past study sessions, that he wouldn’t even tell you that he needed to use the bathroom but would dart off as soon as you told him to rest a little), but he was obviously grateful for this one. he enjoyed the silence that settled as both of you sipped on your drinks, eating a little cake every now and then, but something had been on his mind ever since he first saw the messages you’d been sent from the people that claimed to be your friends. and though he didn’t want to upset you he knew he’d end up asking sooner or later anyway, so he might as well do it now.

“why do your friends hate you so much?”, mingi asked, voice silent and calm to avoid upsetting you any more than this question probably already would. but you surprised him when you seemed rather unbothered.

“they kinda called dibs on you at that party where we met”, you explained, shrugging.

“dibs?”

“yeah. yeah. they’ve been arguing over who gets to have you the entire night, that’s why i was outside in the rain. and now they’re annoyed you’re spending time with me because i didn’t even call dibs in the first place.”

“so they hate you because you’re talking to someone they decided they had some kind of claim on?”

“mhm.”

“so if i stopped talking to you, in theory, they’d leave you alone?” the tall boy hated this thought, but he hated the thought of him being the reason for all these issues you had even more. you were quick to shut him down, though, not wanting him to even consider what he was obviously hinting at.

“don’t even think about it. that’s not going to help at all, and i don’t want you to stop, so drop that thought right now.” and while you pretended to be calm the thought of him just dropping you again when you’d just started to genuinely really enjoy his presence had you panic slightly.

“how wouldn’t it help? they’re mad because we talk, so if we don’t they have no reason to be mad anymore. or am i wrong?”

“you are. it’s not just about me talking to you still, it’s mainly about… control? they told me they don’t want me to talk to any of you and i did it anyway, and now they want to make sure i never do that again. they don’t like it when people aren’t all submissive for them.”

to you this was normal behaviour from them, an attitude you’d witnessed countless times and that had left you doing your best to kiss their asses, but he wasn’t used to people acting like that, and it, quite frankly, was quite appalling. he knew it wasn’t something he could change, though, and he admittedly also wondered why you hadn’t called dibs back then when the others all obviously had. while it shouldn’t be his concern at all he did worry a little - what if you thought he was ugly?

“who were your dibs on, though?” he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“no one. i think it’s stupid to call dibs on someone as if they didn’t have any say in the matter.”

“it is, yeah.” he refused to think about why this answer relieved him - it was just because you were a decent person respecting people’s emotions and definitely not because your lack of dibs wasn’t because you thought he was ugly, definitely. or maybe the guys were justified in changing his contact name to ‘simp’. just maybe.

after that little serious conversation you continued studying until it was getting dark, at which point you decided to call it a day. he was the first to buy his train ticket, but when he turned to you with a grin he was unsuccessfully trying to suppress on his face you knew he’d gotten you your ticket instead.

“i accidentally clicked on your station because that’s where we went all week”, he told you, but it was obvious that it had not at all been an accident.

“you’re the worst”, you sighed out, but you were secretly glad that he’d done this because you’d just have walked otherwise, something you hadn’t exactly been looking forward to doing in the dark. you watched as mingi got his own ticket - the right one this time -, then you hugged goodbye before each getting in the train to go home.

it had become a habit that he’d text you as soon as he was home, because if he hadn’t messaged you an hour after leaving you’d text him, worried, asking if he was okay and if he got home safe. then you’d text some more, about anything that was on your minds, before sending a final goodnight text. the same happened today, as well, with mingi being the first to go to bed since you had some coursework to do still.

[mingi]: ill be there tmrw at 10. 11?

[mingi]: goodnight

and before you could protest he’d gone offline, a sign that he wasn’t going to see any possible protests before the next morning, at which point it’d be too late to save him the pain of getting up early anyway.

[y/n]: both are fine, sleep well

he was there at 11, naturally, but you were glad about the extra hour because that meant you were able to finish an essay due monday at noon and still had enough time to prepare a bag with things you’d need for the pyjama party.

“come in”, you greeted the redhead as soon as you’d opened the door for him, “i still need to choose a pyjama.”

“choose? why not just… bring the pyjama you wear?”

“because i don’t want to embarrass myself!” for some reason you felt like your choice of pyjama was incredibly important, like you’d embarrass yourself if you didn’t wear the perfect one.

“don’t be silly. it’s just a pyjama”, he laughed at your dilemma, and you scoffed at him.

“unlike you i can’t just run around shirtless and call it a day”, and because you were still on the quest for the perfect pyjama you missed the embarrassed expression on his face.

“it’s not like i had a lot of options!”, he defended himself, “your shirts definitely wouldn’t have done. unless you’re into the crop top kind of look, i guess.”

“that would definitely be interesting”, you laughed, then pulled out some clothes as you finally seemed to have decided on what to wear.

“we can go now. should we get snacks on the way?”

“pretty sure seonghwa and hongjoong have already organised an entire buffet”, he let you know, and you nodded while grabbing your bag, making your way to the door with mingi following suit.

and he’d been right - the table was covered in all kinds of food when you arrived at their place, though a quick look told you that you most likely wouldn’t touch about half of them.

“i probably should’ve mentioned i’m a vegetarian”, you said slightly embarrassed when yunho, who’d been the first to greet you and the other giant, told you that you absolutely had to try seonghwa’s kimchi.

“oh! i’m sorry.” the man with the infamous kimchi was now in the living room as well, obviously feeling somewhat bad about the fact that so much of the prepared food included meat.

“it’s fine! i know it’s not like, common, so i know how to work around it”, you tried to reassure, and the other seemed to accept that as an answer, telling you that if you needed any more food they’d gladly get it for you.

“why are all of you so nice?”, your reply a whine, but the boys just laughed. maybe you would’ve been a little embarrassed about how kind everyone was being, but wooyoung interrupted by entering the living room with a loud “is it fun time?”, to which jongho quickly yelled back: “no!”

that was not an answer the boy would accept, though, and it very soon became fun time as you played all kinds of games that they were much better at than you since you’d never or barely ever played them before.

“it’s time for a challenge!”, yeosang declared, and though you tried protesting (because you knew you’d lose) you were outvoted on the grounds of democracy, so you just had to accept your fate.

“what happens to the loser?” you really wanted to know what would inevitably await you, but the only information you got was that the male had a surprise penalty in his room that he’d organised when the others were busy, so they didn’t know either. that only made it fun, he claimed, but you were certain that he was the only one who was going to have fun with this.

the challenge was a game you’d played before, and for a moment you hoped, begged the heavens that you might actually win, but of course life wasn’t that kind. everyone cheered when you were the first to lose, and when yeosang went to get the penalty you were inclined to stop him with all the power you held in you. before you could make a move he was already back, though, a terrifyingly familiar bag in his hands.

“please tell me that’s not what i think it is.”

the grin on his face destroyed all your hope, however, and you knew you would regret ever agreeing to this pyjama party after latest two seconds of having it in your mouth. you were impossibly bad at eating spicy food, and of course the penalty was one of the spiciest things you’d ever tried in an act of youthful recklessness at age sixteen. ever since then, you’d plain refused to touch anything that brand produced, but it seemed like now your fate was in the hands of whatever higher power controlled your tastebuds.

“you’re going to kill me”, you let him know before reluctantly taking the bag he held out for you. you pretended you weren’t able to open it, hoping to that way get out of having to eat it, but jongho volunteered to assist in opening it way too eagerly. there was no escaping, and you took one of the snacks, smelling it, examining it, turning it to look at it from every angle, trying to buy yourself more time and maybe get the boys to have mercy with you. and just as you were about to put the horror machine in your mouth mingi grabbed your hand, guiding it to his own instead and eating the snack you’d so dreaded to eat. it was apparent by his reaction that he didn’t necessarily enjoy this, either, but he’d done it anyways, and once the source of his suffering was swallowed he informed your friends that he’d taken your penalty and that you’d not have to eat it anymore. they had to accept it since they hadn’t previously agreed that others taking the loser’s penalty wasn’t allowed, and the redhead gave you a slightly pained but still somewhat proud smile.

and now there was no denying it anymore, song min gi was a simp for you and you only.

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hopecountysfavhoe · 3 years

Text

‘Cold’ Chapter Thirteen

Word Count: 4,216

Rating 18+

A Peggie hunter slid into Jacob's room. "Sir! There's been an explosion down at the Armoury! You have to come quick!" He exclaimed and Jacob jumped to his feet.

"What explosion?" He demanded.

"I'm not sure, but our guys down there sounded pretty shaken up. They just called on the radio, they said that you would want to see this." The Peggie told him and stepped out of his way.

"Take me there." Jacob insisted and the Peggie nodded. He turned to two of his guards. "You two stay here, guard the Deputy. Don't let anyone but the doctor in, you understand?"

They quickly nodded and gripped their guns tighter. Jacob followed the Peggie hunter outside to his truck, pulling random Peggies to go with him to the Armoury.

They hopped into two trucks and peeled away from the Veterans Centre, being quick to speed down the road. They were just about there at the Armoury when they got the call.

"It's a diversion! They're getting the Deputy!" A guards voice crackled over the radio.

Jacob grabbed it right off of another Peggies shirt. "What do you mean it's a diversion?" He shouted into the radio but there was no answer, only silence. Jacob cursed and tossed the radio to the ground. He leaned into the front seat and grabbed the shoulder of the driver.

"Turn us around!" He ordered and the Peggie nodded. They quickly turned around, taking the other truck with them.

"But sir, what about the Armoury?" One brave hunter asked.

"There is no explosion, it was all a fake to get the goddamn Deputy right out from under our noses."

Jacob told him and shook his head, his rage growing by the second.

Thankfully, the driver was driving at top speed so he didn't get yelled at, but by the time they slid back into the front road of the Centre it was too late. Dead bodies laid everywhere, the wall, the roof, the door. Jacob jumped out of the truck and ordered his men to check the bodies. He bounded up the front stairs and pushed his way through the already open door. Inside were more of his men's bodies, it was obvious they tried to fight back.

He spotted a dead body laid over the radio system and knew that was the voice that told him it was a diversion. With rage (and a little panic) taking him over he ran downstairs to his office. The two guards that he'd posted outside the Deputy's room were dead and the door was hanging open. He checked and she wasn't there, only the mattress and a couple of blankets piled up in the corner.

"God damn it!" Jacob shouted and punched the wall. He was furious, how could he have been so stupid as to leave when the Deputy was here? He should have made his men go check the Armoury. He hadn't even been gone that long, but it was enough time for the fucking Whitetail Militia to ruin everything.

Two Peggies appeared at the entrance to Jacob's office. "Sir, it seems they let the others escape. The ones in conditioning." One of them said with a lump in his throat.

Jacob walked out of the Deputy's room and over to his guards in a dangerously slow way. He got really close to the one that spoke's face. "Then find them! Put up twice as many roadblocks, send out more helicopters, I want every inch of this mountain visible to me by the morning." He ordered and turned back to his desk.

The Peggies glanced at each other before promptly leaving. Jacob walked back over to his desk and leaned on his plans with the palms of his hands. He tried to take a few calming breaths like Joseph had showed him but he just got angrier and punched his desk, making a dent in the wood.

"I should have just fucking killed that goddamn Deputy." He told himself and punched his desk again.

Eli walked into a room where Marianne was holding up an IV. "How's she doin'?" He asked.

Marianne turned to glance at him before hooking the IV up to its holder. "She's stable but her injuries...they're worse than I can handle. She needs to be moved to the clinic in Holland Valley, there she'd have a better chance of recovering." She said and stepped away from the bedside.

The Deputy was still unconscious but because of the painkillers and oxygen her breathing wasn't as laboured as when she first got there. Her face swelling had been reduced thanks to Marianne's ice packs but the black bruises still festered across her face.

"How soon can we transport her?" Eli folded his arms, taking his eyes off the Deputy to face Marianne.

Marianne grabbed a fresh towel and dipped it into a bowl of water. "I'd say you'd have to move her tomorrow, I'll go with her to make sure the doctor knows about her condition." As she talked, Marianne carefully dabbed the towel across the Deputy's forehead.

"Can we move her tonight? With all the heat from last nights raid I'm worried about moving her during the day."

Marianne pulled the towel away from the Deputy's forehead. "I guess so. Can you get Mike ready to drive the van?" Marianne asked and Eli shook his head.

"Jacob's upped his roadblocks we'd never get out. I'll call someone in a chopper."

"Do you really think Adelaide can be quiet enough to get her out in time?" Marianne asked with disbelief in her voice.

