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jefferoni-quotes · 4 years

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hotter than this heatwave

Jamilton, 13,045 words

I am begging y'all, don't let this flop it took an ungodly amount of time and I am so proud of it. Full fic under the cut.

Also, leave feedback! I love reading what you guys thought of my writing!

Hamilton is hot.

There’s no other way to say it. He’s hot, miserably so. Even with the air conditioner full blast, and a fan directed straight into his face, he’s simply sweltering in the heat. His childish refusal to remove his shirt (even in the privacy of his own home) isn’t helping the sweat cease in their races down his back, and the base of his ponytail sticks to his neck. He grimaces every time he even tries to move, and thus he’s resided himself to the expanse of couch, positioned himself under an open window. But there’s no breeze, none reaching him anyway. If he lifts himself on his shaking arms, and peers out the window, he can see the trees aren’t swaying. The leaves bustle occasionally, but it’s far from the usual dance they perform. He can hear all too clearly conversations, chatter from those subjecting themselves to the summer heat. Perhaps Alexander is more a winter person, ever since he had moved to America he had been, after all, he saw snow, something he thought only existed in movies, and immediately fell in love with the season. Being able to choose if he was to be pleasantly warm, or surprisingly cold during winter was an experience. To have the option of curling up like a cat by the fire, or lying in snow, making snowmen and such. And Christmas dinners- Alexander could go on and on for hours about the wonders of the coldest time of year, alas Hercules would disagree, argue Summer was so much better. But Hercules is Irish, he has enough of the cold to last him a lifetime. Now Hamilton would bet the man wishes he had just held his tongue, because he must be suffering in the heat too.

Fuck heatwaves, and fuck New York.

He thinks to himself as he throws a cushion across the room in frustration. It hits his air conditioning unit, and before he knows it the apartment is plunged into a volcano. The unit malfunctions, turns off and doesn’t turn back on, even when Alexander shoots up from his languid position and desperately tries to fix it. He beats his fist off the top with pent up frustration, sincerely hoping that magically it would be fixed. Alas, it was not, it gave one last spluttering attempt to turn on before dying with a not so graceful clank. What sin has he committed to be tortured in such a way? It feels as though Satan himself is clawing his way up from the circles of Hell, and has declared Alexander’s apartment his spawn point, where the Heaven vs Hell war will begin. Whatever war is about to commence, Alex is on Satan’s team, as God must have something against him to send this wave of heat his way.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking the machine and cursing even louder at the shock of pain coursing through his toes. He clutches his foot, hopping around his apartment like some hurt rabbit and hisses through clenched teeth. He finally jumps his way ungracefully back to his couch, collapsing onto it in one foul swoop. His legs involuntarily give out under him, and he’s almost thankful for it as he half considers stripping out of his shirt, aching for some kind of relief. He starts tugging on the hem of his shirt, mulling over the idea before pushing his own hands away in disgust. A respectable man always remains fully dressed for any occasion. What if a visitor were to come by? He would likely demand their exit from his home, but he would at least like to do so in style.

The rooms are quick to grow stuffy, uncomfortable and as though the walls are too close and getting closer. Suddenly removing any clothing is a thought long forgotten, quickly replaced by the innate desperation to escape the closed doors of his apartment. He scrambles for purchase on the arm of his couch before forcing his muscles to revive and motor him towards the exit. He passes by his kitchen, opens the fridge for a moment just to feel the coolness on his body. He closes the door before all his food defrosts, albeit reluctantly. He would stand there all day if he could. Leaving the kitchen, he examines how his kettle has evaporated of all remaining water inside. There goes Plan B of making iced coffee, or worse, iced tea. Who could subject themselves to the bath water like clutches of cold tea? Disgusting.

He doesn’t stop to grab sunscreen, doesn’t consider sunburn a thing as he grabs his keys and shoves them in the pocket of his ratty cargo shorts. He pushes his feet into sandals, Birkenstocks, brown ones. He half contemplated putting socks on with his sandals, and automatically laughs at how much that would irritate Jefferson if he just so happened to run into him. The man is obsessed with his looks, conceited and vain in every way. Alexander wouldn’t be surprised if the man carries a pocket mirror on him, just to examine his appearance and remind himself of how goddamn gorgeous he is. Because he is gorgeous. Alexander is stubborn, not blind, and even he can admit the things he would give up for a fling with the man. His pride would never allow him to plead Jefferson for a one night stand however, and he knew Jefferson would never come to him, so that fantasy may as well remain just that. A fantasy.

So he leaves the socks behind, but not because he cares what others think. Of course he doesn’t… simply because socks would just be extra layers. He doesn’t care if people think his hair is a mess, which it is, so he drags his hand through it. The hand comes back damp, and he grimaces, wiping it on the tan material of his shorts. And he certainly doesn’t care that one of the buckles on his sandals is about to break. He glares at it, willing it to sew itself back together. It does not. Hamilton sighs and folds, giving up on attempting to appear presentable. It’s not like anyone else outside looks much better, save for the few teenagers posing on the streets in incredibly short shorts with a Starbucks they probably waited an hour for.

Alexander practically throws his door open and is met with a pleasurable breeze as it swings, which quickly dissipates into a blast of scorching air, as though opening an oven too quickly. You would think after being born in such a humid climate he would’ve grown used to the hot weather. Apparently, this was a false assumption. He fishes his keys back out of his shorts and locks the door, standing out in the lobby of his apartment complex.

Now that he’s escaped the confinement of his home, Hamilton doesn’t know what to do. He could run down to Starbucks, take his mind off the heat with an ice cold Frappuccino. However, that would only distract him for a moment, perhaps an hour, until every drop of coffee has been drunk, and he’s left with an empty cup and a smoldering heat once more. And besides, if he's so desperate for an iced coffee then he could just make his own. That idea drains down the gutter, because he doesn't have any ice and there's no way water would freeze very fast in this temperament. He can briskly walk to work if he so pleases, despite being ordered to stay off, but that would require changing into a suit and now that he thinks about it… does his office even have air conditioning?

A long, broken sigh escapes his lips and he drags a hand through his hair, which has grown ever so slightly damp with sweat. Maybe a walk to clear his head, and if he strolls in the right direction, the wind will hit him perfectly and he should cool down.

He accepts this as the perfect idea and walks his way out onto the street, practically able to feel the burning tarmac through the soles of his sandals. He hopes there are no poor dogs or felines roaming the streets, or on daily walks on this day. The pavement would be far too much for their paws. Alexander feels which way the warm breeze is flowing and begins to trek directly into it, finding a sense of overwhelming relief at the sensation. (Even if it is relatively brief.)

Alexander’s feet carry him wherever they please, walking him down long streets, past empty stores. He stops to glance into a bustling Starbucks, hears through the glass a man screeching at a barista who is refusing to take his order because, “no shirt, no service.” He continues past, rather glad he had decided not to go inside, as it looks far too crowded, even for a small man such as himself.

His strides are short but swift, floating him along the streets with an air of confidence that he is known to possess. It is undeniably cooler outside, a welcome surprise as a gust of wind blows his hair from his face. He hears the simultaneous sighs of alleviation from the few on the streets, clearly walking around for the same reason as Hamilton.

Time ticks by and Alexander allows his mind to wander, as it all too often does when he gives it the chance. His thoughts speed past a mile a minute, tempting his brain to consider them longer, grabbing them like falling petals before letting them drift to the ground and blow away once more.

He passes through Time Square, finding it bustling, more so than he had imagined. However, it’s not ‘Christmas Crowded’, the eloquent name given to Time Square by Lafayette for when the area becomes full at the most amazing time of year. He makes his way past people, brushing shoulders and probably contracting some undiscovered disease off of some of them. It’s New York, he wouldn’t be surprised. He jumps out of his skin when some man behind him traces their fingers up his spine, but when he turns around the person is gone, laughing to their friends. He scowls, half considers shaking his fist and exclaiming about “kids these days!” But he doesn’t, he just shivers despite being roasted alive and continues on his way.

He spaces out again, wondering about work and then he doesn't know what he starts thinking about. But in his head he can picture a man. A man with a jawline that could cut glass, eyes blacker than the depths of the sea, yet shining as though filled with fire. He can see springy curls, imagines himself running his fingers through the mystery man's hair and cooing as he mumbles his disagreements. He sees a dark complexion, sharp cheekbones, with soft edges. The colour purple is prominent in his clothing, and it takes a moment further for Alexander to identify the male in his mind.

He zones back in as soon as he realises he's thinking about Jefferson. Again. He's thinking about Jefferson in a good way, thinking about doing couple things, about dates. And he grimaces. He convinces himself it's just a fluke, only because he sees Jefferson every day at work.

He starts checking the watch on his wrist, which is starting to heat up in the sunlight. It’s been almost an hour and forty five minutes since he began walking, and he checks the number on the street. It’s all okay. He can always catch a cab. He looks around and finds himself no longer in the bustling parts of New York, but instead part of a classy suburban area. Rows of white picket fencing and neat little gardens, full of wilting flowers meet his eyes. In the lawns of a few are men and women of all ages tending to the plants, feeding them with water to try and keep them going through the unbearable summer heat.

All the homes are different colours, some a perfectly average, cream white, others slightly more lavish baby blues. There’s one where the exterior walls are a glowing lemon colour, and it fills Alexander with an unexplained wave of joy. Then again, the colour yellow always has. It feels warm, welcoming, like a friendship long awaited. Something that has awakened the craving in him that demands the enveloping arms of a smothering hug.

A child - probably around eight - runs down the street, being chased by who looks like his friend. The girl racing after him knocks him to the side and he goes down on a patch of grass, flat on his back while his friend stands over him with a look of pure pride. Her curls bob as she jumps up and down beside him with glee, and Alexander observes as the boy stands. They lean against the tree beside them for a moment, before he mutters something and this time the girl takes off sprinting, the boy following five seconds later. He chuckles at the purity of the situation and takes it upon himself to continue his walk. It’s warmer than ever, but he doesn’t care as much anymore.

The kids race ahead, the girl much further ahead until she stops. Alexander observes from the sidelines as he walks, and the boy taps her on the shoulder. They stand there, childlike joy radiating from their area.

Alexander breezes past them, halfway down the stretch of street. The houses grow larger than the previous as he continues to walk, yet still feel as homely. An amazing feat really. He can hear the soft patting of his Birkenstocks as they tap off the pavement each time his feet hit the floor. A car trundles past, down the street, at what must be 10 miles an hour, giving kids on the road time to move out the way. He doesn't catch a glimpse of the driver, but he has respect for them nonetheless.

As he passes a large, pastel green house, a tall woman exits her garden. She’s old, that much is obvious, but she doesn’t live up to the ‘little old lady’ aesthetic. She’s tall, she’s not hunched and the only part that gives away her age is the wrinkles lining her face. She brushes a grey curl from her face, tying back her hair afterwards. She’s mumbling under her breath, something that sounds like, “it starts soon! The concert!” And for a moment he feels awfully bad for her, thinking she has Alzheimer’s or something similar.