"She's the best damn helicopter pilot I've ever met, and she loves the Deputy. She's the best chance the Dep has of making it out of here." Eli said and Marianne unwillingly nodded.

"Ok," she sighed, "I'll get her all ready to go." Eli thanked her then took one more glance at the Deputy before he turned and left the room.

*beep beep beep*

The Deputy's eye opened slowly, adjusting to the light of the room around her. She heard beeping coming from a machine next to her head. With a groan the Deputy pulled her arms over her abdomen, realizing she had an IV in her arm. She looked down at her arms, they were uncovered and laying on top of a blanket that someone had laid over her. She could feel that she wasn't wearing anything other than a hospital robe, but she was too tired to care. Besides, her legs and feet were covered by the blanket.

"Hey, Shorty." A voice entered the room, causing the Deputy to look over at the door. Sharky walked in holding a beer.

"...Sharky?" The Deputy's voice was weak and muffled through her swollen lip.

Sharky's head whipped towards the Deputy, shock was evident on his face. "Dep, you're awake?" He shuffled over to her bedside. Sharky has volunteered to keep an eye on the Deputy while she was asleep. Eli said that it would be a good idea for someone to be there when she woke up and the doctor couldn't stay at the clinic the whole time.

"Where...where am I?" Her speech was slurred due to her lip but Sharky could just barely make out what she was saying. But her left eye was still swollen shut, causing her depth perception to be thrown off balance.

"You're at the Hope County Clinic, man am I glad you're awake! We were getting worried about you! But no worries, Sharky is here and he's gonna take extra special care of you. Now the doc gave me a list of questions to ask you when you woke up but don't worry if you don't know the answer, I don't know the answer to half of 'em myself." Sharky set down his beer and looked around for something.

He finally found a clipboard and lifted it so that he could read it in the light. "Here we go. What is your name?" He asked and looked over at the Deputy expectantly.

"Uh...the Deputy?" Sharky shrugged.

"Works for me. Where are we right now?"

"Montana."

"Nice. What is the date?" Sharky paused as they both thought hard. "You know what, I don't even know the answer to that one. Next question: favorite colour?"

"Is that really a question?" The Deputy asked.

"Maybe it ain't but I'm trying to get to know you a little better! Favourite colour?" Sharky insisted.

"Uh...green." It took quite a bit of energy to talk but since it was with Sharky it was a little easier.

"Ok, count backwards from ten." Sharky lowered the clipboard and looked over at the Deputy, waiting for her to say something while taking a sip of his beer.

"Ok...ten, nine, eight, six no seven, then six, five, four, three, two, one." With every word the Deputy got more and more exhausted and Sharky could see that. "Sharky, what happened? I know...I know I was at-"

"Well after you were missing for a while Eli called us up and asked if we'd seen you. We hadn't and he started scrolling through his cameras and stuff and saw you getting chased by a butt ton of Peggies so we made a little diversion, an snuck inside ol' Jakey's Veterans Centre, and got you out! So now you can relax, besides you're in Holland Valley and Jake never crosses over into Johnny's territory. That'd be like a major major problem for John cause then he'd be upset and they'd start fighting but while they were fighting we could escape so maybe..." Sharky looked over at the Deputy who was fighting to stay awake and listen to him. "You know what? We'll deal with that if it happens. No worries Dep, I'm in charge and I'm a wonderful protector! Now I'm technically supposed to write down the answers to your questions so Imma go do that while you take a nap, how does that sound?" He asked and the Deputy nodded gently. Sharky gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and got up from his chair, mumbling something to himself about finding a pen.

Relieved that she wasn't in Jacob's region the Deputy was this close to being able to breathe easier. If only her ribs weren't broken, then she'd actually be able to breathe easier. It was easy to fall asleep, especially with the rhythmic beeping in her ear.

The sound of distant arguing made the Deputy stir in her sleep. Confused she woke up, although she wasn't fully awake she could tell what was happening around her. She heard Sharky arguing with someone, probably the doctor, but there was another person in her room. She had to turn her head since they were on the side with her swollen eye but then she saw Kim Rye setting up a flower arrangement on her bedside table.

"...Kim?" The Deputy asked and Kim turned to her.

"Hey Dep, how are you feeling?" She asked and reached out to hold the Deputy's hand.

"Like shit." The Deputy said and Kim chuckled.

The sound of Sharky yelling: "What do you mean fire in the Deputy's room will make it explode? Is there gas in it?" while the doctor desperately tried to explain to him that oxygen was the problem made the Deputy look towards the door.

Kim made a face. "That Boshaw I'll tell you. Just give me one second and I'll go take care of that." Kim gave the Deputy a smile and a small hand squeeze before she walked out of the room. She was quiet but her words were obviously a hushed shout. She kicked Sharky out of clinic under the instructions of finding Nick and returned back to the Deputy's room with the doctor.

"Hey Deputy, how are we feeling?" The doctor asked and picked up the clipboard at the end of her bed.

"Everything's pretty fuzzy, but I'll get chunks of it here and there." The Deputy explained and the doctor nodded.

"Well a little fuzziness can be expected with your concussion." The doctor said and grabbed a small flashlight out of her pocket. She walked over to the Deputy and held her good eye open, shining the flashlight into it.

"What all is wrong?" The Deputy asked as Kim took a seat next to her.

"Well, you have a lot going on. You've got two broken ribs, three cracked ribs, multiple bruised ribs, along with severe bruising and blood pooling in your abdomen, legs, and back. Your right rotator cuff is torn but that's pretty fixable, your face trauma is what I'm watching pretty closely right now." The doctor set down the clipboard and did some small muscle tests to check the Deputy's nerves.

Kim stayed by the Deputy's side, literally holding her hand the whole time. Hearing the list of her injuries, which she knew that wasn't the full extent of them, was enough to get her pretty worried. She'd known that she was in bad shape but hearing a doctor tell her was scarier.

"How long will it take her to recover?" Kim asked as if she could read the Deputy's mind.

The doctor studied the Deputy and her chart. "I'm going to say around 6-8 weeks just to make sure everything's healing the way it's supposed to be."

"Doc, I can't be here for 6-8 weeks. People need me." The Deputy tried to argue.

"Sorry Deputy, but even you need to take a break sometimes. Besides, we can handle it for a little while while you recover, I'm sure everyone will understand that." The doctor was sincere but the Deputy hated it.

What was she going to do if she couldn't fight the cult for 6-8 weeks? What was everyone like Eli and Wheaty, or Sheriff Whitehorse and Virgil, or Pastor Jerome and Mary May going to do with the Deputy down and out? The Deputy started thinking about what horrible things could happen to the Valley while she was sick.

Kim gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's ok Deputy, the time will fly by and you'll be better in no time." She said sweetly, her tone was comforting but still the Deputy was out of commission. That was a pretty terrifying idea for the Deputy to wrap her head around.

Time was not flying by the way the Deputy hoped it would. It had been two and a half weeks already and the Deputy was barely feeling any better. Already Pastor Jerome has been over to the clinic to visit her, he wasn't supposed to tell her about what was happening but he did anyway when the doctor wasn't around. He gave her information about how they were keeping the cult pushed back with barricades and trucks, how because of her there were a lot more people that had been encouraged to pick up a gun and join the Resistance. It was all good news but still the Deputy was worried. She hated being in the clinic and was counting down the minutes until the doctor let her go.

She'd been visited by the majority of her friends, even Adelaide and Xander stopped by to drop off some stuff to help with the pain. It was most definitely pot and as soon as they left the doctor threw it out but it was the thought that counted. Nick and Kim visited her the most, sometimes they'd bring Carmina but most times one would stay home with the baby.

Kim would talk to the Deputy for hours about her garden and how big Carmina was getting. It was nice to hear about simple stuff like how her rutabagas were growing or how Nick had to put a child lock on his beer cooler and locked himself out of it.

Hurk and Sharky visited a lot too, mostly to tell the Deputy about whatever crazy things they were doing like trying to play tag with real guns (Sharky spent some time in the clinic with the Deputy) or how they were going to get Hurk Sr. to love Hurk Jr. more. They would eventually get kicked out by the doctor for being too loud or trying to touch all the medical equipment but they promised to come back whenever they could.

The doctor agreed to let the Deputy walk around the clinic to get some light exercise as long as she didn't try to leave, which the Deputy was grateful for. It was painful to sit up but the act of walking was freeing. After being tethered to the bed for weeks the Deputy was so thankful to be able to walk that she over did it and wound up collapsing halfway down the hallway. It gave Kim a real good scare and she lectured the Deputy about being more careful when she woke up. The doctor checked her out and was happy to tell her that she hadn't done more damage to her ribs but warned her against exerting herself more than necessary.

The Deputy tried to convince Kim not to spend so much time with her. "You should be spending this time with your family, not in some clinic with me." The Deputy tried to reason with her but Kim just pulled out a card game from her bag with a smile.

"Listen, Nick has Carmina and they're spending some quality time together so I have plenty of free time. So, Go Fish?" She asked and the Deputy sighed.

She did love to play Go Fish with Kim so she agreed to play until she got tired and had to take a nap. With all of the sleep the Deputy had been getting she was amazed she hadn't been having many nightmares. Maybe it was the painkillers, maybe they did something to mess with her head and make her sleep peacefully.

Maybe she'd spoken too soon.

After a long day of walking and resting and walking and resting the Deputy was sleeping peacefully. Until she had a dream.

It was a nice dream, the Deputy was walking through the forest in the Whitetail mountains, no gun, no Peggies, just her in nature enjoying herself. She walked around for a while, past some small lakes with fish jumping for flies above the water. She saw some deer grazing along open fields in the hills. The Deputy decided to go visit the Wolf's Den, since she'd been gone for so long.

It took her a little while to get up there but she got to the front door of the Wolf's Den and climbed in. She walked down the stairs and felt the air get cooler. No worries though, it's always chilly in the bunker. It was suspicious that she hadn't seen anybody yet but she just assumed they were having a meeting so she let herself in.

When she turned a corner she saw a Militia man dead against the wall. The Deputy hurried to check his pulse but found nothing. She grabbed his knife and ran deeper into the bunker. After every twist and turn she found more dead Resistance members strewn across the place. Then she saw Tammy bloody on the ground, then Wheaty, and the Deputy could hear someone breathing around the corner of the room she was hiding in.

She jumped around the corner of the doorway and saw Eli dead on the floor, his head caved in with a pipe. Standing over him was a bloody figure, holding a gun in one hand and a pipe in the other. He turned around to reveal his face. It was Jacob Seed. He had blood coating the left side of his face, his breaths came out in exerted pants. He saw the Deputy standing there with a small knife and grinned that haunting grin.

"Do you really think I can't find you?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

The Deputy couldn't say anything, she couldn't speak, she couldn't move, all she could do was stand there in terror and watch. Jacob raised his pipe with a single arm and with a disturbing laugh swung firmly, suddenly standing a foot away from the Deputy. The pipe swung right for the Deputy's face causing her to lurch.

She jumped and was suddenly sitting on the clinic bed, her hands gripping the blanket over her. She looked around as quickly as she could but the stiffness in her neck made that difficult. "Where's Eli? Wheaty? Tammy? Where are you?" She called out in a panic.

"Deputy, calm down it was just a nightmare." A soothing deep voice got closer to her. The Deputy whipped her head to the voice and saw Grace standing there with her hands up, being careful not to get too close.

"Grace?" The Deputy asked and slowly made herself more aware of her surroundings. She was sitting in the clinic, not walking through the Whitetail mountains. She raised a hand to her head that was now pounding.

"You were having a nightmare, I was just about to wake you up." Grace said and got closer to her.

"Thanks, when'd you get here?"

"A couple hours ago, what was that dream about? You were mumbling in your sleep about Eli?" Grace asked her and the Deputy leaned back into her pillows.

"It was nothing, just a bad dream." She told her, hoping that Grace would leave it alone.

"Ok..." Grace sat down in the chair next to the Deputy's bed. "So how long have you got left in here?" She asked and the Deputy rubbed her eyes.

"I'm a few days out of 6 weeks, but I'm feeling much better so I'm hoping the doctor won't keep me stuck in here for much longer."

She looked way better now than she did when she first got there. Her eye wasn't swollen shut anymore and the bruise had been reduced to a yellowish tint around her eyes. The gash from the pipe that stretched across the right side of her face was healing but it would definitely scar. The doctor kept an ointment on it and a bandage over it to help it heal. Her right arm (the one with the torn rotator cuff) was in a shoulder sling to help it heal properly. Her face still looked like hell but she was coming out of it.