She has a thick Southern accent, and reminds him of Jefferson in a way. Her curls are similar, perhaps not as bouncy or as soft looking (in fact the only similar thing is that they’re curls,) but it has the same obvious care put into maintaining their pristine appearance. Her skin tone isn’t at all similar to his however, she’s pale while Jefferson’s complexion is almost tawny in a way. He can’t see her eyes from where he stands, but if they’re anything like Jefferson’s, then they must be dark, and perhaps they sparkle like his does when he gets passionate about what he’s speaking of… And when did he start thinking about Jefferson so much? Why does he know Jefferson’s eyes glimmer in certain lighting, or burn with a fire when they argue? Why is he paying so much attention to the man's pupils, and how they fail to hide the emotions his stone-cold face manages to maintain? When did he begin to study his rival so closely that he noticed all these oddities? Little details; like the way his lips twitch into a soft smile when talking to Madison, or recalling fondly his time in Monticello. Or now his eyebrows quirk upwards whenever Alexander opens his mouth to speak during meetings, conveying his irritation, yet innate fascination with the words flooding the room. How does he know that Jefferson’s curls would be soft to touch, without ever being close enough to feel them between his fingertips. Why does he feel that the man could go pliant with a scratch to the right place of his scalp? Where did all this knowledge come from? The depths of his bustling mind-palace? Or is it some fountain of information that Alexander and few others have access to? Is there some key to access the quirks about Jefferson, a key that he has? Or does he simply have the mould, a fragmented ideology of a key? Has Jefferson personally handed him this key, trusted him with it? Or has Hamilton snatched it from his clutches like a criminal from an off-guard prison warden? To think of it, why does Jefferson - the ever flowing river of confidence - stash his emotions away, hiding them like a gold hoarding dragon in a cave. He sits on them as though a mother bird would protect her eggs. He keeps them unseen to the passing onlooker. Is he scared? The idea is ridiculous. Thomas Jefferson? Scared? Hell would freeze over before the moment Jefferson is frightened. Or is anxious a better word? Why does he covet to know what it’s like to wake up secured in those arms? (God those arms.) Why does his head claw for the intelligence to feel Jefferson? (Whether that be a warm hug or a simple swing of their hands, linked together?) Why is Alexander asking himself all these questions? Why is his brain grasping and reaching for the answers, as though the forbidden apple that he craves a bite of.

Why does he care?

It’s a recurring thought, one that his mind cannot seem to formulate a complete answer to. Perhaps because it’s the nice thing to do? But no, fantasizing about someone’s eyes like some schoolgirl is not a “nice thing to do.” It’s a crush, is what it is. Wanting to know more about Jefferson, seeking the answers to his many personal questions is not simply because it’s a nice thing to do. It’s because he needs the answers. His mind demands he become closer with the man, the vain, uncaring man. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Out of all the people his heart could sing a yearning song for, it chose Thomas fucking Jefferson.

Why has his attention been undeniably captured, held hostage, by the Southern fuck?

This one, he can justify. It’s a simple answer really, one that is half the solution to his hundreds of other questions, the ones that buzz in his ears like insistent flies. And it’s two words, one word if you so wish to keep it incredibly succinct.

His wit.

His brain, his intelligence only matched and rivalled by Hamilton’s own. The way his fingers tap out word after word on keyboards, or scratch out essays upon essays onto paper with pens, pencils, whatever he can get his hands on. His intense expanse of knowledge that spans from American finance, to Shakespearean literature. His ability to argue and debate and speak for hours and hours with Alexander without losing his pace. The way his mind formulates sentence after sentence where he debates and there’s a fiery, yet somehow icy cold, passion in his tone. The fact that Hamilton finally has an equal. Where it’s unlike arguing against Burr, a stone wall of indifference. Jefferson is a stone wall that Alexander knows exactly how to make crumble. And he does. Over and over, yet Jefferson keeps rebuilding, stronger than before. He makes Alexander fight for his right to get his ideas across and as much as if pisses him off… he can’t deny that he loves it. He adores having to work his way up, enjoys knocking away obstacles that continue to respawn. What’s life without a little competition after all? Alexander enjoys hiking, and Jefferson is the ultimate mountain to climb.

But he wants more. He needs to know more about this mysterious man. He wants to know what it’s like to share sweet moments with him, wishes to be granted passage to his heart. He wants the key to be given to him, not stolen away. He wants Jefferson to trust him. He wants to know his talents, his skills, his hopes, his dreams. He wants to know about his past, his present and his future. Wants to know his real personality, the one he has secured in a vault. Because Alexander is stubborn, this much as already been said, but he’s not stupid. He can see the twitch in his fingers, the brief panic that flashes through the man's dark eyes whenever he has to present in Congress. He can hear the way he stumbles and stammers his way through speeches, as though he’s ready off a particularly shitty script. It’s only when they debate, when they argue with that familiar intensity, that the inferno is let loose. And Alexander is happy to be consumed in its flames.

The thoughts are almost enough to frighten him. The way they consume his constantly changing mind until he can think of nothing else. The burning heat in the air has been forgotten, replaced with a searing, white-hot pain through his chest. A heart attack maybe? More likely a soul attack. Hamilton uses his clairvoyance, he isn’t stupid. He knows this crush has been around since the day they had met. Since the first inklings of their argumentative ways. The kindling that sparked a fiery rivalry. One sure to last a lifetime. Well, maybe on Jefferson’s end. Alexander has felt this way, this white hot pain for a while, but now his body registers it and it hits all at once. Like a slap to the face, a punch to the stomach and a kick in the balls. It’s never hurt this much. Not with Aaron, not with John, not even with Eliza. The three most important relationships of his life had never been this intense, and he and Jefferson aren’t even together. Perhaps that’s what caused the pain to harm him so much. The craving of a thing he can’t have.

He gets the same feeling, the same way he felt around his other relationships. With Aaron, it was calm, predictable. It was boring. He needed more, he needed a spark, something he could bounce off of and then melt together. Aaron was grey. Monotone, and straight lined. He was a man who needed something still. He required security and promises to stay the way they were. But Alexander was a storm, unpredictable and wild and fully intent on ravaging the waters, while what Burr really needed was a lighthouse. Someone who was a beacon of light to shine him to the right place. Hamilton could never provide that.

John had been close. He had been orange. Intense, swirling like a fire, like a burning heat. But not enough. He was too quick to back down, to agree and leave arguments unsettled. He didn’t put up enough of a fight, backed down from debates and left Alexander with many more points to push across. They had the same opinions, there was no need for a friendly debate. It just wasn’t enough for him. There was passion, but not in the way Alexander’s heart craved. John needed something grounding, someone to match his intensity with a cute yellow or a fellow orange. And he found that, he found that in Peggy and Alexander was happy to watch him go. He wanted his orange to be happy.

The third person had been blue. Eliza was the sea and the sky. She was beautiful and calm and swaying. She was helpful and loving, quick to input her opinion only to retract it later on. Alexander had thought she was perfect. She was, Eliza was perfect. But Alexander was not. Blue didn’t mix right with whatever colour Alexander was. Blue turned dark and foreboding, into something he didn’t want to experience. Their fire had been wrong, and if Eliza was the ocean, then Hamilton was the smoke on the water clouding her. She needed a similar colour, a green like the Earth whom she could surround and heal. Or another blue to swim with. It appeared Alexander was neither of those.

But Jefferson. Jefferson was different. He was intense and angry and punched out. He was red. A dark crimson that demanded attention at all times. A matching light to Alex’s own. They bounced off each other, before they crashed together in a mess of colours, an abstract painting of similarities. Jefferson was passionate, he had an intensity that matched Alexander’s previously unrivalled one, and he loved it. He loved red. Red was the colour he needed, the colour that felt best in his heart of hearts. And that’s when he knew that he was red too, that he was a candy red. He was bright and flashing and Jefferson was dark and mysterious and together they were perfect. Together they formed a shade of undiscovered colour.

That’s what Alexander needed. He needed his red. Everyone else had theirs! It was his turn! It was finally his shot to find love, and he had no intentions of throwing it away.

In his time thinking, he’s almost completely forgotten the putrid heat, and the fact that the woman from before is walking down the street just a foot or two away from him. She’s brisk, in a hurry clearly, occasionally checking the time on her surprisingly high class smart-phone. In fact, another person joins him on his venture down the street, the little girl from before, but without her friend. And if he thought the woman reminded him of Jefferson, then this girl is the spitting image of him. Same hair, but longer and tied into puffy pigtails, the same wide and toothy smile as she taps Alexander on the side.

“Hey there, Mr!” She waves, and the first thing he can think is Stranger Danger. Did this girl's parents never teach her the importance of not talking to random people on the streets? “I’ve never seen you round here before, are you lost?” He supposes that he sort of is. He doesn’t know his way home, but somehow he’s not concerned. He can call a cab, or an Uber or Lyft. There are plenty of ways for him to arrive back home. But the fact that she asks him this is evident that this is one of those neighbourhoods. One where “everyone knows everyone.” Which is sweet, but annoying, because now he stands out. He wants to blend in with the crowd for once, but as he looks around, that’s been impossible for a while. He notices everyone out in their gardens or on the streets are white, which is expected at this point. It’s a flaw in the American housing system, one that he should bring up in Congress. Perhaps he could get Jefferson to support him for once, team up even. That’s the dream.

He hasn’t said much for a few seconds, and the kid looks up at him with large, expectant eyes. “Oh, I’m not lost, no. Just going for a walk,” he nods gently and she seems to understand. He thinks she’s just going to run off after receiving an answer, but she seems insistent to interrogate Alexander a little more.

She hums to herself, “what’s your name?” She asks ever so superficially, like an employer ready to write someone up for bad behaviour or poor customer service. Alexander knows those write ups all too well, it’s the reason he’s been forced off work today, something he was happy to let happen as soon as the heatwave hit. Work doesn’t have good air conditioning, if it has air conditioning at all.

“Alexander,” he answers with a flick of his head, casting his glance to the sky. They’re still walking, nearing the end of the street. The old lady has stopped, and the little girl has too, which subsequently has Hamilton stopping. He looks down at her, chin tilted down as she glares up. She seems livid at his name, and he wonders what he’s done wrong until he realises she’s staring directly into the sun as she tries to suss him out. Her gaze is warm and welcoming however, childlike and pure and it’s a nice break from the cool stares he’s used to.

She nods happily, “my name's Patsy, I’m eight,” she grins and turns on her heel, casting one final look over her shoulder. “I’m going to play, if my Pops leaves the house tell him that’s what I’m doing!” She runs off, leaving Alexander wondering who her father is. The old lady is leaning on the fence of the house in front of him, glancing up to an open window. She looks like an NPC in a video game, purposefully placed in a specific spot just for unimportant exposition. Alexander is an expert in certain video games, and if her position isn’t just begging for him to go interact with her. She seems as though she may have some enchanted knowledge to pass down onto him, maybe even a cherry pie recipe if he’s lucky.

He walks over to her side, resting his forearms on the flat tops of the white fence. The house in front of him is painted a soft violet, it’s pretty. There’s neat rows of tulips and petunias in the lawn, which is freshly trimmed so it seems. There are bushes in the middle of the grass, cut into a point. Everything is seamless, blending together. It’s homely and calm, and Alexander smiles. The woman is smiling too. He glances at other things in the garden. Tucked away into the left corner by the porch is a barbecue, and not too far from that a wooden bench. There are thin cushions resting on it, but no one sits there. The lights in the house are off, the windows open along with the curtains. But when he looks in, he sees no one. Then again, he can only see directly into the window and up, so anything at the other end of the room is out of sight. Perhaps he should’ve worn his glasses today, unable to see very far in front of his face. In the driveway is a family car, a blue Chevrolet still spongy with a few soap studs. Newly washed, he notes.

“It starts soon,” the elder comments, gesturing vaguely to the home before them. So she’s not an NPC. Alexander can’t put his finger on if that’s annoying or perfect, because he doesn’t have to start the conversation.

Yet his interest has been piqued, he was always a curious soul. It gets him into fits of trouble occasionally, but for now it seems as though the only thing he can get out of it is an intriguing talk. “What’s starting?” He asks quietly, tone low. His lips are dry, and he smacks them together to coat them with saliva to hopefully stop them cracking.

“The concert,” she answers, as though it’s the most typical thing in the world. Alexander is about to open his mouth to argue against that fact, to insinuate that a concert happening in someone’s home is ridiculous - (Even if all the Disney Channel movies taught him otherwise.) - but the woman is talking again. “Tommy always plays at three in the afternoon on a Sunday.” She seems transfixed, and every time Alexander tries to speak she hushes him. She holds up her hand to silence him, and it gives him the same feeling George Washington gives him, authority radiates from her and Alex finds himself actually shutting up. It’s two fifty-nine now, and he’s waiting for the music to start from this mysterious “Tommy.”

He’s impatient, and authority only hushes him for so long. He fidgets, picks paint off the fence and then speaks. “When does it start?” He hisses, bored. Come on, it’s three! Almost at least.

“I told you, he plays at three.”