Grace could tell the beating had a lasting effect on her. She didn't have that sort of lighthearted laugh to her voice when she spoke and her eyes were dark. She spent a lot of time thinking, not that the Deputy wasn't quiet before but now it took Grace a couple times of saying the Deputy's name before she realized she was being spoken to. It was obvious she was getting antsy with being stuck inside the clinic, she'd been convincing the doctor to let her do her walking outside the clinic.

After days of wearing her down, the doctor agreed to let her walk around outside as long as she had someone there with her at all times and she didn't go farther than the driveway.

Grace wasn't great at helping the Deputy walk around. She just didn't have that side to her, she was more gruff and stoic than a caretaker should be. Jess was even worse. But the Deputy enjoyed having their spunk around her, it helped her feel like she was out in the field again.

Jess would sit on the stone marker that marked the driveway and wait for the Deputy to hobble over to her. She spent the majority of her time focusing on her bow and arrows, pretending that the Deputy walking wasn't such a big deal. It was really because she hated seeing the Deputy like that. She hated watching her stumble around on shaky legs, just trying to make it somewhere she could sit down.

Every time Jess looked at the Deputy she was filled with rage. That rage made her want to go hunt Jacob Seed down and torture him the way he'd tortured so many other people, including her. But she couldn't, she couldn't just go in and try to kill everyone the way she wanted to so bad.

"I feel like a goddamn drunk." The Deputy sighed as she lowered herself down to the stone marker Jess sat on.

"You sure look like it." Jess replied and the Deputy gave her an entertained huff.

"You know, when you get to be my age," the Deputy sat up straighter to relieve the pressure on her ribs, "you get a sort of clarity about a lot of things."

"You know I'm 27 right?" Jess interrupted and the Deputy looked over at her.

"Holy shit, you're not like, 18?" She asked and Jess shook her head.

"No you just look old." Jess bantered back and the Deputy chuckled.

"Well damn, I didn't know that." The Deputy said and winced as she adjusted herself on the stone marker.

Jess stayed quiet for a minute. "How are you going to get Jacob back for this?" She asked, motioning to her sling with an arrow.

The Deputy sighed. "I don't know Jess, I don't know." She said and neither of them said anything else, even if they wanted to.

#far cry 5 #jacob seed #far cry #jacob seed x deputy #jacob x deputy #female deputy #deputy oc #fem!deputy #fem deputy #farcry fanfic #jacob seed fanfic #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry fanfiction #jacob seed x fem deputy

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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Hell’s Bells || Oscar and Kaden

TIMING: Before dinner with Regan and the scream LOCATION: The Silver Bullet PARTIES: @forfuchssake and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Just a normal night at the Bullet with some friends

It’d been entirely too long since he’d gotten to spend some good old fashioned quality time with his nephew and Oscar was more than ready for Kaden to show him this hunter bar. There was something to be said about the sense of community and comradery that all hunters seemed to share. It didn’t matter if it was a warden, slayer, or a fellow beast hunter-- that connection stood. They all had a duty to protect people and it was something that bonded them all together. As usual, he donned his favorite leather jacket for a night in the bar. When he picked Kaden up, he gave his arm a playful nudge and joked, “You excited to show an old man hunter like me all the good haunts?” He followed Kaden into the bar and instantly became engulfed in the energy. The buzz of chatter in the air and the stories he could pick up if he concentrated was contagious. They ordered a round of beers from the bar and he asked, “See anyone you know around tonight?”

“So long as you don’t embarrass me, old man,” Kaden said with a smile, returning the nudge. The Silver Bullet was home away from home. At least that’s what he kept telling himself it was. Somehow the more he went, the less that seemed to be true. Still, he was hoping that having Oscar with him would make it feel a little more like home again. Or a lot, depending. “Hey, Sam,” he said with a wave as they walked in and headed to the bar. As they took their beers, Kaden glanced around. “I know most of the regulars here,” he said. Then again, maybe he spoke too soon. “Or I did.” Admittedly he didn’t swing by as often; he found himself spending time with Regan more often than not. Shit, did he recognize anyone here other than Sam? His heart sunk a moment and then his eyes locked in on a table with some familiar faces. “There,” he said with a nod and led them over. Kaden greeted the table as they got there. “Devin, Mads, Kyle, this is my uncle Oscar,” he told them, introducing the hunters sitting at the table to his uncle. “It’s a whole ass family reunion tonight.”

“Me? Embarrass you? When have I ever done anything like that,” Oscar joked with a hearty laugh. The Silver Bullet was just the vibe he was looking for. Meeting new hunters had always been one of the fun parts of the job. Not many could relate to the challenges they faced on a day to day basis and Oscar could only hope that Kaden was utilizing this community. It was important to have a healthy outlet for this shit and these guys understood. He waved to Sam and ordered his beer. He looked to Kaden who seemed to be looking for familiar faces. “You did? You really are getting domestic on me,” he retorted with a laugh until Kaden pointed out a table. There was a somewhat mousy looking one that Kaden called Devin. He looked really smart and he’d bet anything he was a warden. One had to be good with their words to work with the damn fae. Mads looked tough, but gorgeous. He’d definitely be buying her a drink. Kyle was drinking a Natty Light and Oscar did his best not to judge. “Good to meet everyone,” his eyes landed on Mads, “Especially you.” Everyone gave him a welcoming wave. “So, who here has some fun stories tonight? This town I’m sure there’s some good ones.” Not surprisingly, Kyle was the first one to pip up, “Well, last week I killed an ustra. Tricky bastards those ones,” he exclaimed slamming his can down on the table.

Kaden rolled his eyes at Oscar’s ribbing. “Yeah well, keep it in check if you can stand to, alright? I know it’s going to be a tall order for you.” It was strange how quickly all of his worries about this evening faded away as he saw the group and sat down with his drink in hand. This was fine, normal, even. Well, his version of normal. Certainly not what most people would have considered normal. He let out a small sigh as he took a drink. “Shut it,” he grumbled under his breath. He’d never seen himself as the type to settle into anything, hell he’d always planned to model his life after Oscar’s in a lot of ways. It hadn’t bothered him just how “domestic” his life had become until his uncle decided to point it out. It almost felt like an insult coming from him. And he didn’t even know the half of it. As Oscar flirted with Mads, Kaden rolled his eyes again, but a hint of a smile was still on his face. Of course Oscar zeroed in on Mads. Made sense. And he could sure do worse. “An ustra? Shit, good for you, Kyle. I saw one the other week. It nearly got me. I only got out bec--” The words caught in his throat. He only got out of it because a werewolf helped him. Putain. “You lose the plot, Langley?” Devin asked. “Are you lying to us? Come on, there’s no way you took one by yourself,” he finished with a huff. Kaden wanted to crawl into a hole. He took an awkward sip instead. “Fuck off. I had something caught in my throat. It was definitely an ustra. I got a lucky shot in right at its eye. That was it. How about you fucking let me finish speaking next time, Porter, huh?”

While Oscar was a little put off by Kyle slamming a can down on the table, he was impressed with him taking down an ustra. From what he knew, they were tricky bastards. You had to avoid their venom or you were surely done for. What had surprised him was that Kaden had gotten defensive while speaking of his own ustra encounter. He raised a brow and let him finish. “Glad you’re both alive to tell the tale. I’ve never seen one myself though maybe that’ll change in this crazy town.” He gave Kaden a pat on the back and chuckled, “No need to get defensive, Junge. I’ve seen you take down worse. Devin here’s probably just mad he hasn’t seen one.” Devin seemed to huff something under his breath and Oscar took another swig of his beer. He turned to Mads and gave her a devilish grin. “What about you, Mads? You look like you could kick my ass.” As much was true and damn attractive at that. She smirked and responded, “You’re right, I could kick your ass, but you caught me on a good night so I won’t. What I can’t believe is that these guys over here are bragging about an ustra. That’s child’s play.” She threw back the rest of what looked like whiskey on the rocks before she finished, “Meanwhile, I just took down an asanbosam. Fight an agile tree vampire then we can talk about who the real badass is here, boys.”

Kaden’s first instinct at the word defensive was to bite back, and he nearly did. Until Oscar finished speaking. Right. A bit of a smile crept on his face. Devin seemed less thrilled by the assessment. “That may be true. However, I’ll have you know there’s a banshee in town that I’m working on tracking, I’m sure I’ll have a kill more impressive than your ustra soon enough,” Devin assessed, cleaning his glasses as he waxed on. At the word banshee, the beer he was sipping seemed to aim right for his windpipe and Kaden beat his chest a moment as he tried to get his breath back. Shit, shit, fuck, putain de merde, fucking shit fuck, fuck. “What’s wrong with you, Langley?” Kyle asked. “Nothing, I’m fine,” he sputtered between coughs. Fuck, fuck, he had to focus, think quick. “I was just cracking up at the thought of you bagging a banshee. The fact you even think there’s one in town is fucking laughable. You know how rare those are?” Devin’s feathers looked ruffled and he was practically steaming. “Have you not heard the screams? Seen the broken glass? You have to know as well as I that--” Kyle waved his beer can in Devin’s face to make him stop. “Yeah, yeah, no one cares, dude.” Kaden exhaled, trying not to let it be a full on sigh of relief. His stomach was in knots and they were only a few minutes into the evening. He was going to need a lot of refills tonight, that was for sure. “Asanbosam? Pft, big deal. Took down one of those, too.” If they could just stick to the undead, that’d be great. “I mean, alright, a witch helped a little but only after I saved her life. Let me know when you go up against a vrykolakas. Then I might be impressed.”

When Devin mentioned tracking a banshee, it came as no surprise to Oscar he was a warden. While he respected the crap out of what they did and what they went up against, he much preferred his life as a beast hunter. Not nearly as much wit and watching your words required. “A banshee? Can’t say I’ve heard of one this side of the Atlantic, but the death rate in this town is probably appealing to them,” Oscar mused though he was taken aback by Kaden sputtering on his drink. Had he missed something funny there? There was a certain tension to Kaden still that he couldn’t quite place. He gave him a few good pats on the back and pressed, “It’s not far fetched, I mean hell, we saw a bies on my first night in town. If there is a banshee in town, I’m sure we’ll all hear it soon enough.” Especially given they all had more sensitive hearing than most. There must have been some sort of weird rivalry going on between Kaden and Devin that he wasn’t all that interested in entertaining. Kaden was better than that. Thankfully, with Kyle’s influence, Devin seemed to be dropping it. He couldn’t help but laugh at everyone one upping each other. He gave Kaden a joking nudge. “Nice job taking down an asanbosam… though I will say I’m sure Mads looked way better while doing it.” He gave Mads a sly wink to which she responded with a coy grin. “Vrykolakas are rough, too. Haven’t worked with too many spellcasters, but a slayer back in Prague helped me out with a pricolici. Worst of both worlds, those arschlochs.”

Kyle muttered something about them all sounding like nerds as he slammed his can of shitty American beer down on the table. Oscar rolled his eyes, had to love the younger generation. “You’re not going to make it long with that kind of attitude. Different monsters require different weapons and fighting tactics. It’s one thing to enjoy the fight, it’s another to be stupid.”

“Sure is,” Kaden mumbled into his beer. Hell the death rate was half the reason why Regan was employed in the town. Funny enough. If he left to go to the restroom to go vomit,would anyone notice? “Yeah but bies can’t get on a plane and fly across the ocean. Just because you think you heard a barn owl once doesn’t mean it was a banshee or that she-- it’d even still be in town, putain.” Still Oscar’s last comment churned a pit in his stomach. Of course they’d hear it. They all would. When she screamed for someone’s death, half the town could hear it. It was a wonder she hadn’t come across a warden yet. For a brief moment Kaden’s eyes caught Devin’s and he wondered if he would be willing to kill the other man for Regan’s sake. He looked away just as quick. Vomiting in the restroom was feeling more like a necessity. No, he wouldn’t be willing to take someone’s life, especially not another hunter’s. Right? The beer in front of him was starting to look like an enemy to the knots in his stomach. Focusing on whatever was going on between Mads and Oscar seemed less upsetting, surprisingly, he turned his focus there, away from Devin. “Well we know she looks better than you, so not surprising” he said with his own half smile. He had little doubt they’d be leaving without him by the end of the night. Fine by him. Oscar deserved some fun. He was always good at finding it. I would be nice if Kaden could remember how to have fun right about now but the thought of pricolici just flashed a vision of Montgomery’s trophy room in front of his eyes. Shit, why was he so fucking off tonight?

“Don’t worry, Kyle can be our cannon fodder. That is what he was trained for, right?” Kaden ribbed. Kyle didn’t seem to know what that meant but he did know it was an insult. “Man, shut up Langley. No one cares about your fancy lineage, dude.” Kaden went to roll his eyes but as much as he was joking, he really didn’t enjoy seeing more dead hunters. “Calm down. I didn’t say shit about that, you did, But seriously, if you want any help or tips let me know. No bullshit.”

There was clearly some sort of rivalry between Devin and Kaden that Oscar wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to understand. A banshee being in town really wasn’t all that far-fetched. Considering the death rate, it’d be the perfect spot for one to call home and there would probably be lots of screams. It was only a matter of time before one revealed itself if there was a banshee here. He took a chug of his beer and shrugged off the whole debate, “Sure, they can travel. Time will surely tell.” Hopefully, not paying too much mind to Devin would help shake off whatever tension was there. He’d have to ask about that later though he figured that’d be a message. By all indication, Mads seemed interested in him and he had no intention of wasting that momentum. He laughed and agreed, “Damn right, she does. Though that could be said of her versus anyone in this bar. Maybe she’ll still give an old man like me a fighting chance.” Her smirk told him everything he needed to know though her response let him know she wasn’t going to make it easy. “I’d consider it, though I do think you should at least buy a girl a drink first. I may be able to kick your ass, but I’m still a lady.” With a nod, he answered, “You don’t have to tell me twice.” He turned to Kaden and asked, “Need another beer, Junge?” He looked a bit perplexed to see just how untouched his beer was. “Actually, I’m getting you another one. Don’t let a nice Spatan like that get warm.” He gave Kaden a big pat on the back before he went off to grab another round for himself, Mads, and Kaden. He asked Sam for their drinks and brought them back over to catch the tail end of Kyle and Kaden’s conversation. “Seriously, kid, it’s got nothing to do with clout. In a town like this, you gotta know what you’re up against. No one wants to see your obituary in the paper.”

Kaden knew it was only a matter of time until a warden ran into Regan if they weren’t already hunting her but he still hoped time wouldn’t tell, that she could be spared that part of supernatural life. Anyway, it was fun to see Mads giving Oscar a hard time. And nice to not have to worry about his own bullshit. “Are you suggesting that he’s not a gentleman?” Kaden asked Mads, feigning surprise. “I can assure, this,” he said, gesturing to Oscar, “is a gentleman through and through. He does owe you a drink, though,” he said with a smile. It was easy though to focus on someone other than himself. Plus, the sooner that Oscar left with Mads, the sooner he could head home, maybe stop by and see Regan. Putain, he felt like he became such a stick in the mud. “Oh?” He almost missed that Oscar was talking to him. How he could feel so utterly alone at a bar surrounded by people was a wonder. “Right, sorry. Thanks. Do you need any help getting the--?” Oscar was already gone before Kaden could finish asking. He didn’t need help, anyway, Kaden knew that. He always had things covered. Somehow his uncle always had life figured out. Kaden thought he had his figured out, too. But hey, he could take some comfort in the fact that he had more figured out than Kyle did. “I’m not going to die. I got this covered,” Kyle said before chugging the rest of his beer. “Look, I got this tattoo. It’s for protection. No way am I going to kick the bucket for at least five years.” Kaden pinched his nose and shook his head, unable to stifle the laughs at seeing what looked like a generic tribal tattoo on Kyle’s arm. “If you say so, ‘dude.’ Good luck,” Kaden said through laughter. “I hope you didn’t pay too much money for that.”

As Oscar was walking back with all three drinks in tow, he wished he could turn the hunter hearing off from time to time. A protective tattoo? Was this Kyle guy an absolute idiot? It’d be a miracle if he made it five more days let alone five more years. It sounded like there was no talking sense into that thick skull of his, so he opted to not push it any further. He was much more taken with Mads anyway. If Kyle wanted to be a dumbass, that was his prerogative. He set Kaden’s and Mads’ drinks down in front of them and shook his head, “Pretty sure you got scammed, Kyle. Don’t let some tattoo make you forget just how dangerous what we do is.” Okay, maybe he hadn’t entirely let that slide. Was he a cocky bastard himself? He sure was, but he knew his shit. There were very few beasts out there that he couldn’t recognize and have some recollection of the best way to kill them. Without that knowledge he’d have been a long ficken time ago. He’d had just about enough of Kyle’s shit and Kaden seemed over it, too. Seeing if Mads wanted to get out of here after they finished this round seemed like the best idea. There was a wry grin on his face as he asked, “So how are my chances looking now that I’ve been a gentleman and brought the prettiest lady in the bar a drink?” Mads rolled her eyes at him playfully and answered, “I decided you were coming home with me when you first joined us.” A woman who could kick his ass and knew what she wanted and went for it. His wicked grin only widened and he placed a hand on her lower back as he slid onto the stool next to her. “I’m sure Kaden here will appreciate not having to chauffeur me back to my hotel. I’d say I’m cramping his style, but that would be a lie.”

Kaden made a mental note to ask Luce if she saw Kyle in the shop and if it was her that pulled a prank on him and robbed him of his money or if that was where she drew the line. It’d be an entertaining conversation either way, he had a feeling that much was true. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand talking to Kyle and he couldn’t bear to be alone with Devin, he was too afraid he’d give himself away. Come on, Oscar, flirt faster. Right on schedule, his uncle practically leaned over and winked at Mads across the table. Very subtle. Still, he was thankful. It was odd watching him flirt with women at a hunter bar meanwhile he wasn’t trying to pick up anyone himself. Hell, he had someone to go home to. So much of it felt wrong but at the same time, he wasn’t really sure he’d trade it. Looking around the bar, the allure, the comfort, it felt hollow. Not completely but it wasn’t what he remembered. But he was happy to see Oscar was having a good time. And was about to have a better one. “You’re right, old man. Some of us have better shit to do at home. And people,” he said with a coy smile. “No offense to you, Mads. You can do better, though.” He downed the rest of his beer and gave Oscar a pat on the shoulder before turning to head out. “Have a good night,” he said and gave a small wave before heading out and going home back to a quiet night at home, something that oddly felt more normal now. Who would have guessed.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #writing #oscar #forfuchssake #hell's bells

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an-annyeoing-writer · 5 years

Text

Baëkhyun x Reader: derision.

Word count: 1 787

Warnings: mind games, drug use, unethical human subject research.

Rating: M (+16) for the warnings stated above.

The man sat down on the opposite side of the room, legs crossed and a folder with documents seated on his lap. To anyone else looking at him now, his face would seem emotionless. But you saw a hint of derision in his beautiful eyes; his head raised proudly as he looked you over for a few long seconds before opening his documents.

He was barely three, maybe four meters away, but the distance looked like an abyss. The way he sat, the way he behaved, the way he was clothed, so clean, neat and rich, so unlike your dirty, ripped clothes and your limbs stripped to the chair, put up even more distance than there’s ever been before.

You wished there were none, as before, when none of such things mattered. But your wish was not to be granted.

Your head hung lowly.

“Now, shall we start? Miss [L/n], our newest subject. How nice to see you here.” A polite smile crossed his feature, but it wasn’t directed at you, because the man didn’t even look up from his papers. “Let’s talk a bit. It must be a very sudden change in your life, but I hope you’re being treated well. Tell me, is the food alright?”

You wanted to scoff, but a broken sob was all that left your mouth instead. Was he even serious now? He knew how bad it was, how painful. He knew how the guards acted towards the subjects, what the place you were kept in was like, and, although the least important, how nasty the food was, in right amounts to satiate hunger, but stinky and awful in taste, a white butter-like substance consisting of all the ingredients your body would need, but nothing above that.

The man in front of you was nothing but a mocker, taking his time relishing in your misery.

“I’ll take it as a yes, then. We’ve been taking a lot of tests lately, and I must say, your results are promising. What a surprise a diamond like you had been right under our noses all along.”

“Stop talking like this” you whimpered out. “You weren’t working here. You don’t belong here. Stop talking like you’re one of them. It makes me sick.”

Putting his documents together and folding in front of him, Baëkhyun finally looked at you.

“If not one of them, then who I am, Miss [L/n]? And, more importantly, who are you?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but simply couldn’t. You managed to handle his gaze for a long time before dropping it miserably.

“I-I was good to you…” you whimpered.

“Sure you were” Baëkhyun scoffed, but his tone was rid off amusement.

“Weren’t I…?”

The man stood up from his chair so suddenly that you flinched, startled, making him smirk without even glancing at you. Putting hands behind his back, he started pacing around the room, sometimes disappearing behind your back, but making no effort to get closer to you then necessary. You swore it drove you crazy. You ached to hold him, to have this littlest amount of comfort that was so close, almost in your reach.

“Miss [L/n], let’s get back to business. You’ve been given the same exact treatment as all of the subjects in our center are. Can you see any differences in your behavior, body, your sensations? Has anything changed in your opinion?”

You weren’t interested in answering his questions. Thousands of thoughts ran through your mind, flashbacks of everything that happened ever since you met him.

You hated every single memory because they were the reason for the pain of both of you, but you loved them just the same, knowing they were the reason you met him, started to grow fond of him, just like, you were sure, he grew fond of you.

You hated the syringe you had to put in his arm because he was struggling so much that the doctors called you over to sedate him, not wanting to get any closer to the dangerous subject. But you loved the way his lips parted slightly at your sight, and he found himself relaxing the very moment you spoke to him, calm and warm, so unlike anything else he’d experienced in the center.

You hated the fact you were the one to always interrogate him, being educated enough to do that, but so low in the ranks that no one cared if he’d hurt you. But you loved the fact that he never did, and that those hours you spent together brought you closer to each other. You loved that you could say him all these comforting things, ease him into this life, and tell him that it won’t last forever, and that his sacrifice will bring a better life to so many. You saw that it worked to calm him down. But you hated that he was the one who had to be that sacrifice. Because you swore you’d rather see him free and well, not beaten up and sedated because he tried to run away again, again and again.

You loved that he was free now. But you hated the fact that you were the price of such luxury.

He was considered a finished case, a subject that nothing more could be done with. And as a successful case, he was given an offer to join the center.

And at the same time, you were accidentally diagnosed as an X-gene carrier, and taken into the custody of the center. What a cruel joke it was, you thought. Almost like those stories about evil kings who tormented their people, only to become a slave to them later on.

But you weren’t like those evil kings. In your opinion, you did your best to ease the suffering of the subjects, and you wanted the X-gene to be used in a way that’d help them, not destroy them furthermore. The X-gene was supposed to be a blessing, something that could help improve the human race, not a reason to dehumanize its carriers.

“You aren’t replying to my question, Miss [L/n]. Should I repeat it for you?”

However, in the subjects’ eyes, all of the doctors were the same: they’ve seen enough of evil kings to deem all of them just as cruel, and maybe, just maybe, you weren’t doing it well enough to make them realize your intentions.

Maybe, in fact, you were nothing but another evil king, relishing in the safety of your superior position.

But even despite all of that, your feelings were no illusion, and the way Baëkhyun acted towards you right now simply broke your heart into pieces, shattering them all over this cold, dark room with every step he made, pacing around you in circles like a hungry vulture over dead meat.

“Baëk…” you whimpered. “I’m so sorry…”

“That’s not the answer to my question, Miss [L/n].”

“Why won’t you use my first name… I told you you can…” Your body shivered at yet another memory that appeared in your head.

“Ah, that’d be very unprofessional.” His voice echoed in a whisper right behind you. You could tell he was leaning down to speak to you, words seeping like a venom, his sweet voice deprived from mercy, ringing in your ears, so beautiful, yet so, so relentless.

“Please, stop tormenting me, I can’t stand this being you, Baëkhyun…”

You tried to turn your head towards him, but your neck hurt too much to move it freely; you thought that there was something wrong with your muscles, but it didn’t stay on your mind for too long, because the sound of shuffling quickly distracted your attention.

Something cold and thin touched your neck; it felt like a knife at first, but you quickly realized it was a syringe, pressed flat against your skin. Your heart skipped, but you forced yourself to stay still. Syringes never meant good, you learned. Upon experiencing them yourself, you found yourself regretting every single one you’d used on someone else.

“You’re very uncooperative today, Miss [L/n]. What should I do with you?”