“It is three!” Alexander whines pathetically, crossing his arms over. He’s stood still in wait for long enough, and if music doesn’t start in the next thirty seconds he’s going to walk away and never look back. He’s all set to move when the lady grabs him by the shoulder.

She hisses, “it’s starting!”

And indeed it is. Through the open windows, pouring out the house are the sweet chords of an expert violinist. It’s a harmony, seems sad, longing almost. The melody starts slow, and carefully picks up pace as it goes. He can only imagine who the player is, male or female it doesn’t matter. His mind whirs with ideas, forming the musician in his mind.

Their hands would grip the bow with precision, glide across the strings with a focussed expression. He can see their- no, his, eyes turned down to the instrument, pupils darkening as they get lost in the notes. The violin is balanced on his shoulder, tucked under his chin and his hair falls into his view but he keeps playing. The straight, actually, it’s curly. The ringlets of curls are brushed away quickly, in one movement as he continues to play.

Alexander spaces out, losing himself to the music. It appears the lady beside him does the same, but he can’t be sure. He tries to put a colour on the tone of it, tries to decipher the meaning behind the song. The violin fades into an instrumental where it’s clear the player should be singing, but they don’t. He tries to picture a face, going as far as to close his eyes and block out everything but his own imagination and the melody flowing to him. It’s like a siren call, coaxing him towards sudden death. And Alexander is all too happy to submit to the urges.

He finds a face, dark eyes, curls, complexion. Once again he’s picturing Jefferson. Over and over the man comes to mind. He tries to push him away, attempts to imagine someone else standing in the home and playing just for him. But it’s futile. And the song does feel like it’s for him. It feels like it matches the music his heart sings, the yearning harmony that lathers his soul is rivalled by this player. By Jefferson. It’s not like he’s ever going to meet the violinist, so he’s free to picture whoever he pleases.

He’s sweating, it’s the heat, it must be. His palms that are clenched into fists by his sides are coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his forehead growing damp again. He makes no effort to wipe it away, he lets the heat sweep over him. He allows the flames to engulf him, the chords of the song floating to him still.

But as soon as it’s begun, it ends. The violin fades out, leaving the music buzzing pleasantly in his veins. The lady smiles, nods and starts to walk off, back to her house. The concert comes to a close, curtains shut and shun all backstage visitors away. But when has Alexander ever abided by the rules?

His feet march him into the garden, down the lawn and up to the porch. He steps up the stairs, both of them at once. He’s having trouble summoning courage, something that’s rare for him. Typically he isn’t walking up to a strangers home just to congratulate them on their musical talent… that he probably isn’t even supposed to hear.

It takes Alexander a long minute of just standing there before he swallows his pride and taps his knuckles off the door. There are footsteps, coming closer and as they do he rids himself of the urge to run away.

He’s almost expecting Jefferson, he’s built him up in his mind and placed him on a pedestal. Or maybe it’s better to say that he’s trying to force the man into a treasure box, as he does with all the things he loves. His mother’s memory goes in there, his pens and his laptop and the pendant necklace from his mother. He’s trying to push Jefferson into the box too, to keep him by his side but he won’t stay. Perhaps it’s impossible to keep a person preserved in a treasure chest, or maybe it’s just Jefferson. He needs room, he needs space to evolve and change and grow and Alexander’s treasure chest can’t provide that. Alexander can though. He just has to let Jefferson stay out of the box.

Like he said, he’s almost expecting Jefferson to be at the door. But he still gets shocked when it actually is. It actually is Thomas fucking Jefferson standing in the doorway and Jesus he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt so tight it should be illegal. It’s difficult enough for Alexander to handle when he can practically see Jefferson’s chest through his sheen white dress shirt at work, but this is too much. This man is an Adonis. He’s the sun, Alexander is an icarus and he feels as though he simply has to fly closer.

“Hamilton!”

Shit, has he been speaking this whole time? Alexander flicks his gaze to Jefferson’s face, and fuck him he’s wearing glasses. Chunky black hipster frames that balance on the bridge of his nose. Christ, he’s in deep isn’t he?

Jefferson waves his hand in front of Alexander’s face, grabbing his attention. “Hu-uh?” Alexander stumbles out his words pathetically, lighting up red soon after. He goes the same crimson as Jefferson’s shirt, the colour he identifies the man with. He looks like he’s about to slap Alexander across the face if he doesn’t start properly talking soon.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jefferson hisses, venom laced in his tone. He’s like a snake, coiled up into a spring, ready to attack and bite at the next to approach. In his hands (lord, those hands!) he holds a clear water bottle, knuckles white with the ferocious way he grips it. He brings it up to his lips and takes a careful sip, eyes trained like a sniper on Alexander.

Hamilton collects himself, gathering his thoughts, which shouldn’t be as difficult to do as it is. He coughs into his fist, realising how dry his throat is. The aspect of water is welcoming, and he wants to reach out just to snatch the plastic (reusable, how environmental) bottle off of Jefferson to guzzle down the remaining liquid. Alas, he does not. Because that would be weird.

He still hasn’t answered, thus Jefferson continues with a hiss. “What are you doing here?!” He’s not angry, Alexander knows this. He has seen the man angry.

One time, he had seen the man in his furious element. The cabinet meeting had just ended, and Jefferson had stormed out after Washington had taken Alexander’s side once again. It wasn’t Hamilton’s fault he was better! Jefferson had stalked towards his office, and Hamilton had followed after him, the cheap fake leather of his shoes squeaking on the polished linoleum. Alexander had continued his argument, much to the dismay of the taller man. Jefferson had tried his very best to slam the door on Hamilton’s face, using all his force (which was a lot) to close it behind him, but Alex managed to stick his foot in the gap and wretch it open, still blabbering away. Jefferson had collapsed into his office chair, held his head in his hands and muttered to himself as Alexander got closer. His voice had stayed a constant, boisterous and accompanied with gesticulating gestures until he lost his cool and whipped Jefferson’s seat around himself.

“Answer me already! You spit and stumble your way through speeches, I bring out the real you! I bring out the fires! Show me him and argue back!” The animosity had been high in Alexander’s tone, he liked the unabashed Jefferson who fought with him. The man who poured wisdom from his tongue like his mother language. Why he held it back when talking to anyone else baffled him beyond belief. But this meeting he had barely spoken, just shared his points with a quiet voice and sat back down, not bothering to debate Alexander. He was furious, made sure to target Jefferson in some of his words just to try and get a rise, a reaction, anything! But it had not worked, so he resorted to his last lifeline, and followed the man to his office.

Jefferson snapped his gaze up, and there it was, the fire he so dearly wanted. The red-hot passion that licked at his pupils, threatened to burn Alexander. “You bring out the real me?! No, Hamilton,” he had spat his name like it was some dirt on the bottom of his polished shoes, “you bring out the worst in me! You bring out the angry, tired part of me that doesn’t want to deal with your bullshit!”

“My bullshit?” Alexander had smirked as though he had won, and in his sense he had. For a moment at least. Because he had gotten a reaction, the thing he craved as much as air. He had gotten his red to reply and that’s all he really needed. He was happy from here on out. But, he could always push it further. So he had. “Care to explain to me what my bullshit is? Is it my financial plan? Is that what it is, Jefferson?” He had remained sickeningly-sweet, words sugary like honey, dripping in the same way.

Jefferson had laughed, hysterical really. A break from his usual smug laughter. A break Alexander didn’t enjoy very much. He was never one to like breaks, preferred to continue in a way he always had. And he and Jefferson had a dance, a specific way they did things that they had yet to break. A routine that Jefferson was so arbitrarily destroying just with a fit of chuckles. “Your financial plan is a piece of insulting garbage, but that is not what I mean-“ he had scoffed, and rose from his seat, towering over Alexander with a menacing glint. “-You are a parasite to me, you trail around like some sad puppy, desperate for attention! But why me? I stammer through speeches, but alas it’s better than talking a million miles a minute where no one can understand you! You bring out the fire, the hellfire! You make me want to snap you into pieces and scatter you on my lawn like fertiliser. Do us all a favour and get out!”

A little shocked by the imaginative insult, Alexander resisted. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Jefferson had him by the collar next, shoving him up against a wall, face so close he could feel the hot breath of his rival on his face. “You talk a big game, Hamilton, yet you forget to follow through. The fire you bring out in me is the worst part about myself and I’d prefer to hide it away,” he had growled, low and rumbling in his chest, “you’re not good enough to lick the dirt off my shoes. You must think you’re so special, yet all you do is hump the President’s leg until you get what you desire. God knows why he takes your side on every political matter.” He had dropped Alexander after that, left him scrambling to his feet. “Get out of my office.”

Scared, but stubborn, Alexander had supplied a retort. “Or what, old man? Gonna make me?”

Jefferson had grit his teeth together, grinding them so hard Hamilton was surprised they hadn’t faded away. “Or else.”

“All bark and no bite.” Alexander scoffed in return, making his way slowly to the door. He cast a look over his shoulder in time to see Jefferson physically slump back into his chair, looking tense and stressed and he couldn’t help but feel bad. He had felt Jefferson’s eyes on his back the whole time he had left, felt them searing holes through his jacket and burning into his skin. Not that he was complaining though.

And once again, Alexander peers up at him with wide eyes. “Oh, well um-“ he directs his gaze over Jefferson’s shoulder, “it’s kind of a long story.” He’s hinting quite obviously at his pleas to come inside, and Jefferson must catch on because a hint of realisation casts over his dark eyes, the eyes Alexander spends so much of his time thinking about.

“I have time,” came Jefferson’s grimy reply. One long finger came up to push his glasses up by the rim, unlike anyone else who would push them up by the bridge. Alexander inadvertently stashed this information away in his treasure chest. He taps his foot in a way that almost feels surreptitious. Or perhaps that’s the incorrect word. Jefferson keeps looking over Alexander’s head, then glancing behind him, eyes darting in all directions.

Alexander has the sun beating down on his back, and he can see Jefferson squinting in the light. It’s hot again, too hot in all the wrong ways, and Alexander only feels hotter with Jefferson’s eyes on him. “Well- uh- it started because my AC unit broke and-“

“Hamilton, I didn’t ask for a life story,” Jefferson fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt, looking almost nervous. Which was ludicrous! Jefferson? Nervous? That… made a lot of sense actually. His stammering through meetings, his constantly tensed shoulders, the time he had overheard Madison and Adams talking about him a few years back, saying “He was born stressed out about something.” It makes the shuffling around start to add up, how he loses his cool around Alexander and loosens up because he stops thinking. He stops worrying and starts concentrating solely on deconstructing Hamilton’s argument. He feels a little rush of pride at that, that he can get Jefferson to let go. Yet at the same time, it feels like it’s perverse knowledge he isn’t supposed to have access too, which brings him right back around to the key metaphor. A metaphor he’s using so often it’s beginning to lose meaning, and he’s beginning to imagine an actual key, which confuses his head even more than it already is.

He’s broken from his thoughts by Jefferson speaking once more, “would you like to come inside?” He asks quietly, shifting foot to foot. Alexander steals his gaze downwards, unable to look Jefferson in the face as he processes that question. His rival (whom he’s established as the man he wants to date, and god it feels so much more real when he thinks of it like that), has just invited him into his home. His home that Alexander always imagined to be bigger, more spectacular and less… welcoming. “You could inform me of why you’re standing on my doorstep in broken sandals over a glass of Chardonnay?”

“How am I supposed to say no to that?” Alexander responds almost mockingly, stepping into the home as Jefferson moves aside. He shuffles and a hand goes up to card through his curls, and Alexander wonders if they’re as soft as they appear. He resists the urge to stride over and find out for himself as he steps inside. “I would take my shoes off, but I feel as though barefoot is even more disrespectful.” He hums absent-mindedly.

Jefferson seems to tune back in at that as he flicks his gaze to follow Alexander. “And since when have you cared about being respectful towards me?” His words are sharp, upset almost. It’s strange, but Alexander kind of likes the vulnerability, it feels special. As though Jefferson is trusting him with the real real him. “Just leave your shoes on,” he adds carefully onto the end with a flippant wave and a frown.