You sobbed quietly.

“Ah, I know. You seem to be sad these days, isn’t it so?”

The syringe disappeared and for a moment you panted heavily, right before you felt the man’s touch on yourself; it brought as much relief as it brought terror, when the man wrapped his arms around your neck from behind, hanging them loosely in front of you, with the syringe still present in one of them and documents – in the other. The gesture was so intimate, taken out of a completely different story, so nice and comforting; especially as Baëkhyun’s cheek brushed against yours when he leaned down, holding his head right next to yours.

“But you don’t have a reason to worry, I’m here to take care of you after all, aren’t I? So, sweetheart.” His voice rung in your ear; he was so close you could hear even his breathing, and the quietest clickings of his tongue. “Don’t worry about anything. It won’t last forever, you know? And your sacrifice will bring better life to so many.” He mocked you, repeating your own words, you could tell. Yet, the closeness that he provided you, gave you the smallest sense of comfort; you turned your head to glance at his face, and he returned the glance. The proximity took your breath away.

Baëkhyun smiled, softly, but still mockingly.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten all we went through” he whispered. You were sure that his voice wouldn’t be registered on the sensitive cameras placed in the room to film the interrogations that took place in it. It was husky, meant for your ears only. “But let me tell you. I’ll put you through hell, and through way worse things that you’ve seen being done to me or any other subjects. I’ll break your body, your soul, I’ll shatter you and put back together the way I want. And then, sweetheart, then, I’ll take you back. I’ll destroy this forsaken place and all the people who brought this misery upon all of us. We’re no different now, [F/n]. You’re just as cursed and hopeless as I’ve once been. So have a good taste of it, sweetheart. Have a good taste of this hell. Atone for your sins to be worth being saved later.”

Straightening up, the man held the documents in front of himself, re-reading them yet again, which you couldn’t really see, with your gaze fixated blankly on the floor between your knees.

“Now, next question. What is your opinion on sedatives used here? Do you remember the types we use, or should I refresh your memory in that matter? Your feedback will be very much appreciated.”

Since my tags aren’t working again, please, reblog if you enjoyed!

#bbh-net #exosnet #exowritersnet #x-exo #exo x reader #x-exo baekhyun #baëkhyun #exo baekhyun #baekhyun x reader #exo imagine #exo fanfiction #exo drabble #exo scenario #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun imagine #vg: exo #vg: baekhyun #vg: drabble

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years

Text

advice ~ daniel webber

word count: 2323

request?: yes!

@kellysimagines “Can you make a Daniel Webber one where he is working with Daniel Radcliffe on his new movie, and I really want to meet him and Daniel takes me on set so I meet him, and he gives me advice how to become an actress and Daniel is jealous of how close we are and that I constantly visit the set but hang out more with Daniel then him and at home he is cutting me off and stuff and later he confronts me and I laugh at him and explain why I spend alot of time wit him and we make up? :)”

description: when your boyfriend introduces you to his co-star, he starts to get jealous with how much time you two are spending together, but little does he know you’re just getting some acting tips

pairing: daniel webber x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

also, i know two daniels is gonna be super confusing so just a note: daniel webber = daniel, daniel radcliffe = dan

I squeezed Daniel’s hand as he led me onto the set of his new movie. I was nearly bouncing with excitement, like a child getting to go to the sweets store of an ice cream parlor or something.

Daniel’s most recent movie had him starring alongside Daniel Radcliffe, aka Harry Potter himself. I was a massive Harry Potter fan ever since I was young. The Philosopher’s Stone was the first movie I had ever seen and ever since then I had been hooked. Daniel knew this, and when he got casted for the role with Dan, I practically begged him to bring me to set at least once. He told me he would’ve brought me anyways, but I had a feeling it was mainly to appease my begging.

“If you squeeze my hand any harder I won’t have feeling in it anymore,” he teased, trying to wiggle his hand from my grasp.

I loosened my grip on his hand. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just excited! I can’t believe I’m actually meeting the Daniel Radcliffe!”

Daniel chuckled and wrapped an arm around me, kissing the top of my head as he did so. “Believe it, baby. He’s in his trailer right now, he should be coming to set soon.”

As if on cue, someone called for Daniel and along came Daniel Radcliffe. I grabbed Daniel’s hand again, my eyes widening in shock and excitement. Daniel winced as I squeezed his hand a little too hard yet again. My heart was beating so fast with excitement that I was sure I was going to pass out. I really hoped I wouldn’t, that’d be the worst first impression on my childhood hero.

He smiled at the two of us and I felt so lightheaded with excitement. I had to stop myself from jumping up and down like an excited child. “Hey! You must be (Y/N). Daniel talks about you all the time.”

I looked at Daniel in surprise and he just smiled back at me. I managed to unlatch my hand from his and extend it to Dan, like a normal person does.

“Yeah, yeah that’s me. It’s so nice to meet you, too,” I said, shaking his hand.

“She’s a massive fan,” Daniel told him, earning a slight hit on his arm from me. Dan just laughed. “She’s an actress, too.”

“I wouldn't call myself an actress yet,” I shrugged. “I’m trying to become one, but the most I’ve done is some background work and I had one line in a Netflix show recently.”

Dan nodded. “Yeah, breaking into the business isn’t all that easy, which I know means nothing coming from someone who starred in a huge franchise at the age of 10.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but at that moment Daniel was whisked away to get into his wardrobe and to get hair and makeup done. Suddenly, with him no longer by my side, all the confidence I had to talk to Dan was gone as well. The words I was about to say fizzled out in my throat and I just stood there with an open mouth, like an idiot.

I clamped my mouth shut finally, but tried to rack my brain for something to say.

“So,” Dan said instead, sending relief through me, “just having trouble getting your foot in the door with roles?”

I sighed heavily and nodded. “I’ve had plenty of auditions for all sorts of roles, but they all end the same; they tell me I’m fantastic but I’m just not who they’re looking for. I’m starting to think I’m not even a good actress, they just don’t want to tell me the truth.”

“I’m sure you’re a fantastic actress. The sad reality, especially these days, is just that casting directors want more well known faces to lead their movies in order to sell more tickets and to get a better box office rating, even if well known faces aren’t the best option,” Dan said. “You should show me some of your acting, like audition videos if you have them, or you can do a scene by memory, while we wait. We have some time while Daniel gets ready.”

I felt dizzy with excitement yet again. Daniel Radcliffe was asking to see my acting?! How could I pass this up?!

The two of us sat together on some nearby chairs and I showed Dan the audition video from my last audition. I still had it on my phone to try and see what I couldn’t possibly done wrong for the casting directors to pass up on me, but every time I watched it I couldn’t see a problem. They seemed genuinely impressed with my skills, and had even told me that time around that they’d “get in touch” with my agent.

They stayed true to their word, but they got in touch to tell my agent that they had casted someone else, not me.

Dan told me he thought my acting was great, which caused me to nearly jump around like a child yet again, and assured me that he thought I would be casted in a lead role soon enough.

“Hollywood has so many known faces, casting directors need to focus on the up and coming people instead. You just have to find the right casting director who thinks that,” he told me.

I smiled brightly at him. “I appreciate that, and I appreciate you looking at my acting.”

“It was no problem! You’re insanely talented, and really nice. I can see why Daniel likes you so much.”

I smiled. Over Dan’s shoulder, I could see Daniel standing with someone while watching the two of us. I waved excitedly to him, causing Dan to look over. Daniel smiled back, but it wasn’t one of his wide, bright smiles, and he didn’t wave either. It seemed odd, but I figured maybe it was because of something being said to him with whoever he was stood with.

“Looks like Daniel’s ready to go,” Dan said. “I better get going to start the scene. I’ll talk to you after, yeah?”