Alexander does just that, but wipes his feet on the welcoming mat Jefferson has placed in his hallway. “What’s your liquor of choice?” Jefferson asks, sauntering off towards his kitchen, voice growing quieter as he walks off. Alexander finds his eyes following his back, watching the way his red shirt clings to the muscles of his back, and he swallows slowly, with intent.

“I believe I was promised Chardonnay, Mr Jefferson!” Alexander calls after him, taking it upon himself to look around the hallway. It’s cooler inside, thank god, but it’s not chilly. Jefferson knows how to set his AC without breaking it, Hamilton could never relate. The walls are painted a warm brown, framed family photos lining the hall. There is one, where Alexander counts twelve people in the image. The camera quality isn’t great, but all the people in the photo are similar in appearance, the only two who stand out are the ones who look like parents, as their hair is turning grey and there are wrinkles along their foreheads. He spots Jefferson - well, Thomas because he’s managed to figure out everyone in the photo is a Jefferson - rather quickly, he’s the second tallest in the picture, just after the one who looks like his father, but he looks younger, smiling wide at the camera and holding a baby boy on his hip. He looks much too young to have a son, so he must be Jefferson’s brother.

There's another photo of him cradling a small child in his arms, a newborn, little girl based on the pink wool hat on her head. He looks older than the previous photo, so Alexander deciphers that this is his child. He looks around. There are no children about. He’s smiling wider than he’s ever seen before, down at the baby whose eyes are tightly shut. Alexander grins to himself and ghosts a finger over Jefferson’s face, or at least over the glass. There’s a corner of a woman’s face in the top left, she looks tired. Jefferson does too, bags under his eyes and smile creases by his lips. But he still looks… god, what word can he use?

The next photo makes his fond smile fall faster than a rock from the top of a cliff. A wedding photo, Jefferson in his mid-twenties, dressed in a suit (that hugs him in all the right places, damn) and kissing a short woman in a flowing white wedding dress. He looks so happy, beaming as his hands rest on her hips. A wave of jealousy crashes over him as he studies the image closer. It’s outdoors, must be in Virginia, and the two newlyweds are standing under an arch laced with pink roses and light pink tulips. He frowns, there goes his chance. But it won’t hit him yet, it only will at around midnight, when he’s emailing Washington where he will pause and scream for a minute as it sets in.

He’s so focused on the wedding pictures that he doesn’t even notice Jefferson coming up behind him. “That’s Martha,” the low voice by his ear makes Alexander jump out of his skin, clasping a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. “Sorry, did I scare you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and continues to talk, “I thought you would’ve been in the living room, but I suppose I never told you to make yourself at home.” Alexander turns around and chokes on a breath. Because fuck, Jefferson is right there, glasses slipping down his nose, cheeks dusted red and lips inches away from his own. He swallows again, takes a step backwards and hits the wall with his back.

Jefferson hands him a champagne flute with a bubbling glass of white wine, and Alexander nods in return. "Thank you," he studies Jefferson carefully as he flicks his chin up quickly and takes a step away, giving Alexander room to finally breathe. He quickly glances back at the few photos on the wall, catching a glimpse from his peripheral vision as Jefferson sips from his glass. "Martha was…?" He waits for the other to finish his sentence impatiently.

"My wife," Jefferson answers with ease, gulping back a small drink. "A million years ago at least." He chuckles. And Alexander doesn't quite understand. Typically, divorcees don't keep photos of their marriage hanging in the entrance way to their home. Apparently the confusion is evident in his expression, because his host keeps talking. "She passed away eight years ago, just after giving birth."

Alexander bites down on his bottom lip, regretful. He was just thinking about how jealous he was, thinking about going home, calling Laurens or Lafayette and talking shit about Jefferson and his supposed wife. Well he certainly wouldn’t be doing that anymore. “Oh,” he says, rather ineloquently, “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson shrugs, takes another long drink from his glass, like the conversation pains him. It probably does, Alexander realises. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago,” he drawls, making sure to not finish his glass. It’s half full now, and Alexander sips the sparkling liquid. Jefferson clears his throat, looking much like he does during meetings. Uncomfortable, small almost. “Well, can I tempt you to sit in the parlour with me?” He raises an eyebrow, leads them through to a room with windows that are almost floor to ceiling, spar for the comfy looking window seat (covered in a knitted quilt and tartan pillows) that Alexander plops himself down on. The other man seats himself by a small round table, mahogany for the looks of it.

Alexander wants to speak, as always. His tongue flicks in his mouth, forming words but Jefferson cuts him off. “So, Alexander, tell me, what brought you to my doorstep on this… boiling afternoon?” It doesn’t slip past him that Jefferson uses his first name. The way it rolls with his accent, drawling slow as always until Alexander is hanging onto every syllable.

His brain catches up with the question after being so hung up on the way his given name sounds on Jefferson’s lips, and the fact that he would love to hear it in other contexts- God, he needs to stop. But the man is right there and- No. “I broke my air conditioning unit, and needed to get out.” He shrugs and takes a slurping drink of Chardonnay, perhaps if he irritates Jefferson enough, he’ll see the fire he wants.

“That doesn’t explain why you knocked on my door,” Jefferson flicks his wrist and places his glass down. Alexander can practically hear the cogs in his brain (that wonderful mind) whirring as he thinks. He can see the intelligent man putting the puzzles pieces together, in order to view the whole picture. He stops to admire his fellow Secretary’s brilliance far too often, and he always has. It’s a constant, a comma in his life where he pauses and admits to himself that Jefferson is smart. And sometimes he hates it. He hates that Jefferson is so so bright, but is full of only stupid things to say. Like he doesn’t learn both sides of the argument before presenting. Or perhaps that’s just how humans work, they’re always going to be biased.

Alexander coughs into his fist again, seeing Jefferson grit his teeth that he had the audacity to slurp his expensive (probably French, pretentious bastard) wine. “I decided to go for a walk,” he began to explain, as confident as always. “And then I ended up here,” he chewed on the inside of his cheek, “because I heard you playing violin and wanted to come speak to whoever the player was. Didn’t know it was going to be you.”

Jefferson appears uncomfortable. He finishes his glass in one large gulp and places his now empty glass on the table. He pushes his glasses up his nose by the rim once more, sighing softly. “You say that like it was bad playing.” He said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his empty glass, refilling it with only his eyes and exhaling as it refuses to fill. How disappointing.

“No, no!” Alexander waves his hands in a flurry, almost spilling his Chardonnay on the laminate flooring. Jefferson’s eyes catch the droplet that flies from the glass and lands on one of his quilted cushions. Hamilton is too busy explaining himself to realise. Why is he being so considerate of Jefferson’s feelings? (He has a crush on him, he knows this. He knows it’s because the man looks so much more vulnerable in his own home, in shorts and t-shirt and glasses. And oh fuck he’s staring again.) “I wanted to come tell the violinist how incredible their playing was!” He watches the man who is supposed to be his rival smile, genuine and pure, and his heart soars. Butterflies swarm in his stomach, flapping their wings at a hundred miles an hour. It’s like he can take flight, all because of Jefferson’s shy little grin, watching the way his lips twitch upwards. It’s so different from his other sly, wicked smirks, all teeth and hatred. Is it hatred really though? Alexander doesn’t have the time to ask himself all of these questions again, he’s never going to find an answer.

"I've played ever since I was a child," Jefferson replies, tapping his fingers off his thighs. As Alexander has established, everything about this man seems to be carved by the gods out of stone and his legs are no exception.

"Impressive." He isn't lying. Alexander finds it wildly impressive, violin is a difficult instrument to master. He believes Jefferson mutters something along the lines of 'thank you', but he isn't particularly paying attention. He needs more to drink. He doesn't want to have to think anymore, so he doesn't. Instead, he downs his glass.

“Want a refill?” Jefferson drawls, rising to his feet and taking both empty glasses. All Alexander can do is nod and watch as the man walks off, eyes concentrated on his back and definitely not other places because that would be crude.

Alexander crosses his legs (sits criss-cross applesauce) on the windowsill seat, fluffing a pillow behind his back and cautiously leaning back to rest against the window panes. He’s almost scared of breaking them, or of the glass popping out. So instead he turns and tucks his knees in slightly, sitting along it sideways to lean on the wall that slightly juts out. He must appear comfortable, because when Jefferson comes back in he laughs carefully. “Made yourself at home I see?” He hands Alexander the glass of Chardonnay, and he notes that in his other hand is the bottle.

“Yeah, got a problem with that?” Alexander responds sarcastically. Jefferson plops himself down - surprisingly - beside Alexander, in the small space between his feet and the other wall. He hadn’t expected the sudden closeness, and all cognitive thought grinds to a stop when he realises he can smell Jefferson’s overpriced cologne. It’s probably perfume, when he thinks about it. Flowery and reeking of money. But Alexander thinks (after smelling it before, and now smelling it here) that he’ll kill Jefferson if he ever wears anything else.

Jefferson sips from his glass. “Not at all.” Alexander wants to stretch his legs out, but felt as though he couldn’t do that. Jefferson was right there! What can he do? Put his feet on the man’s lap? … he could do that. He could actually do that. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hammy?” He purrs teasingly, raising a curious eyebrow and chuckling to himself. Alexander can’t help but notice the slight flush of his cheeks, the dusty pink across his skin. He eyes him suspiciously, before he finally realises that the man must be a lightweight. Now there’s something he didn’t expect.

“Hammy?” Alexander quirks an eyebrow, suspect. It’s amusing how Jefferson seems to relax that slight bit as he sips his Chardonnay. The slightly older man just nods in return, bringing his glass to his lips and taking another drink. Alexander does the same, swirling the wine in his champagne flute with a chuckle. “Just that I wanna stretch out.” He shrugs and continues to drink, observing as Jefferson’s face scrunches up unattractively. Somehow, Hamilton still finds it adorable. Who would’ve thought he would find Jefferson cute? How strange.

“Then just do it,” Jefferson suggests with a smile, shrugs his shoulders and sips his drink. Alexander is surprised, never would’ve thought Jefferson would allow him to kick his feet up. It feels intimate, like a cute-couple thing to do. He hesitantly stretches his legs out, untucking his knees and placing his feet up on Jefferson’s lap, who hums his approval.

Alexander sips his Chardonnay, starting to speak. And Jefferson? Jefferson starts to listen.

Half an hour, and the rest of the bottle of Chardonnay later, the two are on the right side of tipsy. They’re just drunk enough to feel comfortable enough to sit shoulder to shoulder, resting against each other without looking like they’re being forced into the close proximity. Except they are no longer shoulder to shoulder, in fact, they’re closer than that. Alexander has his head on Jefferson’s lap, his glass long forgotten on the table, along with Jefferson’s champagne flute too and the empty wine bottle. Alexander is continuously muttering about the current political climate, ranting quietly while Jefferson listens, occasionally inputting his opinion.

“Are you not gonna argue with me?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. He’s trying to irritate Jefferson, and pokes his cheek to try and agitate him more. But Jefferson doesn’t react, other than blushing an even darker crimson. The colour he is. He’s crimson, but now he’s dull and Alexander misses his booming red.

Jefferson hums to himself, eyes fluttering shut. Alexander reaches up and pushes the other man’s glasses up his nose by the bridge. Jefferson flicks his eyes open suddenly and stares down at him, catching his wrist in his hand. Alexander feels paralysed, feeling his large palms around his own bony wrist and holding it in a loose grip. He doesn’t answer the question, “it’s so nice outside. Why are we still sitting here?”

“Why indeed?” There’s a ever so slight slur to his words, drawn out a little more than usual. Alexander kicks his feet to the ground, standing so casually it’s like he stays and hangs with Jefferson all the time and not never at all. He turns to face Jefferson, overlooking his features. He’s never had a chance to look at him so relaxed, and he notices how tense Jefferson typically is compared to now. At work, his shoulders are straight, hunched up to his ears and his posture is a horizontal line. Whereas now, he’s a little more slumped, tension gone from his body. It’s a breath of fresh air, one he never thought he would experience and accept so easily.

Jefferson rises to his feet, and typically he would be towering over Hamilton yet now, he doesn’t feel as dominating. Instead, he’s softer, edges aren’t as sharp or predatory. The mirthful glint in his pupils has faded, but the fire still licks at his eyes. It’s a welcoming heat, like the fireplace on a freezing day. And despite the current heatwave, Alexander finds himself wishing to curl up by the fire like a purring cat. “Come on, let’s go sit in my backyard.”

Alexander expects to trail after him, certainly not for the man to offer his hand to Hamilton. But he takes it, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the way his head is screaming at him. “You’re holding his hand! You’re holding Thomas Jefferson’s hand! He offered it to you! You didn’t even have to ask!” His pulse races in his ears, as he leads the two of them into his back garden. It’s beautiful, a large monkey puzzle tree in the far right corner, casting a lovely shadow over a section of the yard. Jefferson guides Alexander over to the tree and sits down under it, gesturing next to him. “C’mon, Hammy, I don’t have all day.” Alexander feels his heart flutter again, starting to race at the ridiculous nickname. If anyone else used it, he would be quickly driven mad. It’s all because of this damn Secretary.

Alexander takes a seat by him, leaning against the bark of the tree and exhaling. It’s warm, but at least vaguely cooler under the tree. Jefferson certainly seems to appreciate it, as the slightly intoxicated man removes his glasses and places them on the trimmed glass next to him, tips his head back until it hits the tree truck and breathes out happily. Alexander eyes the expanse of skin by his neck, and starts to feel like a particularly famished vampire, gazing at the muscles of someone’s neck of all places. But there’s a familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to have his face tucked into the crook of his neck and just breathe. The thought would be scarier if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his blood. He feels confident, confident enough to lean against Jefferson and carefully hide his face in his shoulder. Not his neck, sure, but it’s close.

Alexander can feel his counterparts breathing stutter and he gently nuzzles against him, appreciating the muscle under him. “Hamilton, are you alright?” He’s sobered up, the shock of Alexander curling around him like ivy clings to a house seemingly having knocked the wine out of his system. He allows Alexander to wind himself tighter around his body, like it's cold out and he’s the only viable source of heat. It’s not. It’s still absolutely sweltering, evident in the way sweat beads at Jefferson’s brow and Alexander longs to reach over and smooth out the developing stress lines.

“Mhm…” Alexander hums his answer and buries his head into Jefferson’s neck, finally finally being close enough to him. Yet… somehow he’s dying to be closer. “I’m great, perfect! Even,” he giggles, the alcohol definitely making him a fun drunk. He’s a lightweight, that’s for sure, but when it hits him, it hits all at once. He’s got a rush of flirtatious courage surging through his veins, hot in his blood.

Jefferson moves his hand across and gently caresses Alexander’s pink cheeks, observing how he keens into it like a cat. That’s exactly what Alexander reminds him of, a cat. Hissing and violent in his worst moments, yet clingy and desperate for attention in his best. It’s a good thing Jefferson likes cats then. He drags an arm around Alexander’s shoulder, taking in his appearance. Small and (gross, his back is damp) hunched over, tucking into him and smiling, pink lips twitching into a happy grin. He’s so soft like this, vulnerable in a way Jefferson’s never seen him before. He’s intensity is being channeled into a new emotion, and Jefferson knows he’s still red. Still a fiery red, but it’s dragged in a different direction. It’s pulling him into love, and it makes his stomach do flips. Because if he has to be honest to himself, he’s had a crush on this ridiculous gremlin (excuse of a man) politician since the day of their first Cabinet meeting. Alexander could keep up with his thunderous talking pace, and he loves it. He loves it so much. “You’re sure?”

“Well,” Alexander decides it’s now or never, “I suppose there’s a way it could get…” he darts his tongue out and licks his lips, “even better.” He moves an inch away from Jefferson, eyes flickering between his eyes (no longer covered by lenses) and his lips, which look all too kissable. Jefferson doesn’t seem to catch on, just catches Alexander’s gaze with his own intense one.

“How so?” He raises an eyebrow, arched brow almost judging him.

“Kiss me,” Alexander breathes, tilting his chin upwards and leaning forward, hoping Jefferson will close the gap. And he does. God he does. He leans down and in, dipping his head and pressing his lips softly to Alexander’s own. They’re soft and insistent and gentle against his own chapped ones. And Alexander finds himself sober, before getting drunk on the feeling of Jefferson kissing him and ha! He’ll be able to rub this in Lafayette’s face later! Suck it, Frenchie!

Alexander cards his hand into Jefferson’s curls, because he’s scared he’ll never get the chance to feel them again. They’re as soft as they look, springy between his fingers and wonderful to the touch. It’s such a wonderful kiss, their first kiss, and Alexander wants to keep on kissing him forever. Jefferson makes a quiet whimpering noise and Alexander forces himself to pull away before he melts and never does. “Jefferson,” he breathes across his lips.

“Thomas,” the other corrects delicately, a meer whisper before he’s tangling his hand in Alexander’s hair and tugging Alexander back to meet his lips. It’s feverish this time, desperate and needy. The roasting heat must be getting to them, because they’re rivals, are they not? Well, not anymore. Because he’s pretty sure enemies don’t kiss in summer heatwaves, under monkey puzzle trees in their rivals back garden. But they do now, because Alexander isn’t giving this up for the world. Not now. He has his red.

“Thomas,” Alexander repeats Jeffer- Thomas’s words as they break away again. The name feels heavy on his tongue with the taste of its owner on his lips. Like it should be a sin, a sin to have enjoyed that so much. But he will gladly go to hell if it means getting to experience that intimacy again. The base of his ponytail has started to be tugged out, knotting where his fingers have tangled in the locks. He lays his head on the man’s shoulder, starting to slide half in and half out of his lap. It’s insane, the burning feeling in his chest as he locks this memory away in his treasure box, saving it for a rainy day, just in case this was a one time thing.

Thomas cradles Alexander’s chin in one hand, thumb hooking under his jaw and tilting his head up so that he can look into his eyes. Hamilton could get lost in those eyes, as he has many times. So many times during cabinet meetings he has stared at Jefferson, at those dark eyes and simply dove in, gleeful at the aspect of drowning in them. Only for the man to spout some ridiculous shit and drag Alexander out of the waters, slap him around and take him to his senses. “Yes, dear?”

That voice was going to be the death of him.

“I-“ He lost all forms of cognitive thought, the train must’ve derailed when Thomas pressed their lips together. Because fuck, he can even feel the violin chords buzzing in his veins again and it’s all so much and he loves it. Alexander flicks his gaze around Thomas's face, (he really has to get used to calling him that) kiss-swollen lips, the deep blush across his cheeks. He must look like an awestruck child from Thomas's perspective, because the man chuckles and takes his free hand through Alex's hair, taking it out of the pony tail in one movement. "Red." Alex mutters finally.

"Red?" Thomas repeats with a cocked eyebrow, hands Alexander his hair tie and brings both hands back to his lap. He really isn't sure what Hamilton means. What does red have to do with anything? If he had to put a colour to this moment, he would call it tickled pink. Intense and warm, but full to the brim of love and devotion. Pink.

Alexander nods, presses a finger to Thomas's chest, and another to his own. "Red," he nods, taking his fingers away, instead splaying his palm across Jefferson's chest absent-mindedly. "That's our colours. We're red."

Thomas never imagined he would be agreeing with Alexander so easily. With Martha, their relationship had been a soft pink. The fire was there, buried beneath the surface of dedication and loyalty. It was comfortable, it was perfect. He never needed anything else, because everything he needed was in Martha. But was he pink? Certainly not. She was his high-school sweetheart, the only real relationship he had ever had. He didn't count the many women (and men) in France, they never lasted longer than a night of sub-par activities and a morning of awkward goodbyes.

"We are, aren't we?" Thomas hummed, eventually pulling himself from his thoughts before he sunk too far. Thinking was a dangerous activity, one he didn't take time to do in fear of never emerging again.

"But," Alexander continues, and Jefferson's heart sinks. There's always a catch, isn't there? "We're the opposite reds. You're the darker red, most definitely. You're secrets and feelings are locked away, while I display mine like the lights on Broadway."

Thomas gulps. Never before has he been called out so boldly, or in such a forward manner. Yet Alexander has hit the nail on the head, first try and won the prize so it seems. He softens a little further, slumping against the tree. A low hanging stick swats at his head, and he bats it away with one hand.

"You keep everything behind lock and key… no one else has the key, I don't think," Alexander draws little swirls and patterns with his fingertip on Thomas's chest, the art fading as fast as it appears. He feels the man quiver, trying to hold himself together, and he knows that stone wall he hides behind is breaking.

He shakes his head in a curt motion. "Ja- Madison has a key," he corrects, inadvertently agreeing with Alexander, "Martha… Martha had a key." He finishes there, hands folding into each other, fingers fidgeting with discomfort. His face contorts as he screws it up, not allowing his mind to drift, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the tickled pink time. But how do you make pink from two reds?

"I'd like a key," Alexander adds, "if you'd be willing to lend me a spare." He glances up at Jefferson through his eyelashes, shall he offer something in return? The key to his treasure chest perhaps? The place he stores his most prized memories?

Jefferson chews on his lip. "I think you already have one. Whether we realised it or not… you've always had one." The metaphor is starting to confuse him, muddling with his mind. So many keys, and so many possible doors they could unlock and it's all a bit much. What door should he go through first? None of them have labels, none of them have a clear cut future secured behind them. How does he choose? Maybe he should let Alexander choose for him, go along for the ride.

Alexander smiles. He drapes himself further across Jefferson, kicking one of his legs over both of the man's and leaning into his shoulder, tucking himself there. The hot air, accompanied by the events that just occurred have sobered him almost entirely, but it feels so much better to experience this without the alcohol tainting his memory. "Thank you."

"For what?" Thomas raises an eyebrow, because as far as he's certain, he should be thanking Hamilton. Or cursing him. Cursing him and whatever magical force drew them together. This may just make him believe in fate, in destiny. He wasn’t a Christian, not anymore anyway, but this had him thanking god. Thanking every god for bringing them together. This was good, he could sit under this monkey puzzle tree, feeling the way he is now for the rest of eternity. Not good, no, that didn’t do this justice. Amazing? Fabulous? Stupendous?

"It's a preemptive thank you, since you'll be paying for tonight's date. Say seven o'clock." Alexander smirks up at Thomas, watches as the man chuckles. That laugh, there's a sound he could get used to. And to know he caused it? Fills him with joy. The laugh is like yellow. He doesn't know why, it just is. Colours fit everything, his mother was a deep navy blue, his father a cold icy white. Lafayette is purple, a mix of strength and flowing like the sea, but passionate like red. Hercules is green like juniper, he’s a grounding presence, one that Alexander can rely on to stay strong for them all. Angelica is pink, full of passion, but for some reason she just doesn’t hit that red mark. Washington stands bold in yellow, along with Peggy, but much like Thomas and Alexander, opposite ends of the spectrum. He can’t say why these colours fit, where he got them from or why they are this way, but it just does. It all slots together, everyone in his life has an assigned colour. And he thinks they always will.

Thomas raises an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm sure the neighbour will be fine taking care of Patsy for a bit," he hums. It's nerve wracking, because Jefferson doesn't have a clue if Alexander is alright with kids or not. His brain is screaming at him that Alexander is going to see sense and run, hear the talk of kids and sprint. After all, they're both in their mid thirties, so it's normal for someone their age to have a child. What if Alexander doesn't like kids? God, was this a mistake?

“Patsy? The little girl playing out in the street?” Alexander asks, laying himself across Thomas. He feels comfortable, like himself already, and he feels like this could go places. Because reds match, and opposites attract. They’re just lucky they’re opposite reds.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s playing with John,” Thomas sighs out his nose, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose. He smiles at Alexander and giggles, actually giggles, a sound that makes Alexander’s heart fly like doves around his chest. “Dress comfy, I hope you like picnics.”