“Yeah! Sounds good.”

~~~~~~

As the weeks went on, I continued to go to set with Daniel to talk with Dan. In between takes, he would give me advice on acting, and on how to really put myself out there and make myself stand out to casting directors despite not being a big named actress.

I was grateful for his help, and looked forward to the days where I could go to set with Daniel to talk to Dan. However, those days started to become few and far between as Daniel began to grow distant.

It started with slight silence at the end of every day. We’d drive home from set every night in complete silence. I’d try to ask Daniel about the day on set and how he found the movie was coming along, but his answers were always short and he never asked anything in return, so I let it go. Then, my visits to the set slowly came to an end when Daniel would get up and leave before waking me, leaving me home alone for the day, and rarely answering my calls throughout the day.

I knew he was acting off, and I wanted to bring it up, but I wasn’t sure how to. I didn’t want to seem like a prying girlfriend, but it was obvious Daniel was mad with me about something, something I wasn’t even sure of.

After yet another day where he went to set without me, Daniel came home earlier than normal. I was sat in our living room watching TV, and I got up to greet him when I heard the door open. He had the same, expressionless look on his face that he always had lately.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re home early.”

“We finished filming early,” he responded. “We might be finished this movie sooner than anyone thought. They’re thinking we could be wrapped within the next few days.”

I nodded, although wasn’t sure how to respond. I was hoping to get to go back to set to see Dan a few more times before they wrapped, but judging by Daniel’s current attitude, that probably wouldn’t be happening.

“Daniel was asking about you,” he said as he moved past me, just inches away from bumping my shoulder as he did so. He had a bitter tone to his voice

I glared after him, wondering what his problem was. “Yeah? What was he asking?”

“Where you were, and why you weren’t coming to set with me anymore. He said he missed seeing you around.”

“I was starting to wonder the same thing,” I said, following Daniel to our shared bedroom. “Is there a reason you stopped taking me to set with you? If you were asked to stop, you can tell me, I won’t be upset, but you just stopped even waking me to go to set with you anymore.”

“I bet you’re really upset that you can’t see Daniel then, huh?” His voice was like ice, but the accusing tone of his voice sent a fiery rage through me.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Really, Daniel? That’s what this is all about? The fact that I spend time on set with Dan? We’ve invited you to join us on multiple occasions, and you always turn us down!”

“I shouldn’t have to be invited to spend time with my girlfriend, (Y/N)! Not when she’s spending all of her time with another guy! How do you think it makes me feel to see you two all over each other right in front of me?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “We sit next to each other and talk, that’s hardly being all over one another. I can’t believe you don’t trust me enough to let me have a male friend! A guy who, by the way, is also in a relationship and has been for like seven years! If you actually took us up on the offers, or if you just came over and sat with us sometime, you’d know that all that's happening is that Dan is giving me acting advice so I can finally get a role.”

Daniel turned to look at me, his face less angry and more shocked. I didn’t let him get a word in, quickly adding, “But no, you avoided me, gave me the silent treatment, and intentionally stopped bringing me to set so that I wouldn’t see him anymore, instead of talking to me about this like a normal person. I thought we had a stronger relationship than this, Daniel, but I guess I was wrong.”

I grabbed my purse from the bedroom floor and made my way to the front door. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wanted to get out of the house. I was so frustrated and angry that I couldn’t even stand to look at Daniel. How dare he accuse me of cheating on him?! He knew I loved him more than anything, that I’d never do that to him, but apparently that wasn’t enough to convince him that I was just friends with Dan.

I heard him running after me, and his hand grab my arm just before I reached for the door. I tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

“Let me go,” I said, trying to pull my arm free again.

“Not unless you promise not to leave when I do.” I sighed and nodded. He let my arm go and I crossed my arms. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” I retorted. “Daniel, you know I love you more than anything, I’d never throw that away for a guy I just met, even if he’s the star of my favourite film franchise. Do you know how much it hurts that you’re accusing me of cheating on you with Dan?”

“I know, I know,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. “It was beyond stupid of me to think that, and even more so to just act out without asking. You were just so close with him on set, and it seemed like the only reason you ever wanted to go was to see him. I just...I felt jealous...I’m so sorry baby, please forgive me.”

I took a deep breath, allowing myself to calm down a moment before I spoke. “I can forgive you, Daniel. But you have to promise to talk to me when you’re worried about stuff like this in the future and not just give me the cold shoulder. It sucked feeling like I couldn’t talk to you about anything because you never really talked back. You just ignored me.”

Daniel nodded and wrapped his arms around me. “I promise, babe, I’ll talk to you about any concerns I have in the future. I’m so sorry.”

I hugged him back, burying my head in his chest. “I forgive you. And I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I pulled away and leaned up to kiss Daniel. He cupped my face gently and held me to him.

“Now that you’re talking to me again,” I said, breaking away from the kiss. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I had an audition last week and they cast me in a reoccurring role in a new Netflix show in development.”

“What?!” Daniel exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement. “Babe! Holy shit, that’s amazing!”

I giggled as he kissed me again. “It is. I’m very excited. They’re supposed to finish casting this week and send us our scripts shortly after. Filming starts in about two months.”

Daniel hugged me tightly. I smiled and melted into him, happy that our short, sort of fight was over.

“Let’s go celebrate,” he said. “We’ll get food, whatever you want, on me.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” I said.

#Daniel Webber #daniel webber x reader #daniel webber imagine #imagine #one shot #request

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magic5ball · 3 years

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Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (9)

Chapter 9: Dropping the A-Bomb

I just stood there, having no idea what to say or do. It was like looking in a mirror at the grim, jaded hump of crap you know you’re going to be in ten years if the scholarship doesn’t work out. It was a sight that would bring most grown men to their knees, so considering I was a little kid at the time, it was a wonder I was even standing at all.

Yet somehow, I managed to spit words.

“T-the water.” I trembled, “g-give it back.”

He looked at the glowing plastic bottle in his hand. “Sorry kid, no can do. This here’s company property now. But if you want, I’m more than willing to sit down for an adult conversation.”

The way he said those last two words made my blood freeze, no small task when the ‘sun’ was shining so bright overhead.

He gestured over to an area at the foot of the inflatable volcano, where two plastic chairs and a table rested. On top of the table were several Red Solo cups and a bottle of Crystal Springs Bottled Water.

“Like I said, its’ been awhile since I’ve had company. Besides the Wegmart Company, that is! Ha!”

My feeble ten year old mind struggled to grapple with the fact that someday I would find jokes like that funny. One of the most horrible experiences of my life.

But what could I do? Thanks to stories from my gangster days, I knew darn well what this A-Bomb was capable of, and I wasn’t really in a position to take chances. So I followed him to the tables, trying not to think about how Bokrug should have been here by now, despite his lumbering movements.

Naturally, I didn’t make a peep. If there’s one thing I learned from comic books, its’ best not to set these friendly-lookin’ types off.

When we did get to that table, first thing the guy did was offer me some of that crisp, refreshing, bottled water. Though the heat from the lava made it really tempting, I knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I did.

“Suit yourself, kiddo.” He said, pouring a cup of his own. “We aren’t that different, you know. In fact, you’re a lot like me when I was little…”

On the outside, I stared like the teacher was about to bring the whipping stick. On the inside, I wanted to scream, because long talks with my Dad had taught me where this was going.

. . .

“When I was your age, I also went to a Summer Camp, it was called Camp Salmon or something like that. Anyway, the counselors running the camp were mean. Like, really, really mean, so the second I could I dashed right on out of there and into the woods. Sound familiar?”

Naturally, I didn’t say a word. Throat was too parched, anyway. A-Bomb laughed.

“Oh who am I kidding?! Of course it does! I know because Wegmart has surveillance cameras everywhere!”

He pressed something under the table, and from the ground emerged a device made from a bunch of big screen T.V.s hastily duct taped together, several flashing images of my adventures over the summer. The rest showed the frozen foods aisle, where my feathered allies were getting ‘ahem’, ‘cleaned up’ in the most gruesome way possible.

“Like you, Watterson Tostig, I went into the underworld and escaped. I too, was inducted into a gang of dinosaurs. I, too, became God of Roadside America. But at the end of the day, guys like us have to settle down and face reality. Wegmart saved me, kid, and if you’re willing, it’ll save you too.”

All that time, I didn’t turn away from the screen. I couldn’t.

“I thought I could spend the rest of my life hiding in the produce aisle. But I was foolish back then, a rogue vagrant eating grapefruit peels. Until THEY rescued we. The founders of Wegmart took my withered ghost and showed me the way to love, happiness, and most importantly, low, low prices!”

Yeah, yeah. The low, low price of a human soul!

“I was weak at first, but the kind folks at Wegmart saw my talents as a brown bagger and before I knew it, I had my own private toothpick in the faculty room! After that, they put me into production.”

Here’s the thing about young me being stoic: even at the best of times, he was kinda bad at it. Sometimes I even wonder if he had some kind of attention deficit. Not saying little me cocked an eyebrow at the mention of ‘production’, but he looked at me like I did before he went on yammering again.

“Oh yeah! You’re not in the know of company business. Right! See, our store used to have a 3D printer they would use to take the employee of the month and just clone him until they had an entire staff of the perfect worker! And yours truly has held the position for ten years!”

Ever since I was young enough to confuse Wegmart with Disneyland, I’d always noticed how all the brown baggers looked the same. Suddenly, everything made terrible, terrible sense. But worse was the realization that, just like those cereal box sweepstakes, the empty, dotted line cutout of a man could have easily been me!

“Shame they recalled the printer. Something about lead based ink. Or the clones having higher than normal rates of cancer. Really, I just signed the paperwork. But enough of the sad stuff, Watters! Let’s talk future! Because I’ve seen you in action and man, you’re just the kind of spunk to breathe life into this company!”

Least, I think that’s what he said. Bokrug’s running tardy was really nerving me up.

“So join me, Watterson! And let us rule the Wegmart like manager and employee!”

“No.” I whispered.

“Eh?” A-Bomb cocked an eyebrow, like he’d never heard the word in years.

And with that, I could stay silent no longer. The anger, the one that’d been boiling so steadily I me like the giant volcano we sat at the foot of, went full Krakatoa!

“Are you deaf, poophead?! I said NO!. And you know why? Because all you did was make a giant self-pity sob story for yourself, because you think that if you can drag me down with you into this Megamart of Darkness, you’ll feel better about stealing water from a bunch of geese! I’m pretty sure you could have gotten some from Rite Aid if you were willing to play fair!”

“Rite Aid doesn’t sell-“

“My point is, you’re just jealous of me because I’m not a cog in the machine like you! And that ‘we’re so alike’ bullcrap wouldn’t work on a five year old! So no, I won’t join you, because I might have sold my soul to a Tako Shak, but even I have stinking standards, you self-pitying TURD!”

A-Bomb stared at me, mouth agape for a few seconds. “T-the T-word?...”

“You heard me right, TURD!, so you better let me go unless you want more of the same! I’ll even tell my Mom, and you really don’t want to see her when she’s angry!”

“No, no, I get it…” he pushed a button under the table.

Another hole opened in the ground, and from it emerged what I can only describe as a nuclear missile made entirely of fuzzy orange Shampows.

“Your friends and family are holding you back, little bro! So how about I sweeten the deal: you join me, and I don’t rain Shampow down on your entire neighborhood!”

I tried to move, only to find myself stuck to my seat. Literally. The son of a snitch must have superglued the thing beforehand!

“So, do we have a deal?”

I didn’t say a word.

“Do. We. Have. A. Deal?”

Now I might have been a bit of a turd back in the day, but darn it, I couldn’t let an entire neighborhood get wiped from existence! Especially when the neighbor hadn’t even returned out lawnmower yet!

“Okay! Okay! I’ll join you! I’ll be your whipping boy. I’ll even stock Barbie dolls if I have to! Just don’t press hat button!”

And you know what the prick did? He kept putting his finger closer and closer to the launch button!

“But I thought you said you wouldn’t do it if I joined!”

“Foolish Watt! Your petty loyalties to the neighborhood make you weak! We must purge this from your mind so you can know true Wegmart! Just like my manager did to my neighborhood!”

But you know what the worst part was? He said this using the most condescending, prickish voice I could imagine.

Still, one thing needed clearing up.

“Hey A-Bomb? What was your neighborhood?”

Guy didn’t say a word, but the way he shut up after that spoke plenty.

“… They called it New Jersey.” He whispered.

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well it might be the last time I ever express sarcasm. Of course!

Time slowed to a crawl as I waited on the imminent destruction of everything I ever gave a crap about. Oh, I tried to see things from the half full perspective, but not even the knowledge my douchebag brother was probably going to get caught dab smack in the middle of the detonation zone passed out on the couch watching teen drama reruns could compensate for everything. At least A-Bomb was taking his sweet time pressing, probably so he could rub it in more.

In fact, he was taking a lot of sweet time. (Granted five minutes is pretty long for a ten year old, but still!) Then I noticed he was pressing the detonation button multiple times, each time faster and more flustered. I looked up, wondering if the Lord himself had intervened on behalf of little old me, even after everything.

In fact, my salvation had come in the form of a certain goose, who grinned triumphantly, a plug and wire in his beak, machine gun cradled in his wings.

“Bokrug!”

The noble bird spit out the plug, beaming with triumph despite being so plucked of feathers he was practically naked. A-Bomb was, on the other hand, for the first time since I saw him feeling something other than calm, collected, or several other words you find in yoga advertisements. His face turned so red I figured he’d explode any minute, just like his namesake.

“YOU!” he leapt up from his seat, facing down the glorious gander. ”I had ONE chance to find happiness! ONE chance to have somebody to share this miserable job! Years of planning, plotting, scheming, and with one bite you ruined it!” He unsheathed those golf clubs from his back. “Do you know what its’ like to run a store with only clones of yourself?! With everyone knowing exactly what you do?! Its’ so, so BOORIIINNGGG!”

“Then perhaps you should have found a happiness that did not require the suffering of another.” He bared his beak, bits of Wegmart technology still stuck in them. “Or technology easily damaged by the humblest of beaks.” like he was emphasizing the point, he cocked the machine gun, maing probably the world’s most satisfying click.