“Picnics?” Alexander raises an eyebrow. “I love picnics.” It’s true. Hell, if they picnic in the back of Thomas’s garden, criss-cross on a blanket under this tree, that could be one of the best dates of his life.

“I’m glad, it’s my dream date,” Thomas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, “look at us, getting to know each other already!” He chuckles again, noticing the flush it causes to Alex’s cheeks. Gorgeous. He cups his jaw, watches as the smaller man leans into the touch with a soft purr.

“You know what’ll make it even better?”

“What, if I bring more Chardonnay?”

“No!” Alexander bats at his arm playfully.

“Then what?” Thomas asks through laughs.

“If you kiss me again.”

And he does. God, he does.

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please this is 13,045 words I spent to much time on this I'm begging yall, if you liked it please reblog it, I dont want this to go unnoticed.

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@a-nice-tea-time @skyluni @khiara1776 @beetlejuicebeetlejuicebeeeecause @slushy-sloosh-musical-person @i-can-get-extra-with-my-ships @iss-yaboi @patt0n-sanders @karixx-png @tryingtohealandgrow @justthehopeleft @pufflypuffle @swagdiplomatlightkid

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #jamilton #jamilton fanfic #jamilton fluff #jamilton fic #jamilton fanfiction #hamilton fluff #hamilton fanfic #ee #ee writes #ee does writing #ee's writing #ee.txt #fuck this took forever #jefferson #jefferson will be sad #patsy is here for a bit too

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angelictaehyun · 4 years

Text

PAIRING: guardian angel!taehyun x fem!reader

GENRE: guardian angel au, soulmate au, fluff, angst

WC. 8,400+

WARNINGS: major character(s) illness, minor alcohol usage, mild language

SYNOPSIS: Kang Taehyun, a sassy, young guardian angel, didn’t think anyone could be more of an absolute mess… boy, was he mistaken.

PART ONE || PART TWO || INTERLUDE || PART THREE

taehyun was right, something you didn’t care much to admit.

you absolutely adored kai.

if you searched “lovable younger brother” in a dictionary, no doubt kai’s picture would appear beside the definition. he was childish, a bit odd, sweet as honey, and outstandingly attentive. the dynamic was quite different with him. he was just as protective and loving as taehyun, but there was a complete lack of emotional attachment.

you found it refreshing.

with taehyun, it was almost like you were drawn to each other both physically and mentally as if a string were pulling you together. the longer you remained apart, the more you hurt, but you hid it as best as possible— kai was bright and bubbly, you didn’t like the idea of him seeing anything less than that.

you fiddled with the fabric of your blanket, mind full of incoherent thoughts, while kai engrossed himself with the movie on the television screen. lately, you often found yourself like this— detached and numb. however, if there was one person to reel you back from the empty feeling, it was kai. you watched him with a fond smile. you were thankful for the young boy, just being in his high-spirited presence, seeing his smile, hearing his obnoxiously loud laugh... it made things hurt just a little less.

“hey, kai?”

he turned his head slightly but kept his eyes glued to the screen, “yeah, what’s up?”

“i think i’m going to turn in, i’m getting sleepy,” you mumbled quietly.

your cracked, dull voice didn’t slip past him. he was concerned of course, but you were hesitant to let him in, to let down your barriers. he sighed to himself before giving you his full attention along with a soft smile, “okay. goodnight y/n, sweet dreams.”

“sweet dreams,” you repeated.

“actually wait, y/n. uh, i just wanted to tell you that i know i’m not him... but i’m always here to talk if you want,” he stated shyly. you felt guilty. you wanted to let him in, really, but everything hurt all the time and you just didn’t have the energy. he didn’t know how much you wanted to talk to him, to cry on his shoulder, to eat copious amounts of ice cream with him, but you were hesitant. hesitant and very much in pain, both mentally and physically.

you simply nodded your head in acknowledgment and gave a soft smile before making your way to your bedroom. you climbed into your bed and wrapped a plush quilt around your feverishly warm body which contrasted the cold, empty bed. you clutched onto a plushie and tried to drive away the negative thoughts, but to no avail, they plagued your mind once again.

just forget about him, he’s never coming back.

you laid there, fiddling with the sheets beneath you, hesitant to fall asleep. lately, you absolutely despised sleeping. your unconscious mind enjoyed playing cruel tricks on you, constantly making you dream of taehyun. the dreams mocked you, reminded you that he would never come home. you hated the moments right after waking up. for a few minutes, you were able to lay in bed, believing everything was alright, that there was no heartbreak or loss. you missed being held by him, having his warmth beside you as he played with your hair and hummed a sweet melody. it never failed to lull you to sleep— his touch was always soothing.

you both came such a long way.

going against every bone in your body, you squeezed your eyes shut and let yourself indulge in the memory of the first time he ever held you close.

taehyun sat on your bedroom floor, irritated and resentful, as you turned on high school musical for the fourth time in the span of thirty-six hours. he narrowed his eyes and flashed you an exhausted, disgusted gaze but you failed to notice, your head easily hidden in the mountain of plushies, tear-stained tissues, and blankets on your bed. you had an annoying habit of mumbling along to the movie and singing— more like yelling— along to the musical numbers. you had the vocal abilities of a brick and he promised himself that if he had to listen to your off-key, horrid singing one more time, he would tear his beloved wings out. he settled himself on the edge of your bed, picking away at the stuffed animals and blankets surrounding you.

“y/n... talk to me. please,” he begged. he was hoping to distract you from the movie and forcing you to speak was the only way he truly knew how.

you paused the movie and snapped, “leave me alone.”

“see, here’s the thing. i can’t exactly ‘leave you alone’ since it’s quite literally my job to constantly be by your side,” he reminded you smugly. you peaked your head out from under the blankets and threw him a lethal glare. he threw his hands up and surrendered, “fine. have it your way. can you at least move over so i can watch too?”

you sighed before unwrapping yourself from your makeshift blanket burrito and scooting to the side. you sat shoulder to shoulder as an awkward silence fell over the room. he inhaled sharply and glanced at your expectantly but not before mentally preparing himself for your random musical outbursts.

“well, what are you waiting for? ...press play.”

if there was anything worse than your singing, it was your crying and boy, were you doing a lot of crying... you were always a sucker for romantic movies. you clutched your hands to your chest, happy tears spilling over as the ending credits rolled. though, you were quickly brought out of your post-movie haze as you felt light taps on your head. you slowly turned to the side to see taehyun awkwardly patting you, his amusing but unhelpful way of comforting you.

yeah... this doesn’t seem right, he thought to himself.

he retracted his hand only to hesitantly circle his arm around your shoulder and pull you into him. you immediately tensed yet you didn’t pull away, the reasoning beyond you. you adored how he smelled like sweet cinnamon and gingerbread; you did your best to ignore the way his scent made your heart flutter. he cringed to himself before squeezing you tighter— he wasn’t much for physical affection. god, the things he did for this job.

you opened your eyes and shook your head fondly at the memory, a humorless laugh escaping your lips— it was amusing how awkward and hesitant you both were. you tried conjuring more memories but your tired eyes fluttered shut and your mind went blank. in that moment, a dull ache manifested in your chest but you paid no mind, sleep washing over you quickly.

· ──────────────────── ·

the following morning, you woke not to the soft sunlight streaming through the window, but to the sharp pain in your lungs which encroached on your ability to breathe. you gripped your pillow harshly and let out a muffled sob, attempting to relieve some of the pain. unfortunately, this had become a common development, so you tried your best to ignore the pain and hide it, especially in front of kai. you didn’t want to worry his pretty head, especially when telling him wouldn’t relieve any of the pain, it would just make the both of you miserable. you slowly rolled out of bed, trudging into your bathroom to wash your face. you wanted to maintain some semblance of normalcy, it kept you grounded and your mind off of taehyun. you found the pain usually subsided the longer the day went on, so you did your best to cope.

you tried ignoring kai’s heinously loud snores as you trudged out the front door. his body was curled up on the wooden flooring of your living room, hidden underneath his iridescent wings as if it were a substitute blanket. you glanced at his bedroom, which was less than six feet away, and sighed. his ability to sleep anywhere was amusing, though a bit concerning.

lately, kai had taken a liking, though you would argue obsession, to cold brew. it was partially your fault though, your caffeine dependency had exponentially increased, consequently rubbing off on him. being the good older sister you were, plus the fact that once again, you woke up at an ungodly hour, you decided to run a few errands and pick up coffee for you both before he woke up.

you dragged your exhausted body into the nearby café, the scent of java and freshly baked goods waking you up instantly. beomgyu stood behind the counter, a sunny smile already plastered on his face as if he were waiting for you.

“ah, you’re late! i was starting to worry i wouldn’t get to see my favorite customer today,” he mused, a cheeky grin appearing on his stunning features. that handsome face and lively personality reeled in a lot of tips, you just knew it. though, he reserved his extra friendly smile for you, or at least that’s what he told you. seeing you, an old friend from high school, was always a highlight of his shift. you were one of the few reasons he enjoyed working the morning rush.

before you could comprehend his statement, he continued, “same order, right?”

you gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded, hesitant to speak as you feared your hoarse, sleep-filled voice would betray you. he flashed you a small wink and turned around. he danced behind the counter, humming to himself quietly as he made your iced coffee. he was always so full of energy, even in grade school— age didn’t change that fact. you watched as he gracefully poured sweet cream into your cup, the coffee turning light brown— just the way you liked it.

“y/n.”

you admired the way the milk cascaded down the plastic cup and blended with the coffee. it distracted you from the ache in your chest.

“y/n,” beomgyu repeated, snapping his nimble fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. you were so embarrassed.

“oh god, i’m sorry, i wasn’t paying much attention.”

“hm, i could tell,” he chuckled softly, a silvery sound you always loved hearing. he handed you the coffee and scanned the cafe before discretely sliding a sugary pastry across the counter. you tried protesting but he didn’t budge, shutting you down instantly.

“hush. lately, you’ve been out of it... ever since that boy left. trust me, i get it,” he sympathized, flashing you an understanding smile.

“thank you,” you muttered sheepishly, accepting the warm cookie.

“mhm, don’t mention it, it’s my job as a friend to make sure you’re well-fed and you’re looking a bit under the weather. i’ll see you later this week, yeah?”

you nodded softly, “of course.”

when you stepped outside, you stared at the bright sky and let the sun warm your skin, happily relishing the moment. you didn’t know much about angels, save for the fact that they exist, but you liked to think taehyun sat perched on a cloud and watched over you.

when you arrived home, the scent of burnt food was the first thing you were greeted with. dirty dishes were splayed out across your kitchen island and bits of pancake batter stuck to the walls. a nervous kai stood in front of the stove, attempting to not burn another pancake and easily failing. you set the coffee on the countertop and sighed, “kai, what are you doing?”

“hey! y/n! wow, you’re back so soon! how was the café?” he asked, hoping he could steer clear of the upcoming scolding but much like the pancakes, failing miserably. you didn’t answer his question, rather you studied the messy room, eyes instantly landing on an unused fire extinguisher. your eyebrows lifted curiously.

“... just in case,” he explained. he shrunk in on himself and shifted uncomfortably. he didn’t want to upset you, especially not when you were heartbroken. you nodded your head understandingly, chuckling to yourself as you began preparing a bowl of pancake batter.

he seemed stunned, “you... don’t seem mad at me...”

“ah, you were just trying to make us a nice breakfast! why do you think i’d be mad?”

“oh... i don’t know, i just thought you’d be upset,” he mumbled softly. in response, you smiled mischievously before dipping a finger into the batter and swiping a bit on his nose. he grinned in return, taking his own handful and splattering it on your cheek.

“oh, you’re definitely gonna pay for that,” you challenge.

he stood on his tip-toes and stuck his tongue out childishly, “you’re going to have to reach me first.”

you both giggled and played until there was more pancake on your clothes than on the stove. he might have been a couple centuries old but he had such a young and active spirit. his smile was outstandingly bright and it brought you so much joy. because of him, for the first time in a long while, your smile was genuine and you couldn’t feel any pain.

· ──────────────────── ·

you were quite wrong.

taehyun wasn’t sat atop a cloud. instead, he was curled up on soobin’s old couch with a scorching fever. he shook violently, the pain overwhelming him, but all he could focus on was the thought of you. he thought about your crinkly eyes when you laughed at one of his stupid jokes, the small bites you took from your food and the way you insisted it helped you savor the food when really you were just picky. he thought about the way you always clutched onto his shirt when he kissed you, the way you couldn’t help but sob at a sad commercial, and the way you would try to hide your blush when he flirted with you. though, the thought that occupied his mind the most was your vibrant smile. god, your smile. it was art. it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and he’d seen the world; he’d been alive during the renaissance but he thought your smile outdid any piece. he would’ve done anything to see it again. the thought of you broke his heart, shattered him into little pieces, but he couldn’t stop.

he groaned in agony, grasping at the seams of the nearest pillow. soobin watched the younger from the opposite side of the room, a worried expression painted across his face, “jesus tae, what the hell is wrong with you?”

taehyun ignored the question, the dull ache in his head muffled the older’s voice anyways.

“you’ve been like this for months, this is not a normal breakup,” soobin continued. it was true, ever since he left you, his health had been deteriorating to the point where soobin knew this wasn’t just heartbreak, it was something beyond that. taehyun wondered how you were faring, he hoped you were doing better than him. he was clueless, the only thing soobin told him was that you were a little under the weather— understatement of the decade.

“bub, something is seriously wrong. angels shouldn’t get this sick. you need help. i’m sure someone will know what to do,” soobin assured hopefully. the older shook his head helplessly, his mind trying to run through all the potential reasonings for the sickness. he hated seeing taehyun this way.

taehyun might not have known much, but he knew what would at least quell the pain. though selfish, something an angel should never be, he knew he had to see you.

· ──────────────────── ·

your condition went to shit almost overnight.

kai had tried everything: tea, warm baths, herbs, all sorts of therapeutic techniques, and every single medication on the planet. none of it helped in the slightest. the pain which had started in your chest had spread downward, running from your ribs to your lower extremities. your sickness was working it’s way out, slowly overtaking your body, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. even the doctors couldn’t find a solution. while kai spent most of his time frantically scrounging for new healing techniques and medication, he was often found right beside you, attached at the hip— something you hadn’t experienced since taehyun. kai always held your hair back when you puked, wrapped you in blankets when you shivered, and prepared soup for you when your throat was sore— albeit the food was near inedible. he was the perfect guardian angel. he loved you so much, he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost you.

kai was out, once again, fetching a random medication that he didn’t even think would work, but he told himself it was better than nothing. it pained him to leave you alone, but he knew he had to try. you, on the other hand, made a beeline for the wine bottle you kept hidden in the back of your pantry, the second kai shut the front door. you liked to think you were handling your heartbreak well, or at least masked it flawlessly. looking back on your breakup with yeonjun, you scolded yourself for handling it so childishly. with taehyun, though not necessarily a normal breakup per se, it was far more unbearable yet you handled it... maturely. or at least that’s what you told yourself. you plastered on a false facade of normalcy, keeping everything bottled up, ignoring the little voice in your head that told you this was an unhealthy way to cope. but looking at the bright side, at least you were functioning and there wasn’t a disgusting pile of used tissues growing beside your bed.

this particular night was the only time, for just a few freeing minutes, you didn’t hurt. the pain subsided and was pushed to the back of your mind— all thanks to the light buzz of the alcohol. you stood on your small balcony, wine glass in hand, staring out into the cold darkness of the night. your mind was a bit fuzzy and despite the frigidness of the air, you felt warm.

“taehyunie... i miss you so much,” you giggled to yourself. not often you called him by that nickname but you knew he secretly loved it. you leaned carelessly against the edge of your balcony and looked to the heavens, mumbling taehyun’s name until you were shouting. a part of you hoped that repeatedly calling his name into the darkness of the night would bring him back to you— much like the bloody mary tactic.

you closed your eyes and tried again, “taehyun!”

your mind was too fuzzy to acknowledge the glow burning beside you. before you could comprehend the situation, a hand was roughly tugging you away from the balcony. you were instantly pressed against the glass door behind you, the wine bottle getting ripped from your hands easily. your vision was blurry but the second his figure came back into view, your vision became clear as day. taehyun stood in front of you, as beautiful as always, but noticeably paler and thinner— even his wings lost their captivating glow.

“jesus y/n, are you trying to wake the entire apartment complex, what are you doing?”

his presence was immediately sobering.

you were at a complete loss of words, too stunned by his presence to speak. he hovered over you protectively which eased your mind and heart. he stood so close to you, practically sharing the same air. it was unbelievable. you slowly brought your hand up to his face, too scared to move any faster in fear that he might vanish into thin air. maybe this was a lovely fever dream, but the way he let out a shaky breath and wrapped his hand around your small wrist told you otherwise. he was finally with you, his home, after so many weeks apart.

you threw your arms around his neck and gasped, “i can’t believe it worked.”

he immediately wrapped his strong arms around your frame and breathed you in. he missed your warm hugs, the way you always smelled like lavender and fabric softener, and he especially missed the way you fit perfectly in his arms like he was meant to hold you. holding you was like holding a piece of his heart. he rested his chin on the crown of your head, closing his eyes momentarily before opening them once more and shaking his head, “wait, wait, what worked?”

“oh! i called your name until you appeared.”

he tucked a couple of loose strands of hair behind your ear and cooed, “silly girl, that’s not how it works.”

a light blush painted your cheeks, a bit embarrassed for thinking that was the reason he came. he chuckled softly and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before continuing, “i was already on my way here, i just needed to make sure you were okay. but i don’t have long, soobin will notice i’m gone.”

you nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in and stinging. he brushed one hand against your cheeks, tracing over your cheekbone lightly while his other hand gripped your waist, “let me kiss you.”

his bluntness shocked you but you didn’t shy away. his eyes flitted around your face, wanting to capture every detail before he kissed you. when he finally leaned in and pressed his plush lips on yours, it felt like oxygen returning to your lungs after holding your breath for so long. the sounds of the cars driving below, people chatting amongst themselves, airplanes flying above— it was all silenced, the only thing that mattered was him. all he could feel, see, touch, breathe... it was all you. the unspoken finality settled in the space around you, telling you it would be your last kiss. you didn’t notice the tears slowly streaming down your face until you tasted salt on your lips, but that didn’t stop him, if anything it drove him to kiss you deeper.

he wanted to kiss all the tears and pain away.

he pulled away to wipe his thumbs under your eyes, catching the loose tears as they fell uncontrollably. he didn’t fare much better as his vision became blurry but he tried to hold it in as best as possible. you clutched onto his shirt and let reality sink in, both acknowledging that this would be the last time in each other’s touch. your cheeks were puffy and flushed red. he couldn’t help but smile— your raw beauty was enchanting.

“i love you. i’ll always love you,” you whispered, voice hoarse from the crying. he wiped the tears from your cheeks. you leaned into his touch wanting to savor every second.

“you are the love of my life. i might not be by your side anymore, but one day, i will be. i know it. i’ll come back to you and we’ll be together again. i promise you i’ll never lose hope,” he declared, pressing a long kiss to your forehead.

“please don’t go. please. just stay with me,” you begged, desperately grabbing his hands in a final plea.

“babygirl, i have to go, i shouldn’t be here,” he whispered softly. he hated hurting you. he absolutely hated himself for it, for having to leave you. your body racked with sobs as he pressed a final kiss to your lips, “goodbye, my love.”

and in a flash of light, he was gone.

your hands grabbed at nothing but air. you stared ahead at the lively city beneath you, a stark contrast to the dead, lonely emptiness you felt. his sweet cinnamon scent still lingered in the air around you and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relish in the last bit of him you’d ever get. unfortunately, the moment didn’t last long as a searing pain shot through your body causing you to double over in pain, the white behind your eyes quickly turning black.

· ──────────────────── ·

the harsh fluorescent lighting cast down upon you in the most unpleasant manner as you groggily woke from your deep slumber. your eyes trained on the ceiling above you which was littered with old water stains and peeled paint. your mind ran wild with frantic thoughts but was quickly silenced by a pain shooting down your left arm. the cardiac monitor beside you mirrored the panic you felt, the tempo of your heartbeat increasing with each rushed thought and you suddenly became increasingly aware of the needle stuck in your arm and the rough sheets scratching your bare legs.

“hey, y/n, shh everything is alright. you’re in the hospital,” a familiar voice explained.

you craned your neck towards the sound, wincing from the dull ache in your neck. your vision was a bit hazy but you could still see the outline of a thin boy sitting on the hospital bed beside you.

“don’t move too much, you’re pretty bruised up,” he continued.

you quickly distinguished the soothing, deep voice, “... beomgyu?”

“hi princess. shh, don’t strain your voice, you’ve been out for a couple days now. you need some water,” he stated softly and you could hear the concern laced in his voice. your vision sharped, landing on his bright yellow sweater. he stood out like a sore thumb, especially considering the drabness of the hospital.

“beom, what are you doing here?”

“ah, i’m your guardian angel of course! i have to watch over you,” he joked cheekily.

your eyes practically bulged out of your head and you were left at a loss of words, no, this can’t be real.

“... jeez y/n, i’m kidding. obviously, angels don’t exist,” he clarified, scrunching his nose concerningly. you flashed him a small smile and mustered up a nervous laugh in response. if he noticed any hesitancy from you, he didn’t mention it.

“right... anyways, i’m here because you haven’t shown up at the café in a few days and also i’m your emergency contact. remember?”

your mind flashed back to a very blurry night, where both of you made silly promises and spilled drunken confessions. you were fighting with yeonjun, yet again, and you ran to beomgyu’s apartment crying. he comforted you with alcohol, ice cream, and poorly plotted movies. you both felt alone, having only each other to rely on, so you both made a pact to always be there for each other. step one was making each other your emergency contacts, though, you didn’t quite get to step two, considering you both passed out on his living room floor.

“... huh, that was so long ago,” you mumbled.

“yeah, you’re telling me, thank god yeonjun’s ass is out of your life, i still can’t believe he cheated on you,” he grumbled angrily. you simply hummed in agreeance.

silence filled the room as both of you reminisced on old times. a part of you wished you could go back, and though you fought with yeonjun quite a bit, it was far less painful than what you experienced now. you tried to ignore the sadness, letting your eyes study the environment. the room was cramped but homey, the warm sunshine that streamed through the windows reflected off the white walls comfortingly. the hospital floor you were on was quite high up, the sky seemed closer to you than usual. you let a soft sigh escape your lips as you watched a puffy cloud float by. your thoughts ran loose again but the one thought that stood out the most was about him— the boy you had lost. muffled sounds traveled through your ears but you didn’t process them until beomgyu called your name.

“... and y/n, you’re pretty lucky, i think that boy of yours came back! you’re totally right, he’s really cute. he’s been attached to your side but i think he’s out talking to the doctor right now,” beomgyu rambled on.

his statement captured your full attention. your heart fluttered at the thought of taehyun being back by your side. you eagerly shifted your gaze towards the door, awaiting his return, completely ignoring the throbbing ache at the nape of your neck. your vision was still blurred but you were able to distinguish the tall, lanky frame of a boy trudging through the door.

“oh! perfect timing, here he is!”

“y/n!” the boy excitedly shouted. kai’s voice was unmistakable and you despised the way your heart dropped, just slightly. he’d been your rock for the past couple months. you were unfair, even now, when all kai did was diligently watch over you and love you. he hovered over your injured body, grabbing your hand to hold against his chest. you could see the obvious glint of worry in his eyes, he truly did care for you.