“Who do you think you are, my Mom?!” He spun his golf clubs around, making a combination of kung-fu poses and noises that could only be described as either really stupid or really racist. Possibly both.

“Bokrug-kun! You have brought great dishonor upon my house. Prepare to die!” he cried in the phoniest Japanese accent I ever heard.

“I’m Egyptian, you a$$hole!”

With a guttural roar, the waterfowl from hell charged in kind, raining bullets like hellfire.

It was the awesomest f*cking thing I ever saw.

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #supermarket #geese

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shitty-marvel-fan732 · 4 years

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When the Party's Over

Author's Note:

Welp. This happened? It's a Bucky x Reader oneshot inspired by the song "when the party's over" by Billie Eilish. It's my first attempt at writing for Bucky, and also my first attempt at angst? Please let me know what y'all think!

Once again a big THANK YOU to @twentytwohearts for beta-ing this fic for me!

TW: injuries, death, mentions of anxiety/grief/PTSD

Lyrics are BOLD

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin'

But nothin' ever stops you leavin'

It was supposed to be a routine mission -- in and out in an hour or two. The whole team had come along, but that was more a formality than anything else. The ride over on the Quinjet had been almost jovial; jokes and cheerful conversation clashing harshly with the reality of what we were going to do. It was a sad reality of our line of work, but the compartmentalization helped all of us get through the day without going too insane.

Y/N had been sitting in her usual place by my side, head resting comfortably atop my shoulder and fingers entangled with mine. Her thumb rubbed soft circles into the palm of my flesh hand as we quietly spoke. She knew better than anyone that I craved gentle touch -- especially before a mission -- that it helped keep the Soldier from making an unwelcome return. She was smart like that, sensing when I needed her the most without my ever having to say a word. It was one of the things that had drawn me to her when we first met. I was distracted by the intoxicating feel of her skin against mine and mind racing with thoughts of her and I as we soared through the sky together. If I had it my way, I'd never detangle myself from her loving touch and our hands would stay locked together like puzzle pieces forever.

Even as I knelt beside her in the middle of a makeshift battlefield hours later her fingers were still entangled with mine, but this time both our hands were painted with a warm, sticky coat of blood.

Her blood.

She'd been struck from behind, a stray bullet taking the both of us by complete surprise. It was one of Hydra's, a massive chunk of metal designed to implode upon impact to inflict the maximum amount of damage. And damage it did.

As soon as she'd felt the sharp pain in her back, her eyes had instantly found mine, the connection between us drawing my gaze to her. I didn't remember much else from that moment apart from the roar of fury and fear that'd ripped from my throat as my mind went blank with panic. I don't even know how I'd made my way to her through all the people in the way, all I remember is the sheer horror that encased me as I sprinted to her fast crumpling form.

I managed to catch her just before she hit the hard ground, my arms wrapping her securely against my chest as her hands blindly hunted for mine. I cradled her gently with my metal arm as my flesh hand gave her blood covered fingers the hold she'd been searching for. She smiled slightly at the feel of my flesh against hers as I scanned her wildly, looking for the source of her bleeding.

The bullet had entered through her back, the impact opening the area around her stomach and exposing most of her internal organs to the outside of her body. Her once round, healthy face was turning sickly pale at an alarming rate -- her chest heaving with the effort it took her to breathe. She shivered against my chest, mumbling almost inaudibly.

"I'm cold."

Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

Unlike most of the team, Y/N was quiet; she didn't speak much, but when she did her words always made an impact. She seemed to hang back from the group -- preferring to assess those around her with her sharp eyes rather than fill the space with meaningless chatter. I too preferred to stay on the outskirts of a crowd, and it was there that I first found her clear, Y/E/C orbs studying me with a look of curious innocence on her face. It didn't take long after that day for me to realize that she'd been unconsciously moving closer and closer to me as she stared.

Back then I was still struggling daily with flashbacks and moments when the Soldier took control of my mind, but I never seemed to lose control when Y/N was around. A fact which baffled me to no end, I couldn't come up with a rational explanation for the wave of calm that overtook me whenever she was near. She'd never spoken a word to me, nor I to her, and yet I found myself impossibly drawn to her -- like a moth to a flame. I was so perplexed I'd even asked Steve if that was part of her abilities, mood or mental manipulation of some kind. Steve had just chuckled and explained that Y/N didn't in fact have any special abilities. She was just another master assassin, her skills on par with Natasha's or Clint's.

Though the information wasn't exactly useful to me in terms of figuring out the strange connection I felt towards her, I found myself gravitating towards Y/N whenever she was present. Eventually we began exchanging small pleasantries; mine awkward and uncomfortable and hers quiet and sweet. The pleasantries soon turned to long, drawn out conversations about anything and everything. We spent hours just talking well into the night; I found myself opening up to her like I'd never been able to do with anyone else. There was just something about her presence that made me feel calm and secure. I told her things I'd never shared with anyone, not even Steve. Things about the Soldier, about Hydra. At first, I worried that she would judge me or run away screaming at the horrible things I'd seen and done.

But she didn't.

She'd never even flinched as I recounted the atrocities I'd been a part of. What's more, she firmly reminded me over and over that I wasn't in control back then, and reassured me in ways no one had before. She made me feel safe, calm without seeming like she was even trying. I felt like I was locked in some kind of trance whenever she was around -- like I was wrapped in a cocoon of safety, finally free from the memories and guilt from my past.

Incredibly, she seemed to feel just as safe around me as I did her. It was impossible for me to fathom any reason that someone as pure and kind as her would want anything to do with someone like me -- a monster. But whenever I said anything to that effect she just giggled and waved my concerns off. She always made sure to tell me how safe she felt with me around, how drawn she felt to me.

Before too long we'd fallen into a relationship the likes of which I could never have dreamed of. We fit into one another's lives like pieces of a puzzle, and after a while I wondered how I'd ever made it through a single day without her by my side. She was my rock, my whole world, and I would do anything to protect her.

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Call me friend, but keep me closer (Call me back)

And I'll call you when the party's over

Some protector I was.

Emotions flew through my body like hurricane winds -- each cutting through me as they passed. Fear, panic, sadness, guilt: none settling for long enough to take precedent over the others. My breathing was erratic, my entire body practically vibrating with the need to do something, anything.

She laid in my arms, looking more like a small child than any assassin should have the right to. Her breathing was slowing by the minute, and there was a look of fear in her Y/E/C eyes that made the panic bubble back up in my chest. She looked terrified and her hand gripped mine tighter as she gasped for breath. Her lips moved wordlessly for a few moments and I shook my head.

"It's okay doll, don't try and speak now," I cooed softly. My hand briefly left hers to move delicately through her knotted curls. The familiar, comforting act happened naturally -- my arm had no need to consult with my brain before it began soothing it's way through her hair. Which was good because my brain wasn't good for much at the moment. The effect on Y/N was immediate, and her eyelids fluttered shut with the small action. Though I normally revelled in the effects my touch could have on her, I was overcome with a surge of panic at my inability to see her eyes.

"Y/N, doll, please. I need you to open up those pretty eyes okay? Keep them right on me sweetheart," I practically begged, sobs threatening to break through at any time and voice cracking. I needed to see her eyes. Needed to know she was still with me.

She complied with my request, though I could tell it took a lot of effort on her part. Her normally clear eyes tracked along my body with difficulty and I could tell she was struggling to focus. Finally her eyes met mine and I could see the tears that'd pooled within her lids begin to fall as she gazed at me. Her hand moved weakly around my chest, seemingly searching for something, until her soft flesh met with the side of my face. I felt the wet trail of blood her fingers left behind as they caressed my cheek. I couldn't be bothered to care about the blood, too focused on the feel of her gentle hand and the love-struck expression on her face.

"Bucky." her voice was broken, softer than I'd ever heard.

My mind was racing with all the possible outcomes, every bit of the first aid and battle wound training escaping me. I was so immersed in my attempts to shift through the torrent of thoughts and emotions in my mind that I hardly noticed the team as they gathered around me. Evidently the battle was pretty much over, and everyone was slowly filtering over to the spot where Y/N and I were hunched over. For the first time since I'd locked eyes with her this afternoon I felt a small flutter of hope worm it's way into my chest.

Tony was here. Banner was here. Surely they'd know how to help, what to do. They'd save her.

I turned from Y/N's shivering form long enough to glance at Steve where he stood next to Tony. Their expressions were grim, mouths set in a thin line and eyes fixed on her injuries.

Neither would quite meet my desperate gaze. Natasha's eyes were glossed over with unshed tears as she stared at Y/N. She padded over, kneeling down beside us gently. She surveyed the wounds marring Y/N with the eyes of a trained soldier. I held my breath as she assessed her, unable to think or do anything until I was given more information.

Clint stood just behind her with a hand on Peter's shoulder, his face stoic and eyes looking as if he was a million miles away. Peter had never looked more his age. His young face was contorted into an expression that was a mix of fear, sadness, and shock. If I had to bet on it, I don't think he'd be standing upright if it weren't for Clint's grip on him. Bruce hung back from the group and looked as if he was teetering between going green or getting sick. Thor's massive frame towered behind all the rest, his head bowed in respect as he looked sadly over the two of us.

"Tash…" Y/N croaked. Natasha gazed down at her with a tiny, sorrowful smile. She stroked her matted and bloody hair fondly with one hand as her other quickly injected her with a small syringe.

"Я здесь, моя милая девушка. Я здесь." the redhead cooed soothingly. "It won't hurt anymore."

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. She couldn't mean what I thought she did. It couldn't happen.

She stood slowly from her place, walking away slowly before ending up next to Peter. Her hand raised to his other shoulder and her head bowed as her tears began to fall.

My head snapped desperately between the faces of the team, needing someone to do something.

"Stark, Banner, someone please help!" I shouted, angry at their lack of urgency. This was Y/N's life we were talking about. Someone needed to do something, needed to take her somewhere, fast. But no one moved.

"Buck…" Steve murmured. He shook his head, defeated as tears sprang to fill his lids as well. He swallowed thickly, as if he was unsure of what to say next, the small action solidifying the twinge of doubt that lingered in the back of my mind.

"No…" I choked out, sobs escaping my chest without permission. I gripped Y/N tighter against my body as I cried -- my tears landing on her near-motionless body and mingling with the fresh blood that covered her frame.

The one small flame of hope I had left was extinguishing rapidly at the realization of what their lack of action meant. Y/N was going to die -- here -- in my arms, and I was powerless to stop it. Guilt and despair overtook my body as I wept in ugly choking gasps, the feelings making each limb feel as if it weighed thousands of pounds.

I was only brought out of my own head by the familiar feeling of gentle fingers dancing across my face. Y/N stared up at me as she caressed the stubble of my chin, eyes devoid of the fear and panic they once held. The feelings had simply vanished -- her irises now holding nothing but sheer love and determination. I was overwhelmed by just how beautiful she was. How much I loved her. I steadied myself, trying desperately to think of something to say. It was baffling really, to simultaneously have so much I yearned to tell her, and yet my brain couldn't muster even a single word at the moment.

"Hey there handsome, why the long face?" she chuckled weakly. I laughed humorously at the phrase, my mind briefly drifting to a different time. A different place.

Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

"Bucky?" a call came from down the hall. Even from a distance I could instantly recognize the owner of melodic voice. Y/N. Her feet padded so softly down the hall, someone with normal hearing wouldn't have been able to detect her steps. Though I recognized the familiar sounds of both her voice and her footsteps approaching me, I didn't bother to move.

I was currently sitting upright on the armchair located in the furthest corner of my room, hands gripping the arms tightly and eyes trained on the floor beneath my boots. The lights were all off and I was waging a silent war within myself. I'd just returned from a particularly grueling mission -- as if the fight wasn't gritty and difficult enough to start, the target was a Hydra base. A base packed to the brim with the idolizing scum, all bristling for a fight. Lately, I'd been more in control after these types of raids; I was able to separate myself from what I was seeing and keep the Soldier at bay.

But not tonight.

Tonight I'd encountered one of the foot-soldiers that'd help manipulate and torture me. One of the men who'd held me down in those early days when I'd still had some fight left in me. The second I'd laid eyes on him, the memories flooded my mind like rocks in a landslide. I slipped completely out of control from there on out -- I laid waste to everyone and everything around me like a robot, like I was trained. Bucky Barnes was lost completely, and the Winter Soldier was in complete command of me.

The Soldier had taken over me before -- the appearances becoming more distant the longer I'd been away from Cryo. But not like this. Never like this.

Before when the Soldier took control, I'd lost consciousness entirely; mind blacked-out as he ravaged the poor souls caught in the crosshairs. Tonight, I was entirely lucid -- trapped inside as I watched the Soldier pioneer me like a puppet. I had taken a back seat within my own body.

If Steve hadn't been close -- if he wasn't so damn good at recognizing when I was no longer in control, who knows what would've happened. If I'd ever snapped back out of it.

No.

The thought drifted through my mind amidst the chaos and memories threatening to claw their way back to the surface. Even now, hours later, I wasn't entirely certain if I was completely in control. Y/N wasn't safe. The Soldier taunted me from within, yearning to be set free. To lay waste to everyone in sight. To finally meet the precious Y/N…

"NO!" I roared. The sound was feral, ripped straight from my core with the mere implication that the Soldier would get anywhere near my Y/N. My hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly I could faintly recognize the sound of the frame cracking under my touch. He couldn't. I wouldn't let him.

Desperation and panic overwhelmed my system as I raced to find a way to keep her from him -- from me. Her footsteps echoed closer, close enough now that I was certain even someone with average hearing could hear.

"Y/N, don't! I'm not...STOP!" I choked. My fists released the chair roughly, splinters of broken fiber and wood clunking wildly against the floor as I jumped to my feet. Boots thudding across the floor, I made short work of the space and moved into the doorway. I intended to slam the door shut -- hopefully not hard enough to break the damn thing, but fast enough to stop her from getting in. Or to stop Him from getting out. I wasn't quite sure.

Regardless of the motive behind it, the door needed to close. To lock -- to put as much in between Y/N and I as I could manage. But as fast as I was, as fast as I could be, it wasn’t fast enough.

Y/N’s sweet face filled the doorframe at the exact moment that my foot took the final step towards the threshold. I froze, internally divided and mind filled with so many thoughts that they blurred into a mere hum of static. The only discernible feelings I could make out from the buzz were panicked, frenzied.

“Bucky…” she murmured, voice quiet as a mouse creeping through a home full of sleeping occupants. Breathing erratic and fists clenched painfully at my sides, I wildly stared at her gentle stance with horror. I was completely frozen -- unable to sift through the panic and dread raging within my head long enough to make a move.

She looked as she always did: stance casual and facial expression peacefully neutral. I'd been fortunate enough in recent weeks to become familiar with all the intricacies of her beautiful features -- her nonchalant demeanor was often a trick, a facade she carefully constructed over years of brutal combat and torture. She was a spy to the core. But her mask had cracks, faults that only those who truly knew her could detect. A twitch of the eye or the finger was all it took for some to detect her hesitation -- but I knew her better than even that.

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Any trained soldier or criminal would tell you that they were absolutely right -- that anyone worth a damn could gather intel or win a fight based on the enemies eyes alone. I was no different. It was a fundamental fact of life that no one could truly hide the look in their eyes, and I could instantly determine most people's moods and intentions with just a brief glance. But, as I was slowly learning was the case for most fundamental truths, Y/N was a bit of an exception.

It wasn't that I couldn't decipher the meaning lurking behind her Y/E/C orbs. On the contrary, I had an easier time picking out her thoughts from a glance than for most people. No, the difference with Y/N was that when I looked into her eyes I didn't just discover her true emotions. I felt them.

Currently, as we stood locked in a heated staring contest, her eyes held no trace of fear, no defensive alarm. Most people like us always mentally had one foot out the door -- an escape plan formulated out of sheer habit whenever we entered a room. She didn't. Y/N stood before me, completely devoid of any of her natural instincts as she surveyed me. She wasn't afraid.

She was worried.

"Hey there handsome, why the long face?"

Her soft voice broke the tense silence that'd enveloped us, a twinge of humor evident in her tone. She knew all about the mission, about what I was fighting against, and yet she stood before me and teased. If I wasn't so god-damned terrified, I think I would've laughed.

"Y/N, you have to -- I'm not...I can't --" I sputtered uselessly, praying to whatever higher power there was that she would understand. Desperately wishing that she would turn abruptly and leave.

She was silent for a moment, eyes scanning me with soft contemplation. Her stance changed slightly -- her shoulders set back with determination and hands lifting slowly towards my face. I jerked backwards to avoid contact, eyes desperately pleading for her to understand.

Her hand paused in midair, caught halfway between my body and hers. My breathing was still erratic and my chest was heaving with the effort it took to regulate myself. Instead of turning around and leaving like I desperately wanted her to do she took another step forward towards my shaking form. Deliberate and calculated, she stalked me slowly like a police officer approaching a suicidal suspect. My heart crashed wildly against my chest and the cacophony of thoughts in my head somehow became even louder. She couldn't -- why wasn't she stopping?

"I've never been scared of you Bucky." she stated, voice impossibly soft yet firm. "Not for a moment. Not even when you're scared of yourself."

She inched slowly closer as she spoke until she was a hairbreadth away from touching me. My already overloaded senses were flooded with her presence. The sweet, familiar smell of her skin wafted up to my nose -- the scent a mix of lavender shampoo rising from her freshly washed hair and her own unique aroma. The wave of calm that seemed to envelope me whenever she was near began to seep into me slowly. The tornado of thoughts and panicked feelings hadn't completely subsided, but they began to slowly fade away as she got closer.

Her gentle palm came into contact with the skin of my cheek with a feather-light touch. The gradual wave of peace that'd begun to encroach within my troubled mind suddenly clashed against the swirl of panic and fear inside my head at the soft feeling of her hand against my face. I gasped harshly, all the breath abruptly stolen from my lungs as the silent war within my mind came to a peak. The Soldier roared in fury -- livid at the attack against his release.

A sob ripped through my chest as I felt my mind slowly become entirely my own once more. I lurched forward, arms wrapping tightly around Y/N's waist and face burying itself in the crook of her neck. Though no other words were spoken between us for the moment, Y/N didn't need any verbal cues in order to seemingly understand what I needed. One of her arms wrapped firmly around my body and wrenched me closer to hers as I cried. The other hand found its way into the hairs on the back of my head and began taking through them gently. I must have been disgusting at the moment; I hadn't done anything since returning to the tower, and I was certain she could feel the layers of grime, sweat, and blood that coated my skin. If she did, she didn't let it show. She cooed soft words of reassurance and love into my ears as she held me.

Eventually, she maneuvered our still conjoined bodies to the edge of my bed and gently guided us to a seated position. My sobs were starting to slow as she continued to soothe my shaking form. Fat tears kept rolling down my cheeks steadily, but I was able to control the sounds and cries as I slowly calmed. Y/N's gentle coos also started to slow as I began to quiet down, though her fingers didn't stop their soft dance through my hair.

"It's okay sweet boy, it's all over now," she whispered against the crown of my head, lips brushing against me with each gentle word. "You're okay Bucky, I'm here, I've got you."

I let out a shaky breath as the sweet sounds of her voice flowed smoothly into my ears and I processed what she truly meant. A sudden wave of exhaustion overcame my body -- keeping myself upright and my eyes opened became more of a challenge than it should have. Ever perceptive, Y/N seemed to realize the struggle I was facing.

She gently rolled my head off her shoulder and started to stand. A bolt of fear ran through my chest at the lack of contact, and my hand shot out like a bullet to grab her wrist.

"Stay." I managed to croak out. My voice was hoarse, throat raw and aching from overuse. She looked at me with an expression of pure understanding, eyes sparkling with compassion and reassurance.

"I'm not going far, don't worry," she soothed. Her hand came to rest over the top of mine and her thumb rubbed small circles over the tops of my bruised and bloodied knuckles. "I'll be right back, just lie down for a minute and rest, okay?"

Though my stomach still wrestled with the panic and desperation of wanting to keep her close, I allowed her to pry my fingers from her wrist and walk away. I slid my body back onto the bed and laid as she'd requested with childlike obedience. My eyes shut instantly as I allowed myself to rest but I fought against the sleep that threatened to overcome me. My half-asleep brain faintly registered the sounds of a tap running and the hum of the bathroom light flickering on.

It wasn't long before I heard the soft padding of Y/N's footsteps drawing near and felt the bed dip under her weight.

"Can you sit up for a moment?" her gentle voice wafted through my ears like honey. Drained and utterly out of it, I obeyed and slowly sat up.

"Good. I'm going to help you, okay?"

I felt the warm, wet sensation of a wash rag being swiped carefully across the skin of my face. Internally moaning at the feeling, I sat patiently while Y/N carefully washed all the grime and dried blood from my body. My shirt had been shed not long after I'd come back -- in my half-crazed state it'd felt too small, suffocating.

She carefully swept the cloth over every inch of available skin I had. Under normal circumstances I would've been embarrassed, both of my bare skin littered with scars and of the outpouring of emotion I'd displayed, but I didn't feel even a shred of self-consciousness at the moment. No, whatever small bit of consciousness I could muster in my tired body was lasered into Y/N. Her gentle fingers danced across my skin, sending tiny shockwaves of electricity through me. I was overpowered by the smell of her unique scent surrounding me, by the aura of affection and safety she radiated around us. Words couldn't come close to describing the peace and contentment I felt surrounding me -- it was as if the entire world had melted away around us. I wasn't thinking about the Soldier, the mission, nothing. Hell I was halfway gone from being able to recall my own name at the moment. My senses and thoughts were entirely and wholeheartedly consumed by one single thing.

Her.

After some time, although I had no idea how much, Y/N finished her task and retreated to the bathroom to put away the rag and water basin. I shivered slightly at the sensation of cool air hitting my now clean skin and the lack of contact with Y/N's gentle hands. Unsure what to do, I sat lamely on the edge of my bed and waited as patiently as I could for Y/N to return.

She exited the ensuite and flicked the light off behind her as she did. Even without the benefit of light I was still surrounded by the comforting embrace of her presence. The bed dipped slightly as she sat down, the bare skin of my arms prickling with sparks as her body settled next to me. She silently removed her shoes and began to scootch up the bed.

Almost robotically, I copied her actions, kicking my boots off roughly and joining her near the headboard. Though I couldn't see her well in the dark of the room I felt her arms open wide in silent invitation. I readily accepted the comfort she offered, lying my head across her chest and arms wrapping around her middle firmly. I relaxed instantly into her embrace as she wrapped one hand around the back of my head and the other began running aimless patterns across my bare back.

No other words were spoken between us that night. Sleep consumed me quickly as she held me and she followed not long after. The rest of our time was spent wrapped in each others arms, her offering quiet comfort and me reveling in the feeling of being protected for once. It became a ritual after each mission and most every night for us after that -- to lay in one another's arms as we slept.

But nothin' is better sometimes

Once we've both said our goodbyes

Let's just let it go

Let me let you go

Time was running short, and I could tell I didn't have much time left with Y/N. Her breaths were growing more shallow by the second, the space in between them growing longer. Her eyes were still locked in to mine but the sparkle that they usually held was fading with each passing moment. There was a hole in my chest that ached as I struggled to hold myself together. I want sure exactly how much longer she was going to be able to hold on, but I didn't want her final memories to be filled with me breaking down. I shuddered violently with an ominous chill as I fought against the tears that'd collected in my eyes.

My hands were busy, cradling Y/N gently against my chest and running though her hair. My lips brushed softly against the crown of her head, and I mumbled tender words that I hoped were somehow soothing. I slowly rocked us back and forth as I cooed, the warm flow of blood from her stomach squelching against the harsh dirt of the ground as I did. I peppered as many kisses as I could to whatever skin was available: her cheeks, forehead, nose, hairline. She didn't make much noise apart from a few small hums of contentment here or there as my lips connected to her skin. After what felt like an eternity and only a second all at once I felt her body begin to fall slack. Panic shot through my chest, and I clutched her tighter against my chest.

"I'm so sorry doll." I whispered desperately. "I should've...I can't... I'm sorry."

I rocked her faster and held her tighter, hoping against all rationality that if I just held on tight enough that I could stop what was inevitably about to happen. I could no longer control my tears -- they flowed rapidly from my eyes in big fat droplets into the soft skin of her neck.

"Bucky…" she muttered. Her voice was nearly inaudible and as I pulled reluctantly from my position against the crook of her neck I could instantly tell that she was nearly gone. I sucked in a breath and held it, entirely unsure as to what to do or say. Never one to let me struggle for long, Y/N smiled her truest, most beautiful smile up at me and raised her pale hand weakly to rest on my face.

"I lo -- I love you. Don't be sorry. I love you." she murmured. Her voice sounded impossibly fragile. Even for as soft spoken as she could be at times I'd never heard her sound so small. But I wasn't thinking about her tone in that moment or what it meant -- my entire being was consumed by overwhelming feelings of adoration for the woman in my arms. Even with what could literally be her dying breath she was determined to express not her pain, regrets, or final wishes. No, she was using her last moments to tell me that she loved me. I choked down a sob from deep within my chest before replying.

"I know doll. I love you too Y/N. I love you so damned much."

She smiled faintly at the admission. Her lips quirked up only the smallest fraction, but I felt the familiar feelings of affection and love fluttering in my stomach as she did. The smile remained on her face as I felt her body go limp within my arms. She drifted away just like that: lying delicately across my lap with her head resting lightly against my chest. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought she was simply sleeping. Her eyes were still open -- the irises dull and pale, their natural sparkle gone in an instant.

She was gone.

I shivered violently, crushing her now lifeless body against my own tightly as sobs of pure anguish ripped from my lungs. I was utterly consumed with grief -- my chest ached with the weight of my despair, the indescribable pain and loss rooting me to my spot. I stroked her bloodied and matted hair with shaking fingers and took deep breaths of her lingering scent, desperately trying to commit all I could about her to memory.

I could faintly hear the sound of sniffles and the shuffling of boots against the rocky ground as the team shifted around. Life was still working around me as I held Y/N's lifeless body, though it felt as if my entire world had stopped with the last beat of her heart. A hand grasped me from behind, grip tight on my shoulder.

"Buck," Steve's voice drifted in my ears "It's time. We...we have to go home".

Unconsciously, I gripped Y/N tighter in my arms. I didn't move an inch, terrified of what I'd face once I did. Steve's hand squeezed my shoulder, and though I couldn't see his face from my position I could practically hear the grim determination he exuded. He'd been close with Y/N too; Steve had known her long before me, and their friendship had only grown as we'd gotten closer. Deep inside I knew this must've been difficult for him too, but I couldn't muster the strength to empathize at the moment.

"I can't-- Steve I…" I sobbed. I didn't budge from my position. I couldn't explain the panic I felt; as broken and devastated as I was, I knew that as soon as I got up that things would be irrevocably changed. Steve didn't respond, nor did he move, but I could tell that he understood.

We stayed like that for an immeasurable length of time, me sobbing and cradling Y/N's lifeless body and Steve silently standing behind us. Eventually the weight in my chest nestled deeper in my body, sadness dissipating like a mist into every fiber of my body. I felt numb, disassociated from life as I robotically stood. I gathered Y/N in my arms and silently began the walk to the jet.

The sound of my boots crunching against the gravel was deafening as we walked, the once loud area of the battlefield deadly quiet. Y/N felt feather-light in my arms compared to the crushing weight of the grief that had made its home in my chest. But even that weight was nothing compared to the weight of the small box encased in the pocket of my tac pants. The tiny box that once held so much promise now weighed heavy against my leg with each step. The tiny silver and diamond band inside stripped of any hope, just like I was.

Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own

I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

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