“you’re okay...” kai whispered softly. he sat on the edge of your bed and circled his thumbs over your hands soothingly. he turned to face beomgyu, “hey, thanks for watching over her while i was out, i appreciate it.”

beomgyu wasn’t blind. he knew this wasn’t the boy who broke your heart, the boy that would never come back. he watched your body deflate when kai stepped into the room, hope leaving your body. he flashed kai a cheery yet guilty smile, “yeah of course! y/n and i go way back, i’ll always look out for her.”

kai directed his attention back to you, noting the slight confusion and panic you held despite being around people you loved and cared for. he nodded his head understandingly, “two nights ago, i came home to find you unconscious on your balcony. your body was so cold but for some reason, your forehead was really hot. i brought your here for testing but the doctor can’t find anything wrong with you. they said your brain activity and vitals are normal, not to mention the fact that you have shown no physical symptoms. i tried to convince them to keep you here so they can monitor you but they’re sending you home.”

your body relaxed as you processed the information. your illness, whatever it was, didn’t concern you as much as it should have. it’s not that you didn’t care but the gravity of your situation hadn’t fully settled in. your physical appearance, though sickly and pale, fared much better in comparison to your internal health. your lungs were caving in on itself and your heart was becoming significantly weaker. you never got better, only worse, and kai blamed himself. he knew something was off yet he kept his distance, not wanting to upset you. he didn’t know that his efforts were a waste and nothing he did would help.

kai shuffled around the small room and let you sleep once more but you couldn’t. instead, you kept your eyes shut and listened to the easy, casual banter between the two boys, both forming an instant connection. it warmed your dying heart. you so badly wished you could be that person for kai— a reliable friend, a confidant. even though he was the guardian angel, you did your best to look out for him as he did you, you just preferred doing it from a safe distance. he treated you like family, like an older sister, but your relationship arguably should’ve been a lot closer for the time you spent together. you pushed him away and built unnecessary walls, and what was the point? your heart was heavy but it wasn’t from your illness nor was it from the heartbreak you felt— it was from the guilt of shutting out the one person that loved you unconditionally.

after a few hours of faux sleep and trying to contain your smile from the sound of the boy’s muffled laughter, you were discharged and brought home. kai insisted on carrying you from the car, up the stairs, and into your warm bed, refusing to leave your side for even a split second. if you moved, he would follow you around the apartment like a lost puppy. it was heartwarming, the amount of compassion a single soul could carry. yes, kai was an angel, but his ability to love and empathize was beyond any supernatural explanation— it was just the way he was built.

he sat beside you and wrapped you tightly in a blanket, “are you feeling any better? do you want anything? i can go make us some snacks if you want.”

you softly smiled and shook your head, “no, it’s alright. i think i just want to rest. maybe i’ll get some homework out of the way or i’ll just go back to sleep.”

the thought was quickly retracted when something lodged in your throat, coughing only worsening the feeling. kai rushed to grab a towel and watched helplessly as you hacked into the soft fabric, rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort you. when you pulled away, both pairs of eyes directed to the blood splattered across the towel, though before either one of you could react, a white-hot pain overwhelmed your body. your heaved breathes struggled to escape your lips but your agonized scream didn’t. you clutched onto his t-shirt before collapsing into his lap, knocking out cold.

· ──────────────────── ·

after six panic-filled calls with kai, soobin frantically paced around his house— a nice perk of being an elder angel with a lack of guardianship duties. honestly, his job description was pretty vague. he spent most of his time wandering the earth and enjoying the beauty it had to offer. he didn’t have to watch over a human, rather, he watched over younger angels, making sure they performed their jobs correctly, and on the rare occasion, having to strip wings if an angel went buck wild and succumbed to sin.

taehyun’s symptoms were less severe due to his supernatural status— the effects of illness would manifest slower. sure, there were a few times he did nothing but writhe in agony... but it wasn’t as often as you. he was more or less deteriorating from the outside, the illness working its way in. he was concerningly pale and what once was smooth, hydrated skin was now dry. the rosy, soft lips he used to kiss you with were now severely chapped but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. it was rare that taehyun slept, even with you. he preferred to watch over you, stroking your hair and pressing kisses along your shoulders while you dreamt, but lately, he’d been so drained of energy and all he could do was sleep.

soobin watched the younger curl up and shiver despite being under three wool blankets. something about this specific situation seemed oddly familiar to soobin— the way both you and taehyun were deteriorating at an alarming rate. the sickness worked oppositely amongst the two of you, his illness painfully manifesting exteriorly and working its way in versus your illness which began internally. similarly, your pain stemmed from the torso and worked its way to your extremities while his began in his limbs and worked its way up to his chest. it was the same disease but it worked inversely, and soobin, for the love of god, could not pinpoint why he felt like he’d seen this before.

soobin hesitantly made his way onto his back patio, wanting the younger to sleep in peace. the chill air was refreshing especially with taehyun’s rising body temperature warming the living room, making it insufferable. he plopped onto his old, rickety rocking chair and closed his eyes, drowning out everything but the bird’s chirping. the wind lightly brushed against his skin comfortingly and he welcomed the gentle touch. it was calming, the way the leaves rustled amongst the golden sky— he wished the world was always this peaceful and serene. a small brush against his ankles revived him from his near-sleep state. when he peered down, there was nothing but the wooden boards under his feet but he swore he felt a distinct touch. a lightbulb flickered in his mind.

“oh shit.”

as if the world was falling apart, he scrambled back into his house, realizing the familiarity of the situation.

“taehyun, taehyun, you need to wake up,” he shook aggressively. taehyun didn’t budge, instead, he let out a small, annoyed grunt of acknowledgment. soobin continued, “taehyun, you need to get up. i know why you’re sick.”

the declaration seemed to wake the younger but he didn’t display much enthusiasm due to his unabated exhaustion. he cautiously opened one eye and grumbled as if that sufficed as a good response.

soobin scratched the back of his neck and continued nervously, “um, well, you see... you’re... soulmates.”

taehyun slowly sat up and leaned against his elbows, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. he shook his head, he’s kidding, right?

“no, i’m being completely serious,” soobin deadpanned as if he could read the younger’s thoughts.

“fine, humor me.”

“god, it was such a long time ago, but when i was young, i went to a beach. wait. no, it was the woods. yeah, the woods because there was a willow tree. anyways, it was windy and—”

taehyun quickly cut him off, “bin, you’re rambling and not making any sense.”

soobin inhaled deeply, regaining his thoughts before starting again, “okay, when i was younger, i came across an old, prophetic-like scripture. it told a story of soulmates that were separated from each other and because they weren’t together, their physical and mental state deteriorated. uh, there was also something off about the ending... it was pretty wack. it kind of warned me about another set of soulmates... i don’t really know how to explain it, but i think you and her are the next set.”

taehyun audibly scoffed. a bewildered expression covered his face as he eyed the older as if he weren’t in his right mind.

“hyung... soulmates... hate to break it to you, but they... don’t exist,” taehyun tried explaining slowly, hoping his pace would make soobin understand.

“aiya, stop talking to me like i’m a child. i didn’t believe it either but it makes sense. you both have this weird, mysterious illness that’s only getting worse but the only time you felt a bit better was when you saw her a few weeks ago. and yeah, before you say anything, i know about that. you’re the worst at lying.”

taehyun deflated into the couch but not before a harsh coughing fit. his lungs felt so restricted and the air felt thinner.

“hyung, i think i’m dying,” he stated weakly.

“no shit.”

the entirety of this situation crushed soobin. one of his oldest friends, the young boy that loved him like a brother, was dying. it was so painful to watch but he didn’t feel helpless anymore, he knew exactly what to do.

“get up. let’s go see y/n.”

taehyun perked up, just slightly, his energy too drained he could barely move. the older dragged him off the couch and wrapped a wing around the sick boy, trying to keep his shivering, weak body warm.

· ──────────────────── ·

much like soobin, kai was frantically pacing back and forth when the oldest dragged taehyun’s limp body through your front door. sunshine streamed through your windows, brightening the room yet everything felt dull as if all the life and energy in the room were slowly seeping out of the apartment.

“um, she’s in her room,” kai mumbled worriedly.

just from that small interaction, taehyun could see how scared the youngest was, how much he loved and cared for you. he felt grateful and indebted to kai; he was so glad that you had someone like kai watching over you, especially if he was unable to. with little energy, taehyun trudged to your room, the other two boys following closely behind. he opened the door slowly, heart absolutely shattering when his eyes landed on your pale and gaunt frame. he could’ve sworn he could see droplets of dried blood at the corners of your mouth. though as ill as you seemed, he couldn’t help the swell of love and energy that surged through his chest now that he was breathing the same air as you. he practically ran to your bed and enveloped your smaller frame in his. he wrapped his arms around your waist and breathed in the lovely lavender scent he’d grown so fond of.

the other boys coughed lightly, feeling a bit like they had stumbled in on a personal moment. taehyun paid no mind to them though, especially not when you looked so beautiful sleeping. he lightly nudged your arm to wake you but when you didn’t move, he peered down at you concerningly.

“hyung, she hasn’t woken up in the past five hours and i’ve tried everything. the only thing i know is that she’s breathing,” kai clarified.

he was right. you were still breathing but it was so faint and shallow, he shed a tear. you were so lifeless and his heart skipped a beat when you took a bit longer than usual to inhale.

“she’s dying,” taehyun whispered to no one in particular. he pulled you against his chest tightly in a weak attempt to warm your frigid body. he stroked your hair and weakly hummed a sweet song, something he always did when you slept.

“bin, why isn’t she waking up? i’m right next to her, i’m holding her in my arms like i always do... she should be awake,” he sobbed. he felt like he was on the brink of insanity, having you so close yet so far. once again, soobin stood helplessly and picked at his fingers nervously. he really had no idea what to do. he thought that being with you would fix everything but it didn’t.

kai spoked up first after a few moments of painful silence, “hyung, i think you need to lose your wings.”

soobin and taehyun glanced at each other before throwing kai a confused look, both intelligently questioning, “... huh?”

“think about it, it makes sense. you might physically be next to her but you can’t truly be with her while you have your wings. with them, you’ll always have something standing between the two of you,” kai explained diligently. soobin stood dumbfounded, the cogs in his mind turning exceptionally slow.

“i think... he’s right. aw, when did you get so smart, huh?” soobin cheekily asked, ruffling the youngest boy’s hair. kai brushed his hand away playfully, blushing softly at the newfound attention.

taehyun felt your body temperature drop and he wrapped you firmly in a quilt. “take them. i don’t want them anyways, not if it means a life without her,” he whispered.

“tae, it’s not that easy, your wings can’t just be taken away in a snap, there’s a process for this. it’s all very... bureaucratic. an elder angel has to approve,” soobin explained softly, not wanting to upset the younger.

“well, it’s a good thing you’re practically ancient, heck, you were alive to have a crush on cleopatra,” kai joked, trying his best to lighten up the somber mood.

“wait, kai has a point. you’re like, a thousand years old, and you’ve been an elder angel for a couple of centuries now. this isn’t some random case of an angel gone wild, the both of us will actually die. please soobin,” taehyun begged shamelessly. the desperate plea broke soobin’s heart.

“you’ll be mortal again, an average human... you’ll die one day,” soobin reminded while slowly inching towards the bed. taehyun glanced down at your sleeping figure, tracing his large hand over your arm. he understood the cost but he didn’t care. he’d been ready to give up his wings long before he met you, but now he had a reason. he brushed the wisps of your hair away from your forehead before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss.

he looked at the two boys. taehyun thought they looked scared, maybe hurt, or maybe both. he flashed them an apologetic smile but truth be told, he didn’t feel sorry, especially not when it came to being with you. he took a deep breath and sighed, preparing himself for what was about to come.

“do it.”

to be frank, it hurt a lot more than it should’ve, but that was to be expected from an inexperienced elder angel. taehyun felt every single agonizing second of his wings disintegrating to nothing but dust, the only thing grounding him was the thought of you. he clutched onto your body as if you would ease his pain, but in some ways, you did. he entwined his hands with yours and buried his face in the crook of your neck as the pain grew increasingly worse. though still unconscious, your breaths grew rapid, matching his, like you were experiencing the same aching pain as him. when his wings were fully gone, soobin and kai shared the same pained expression— they had lost their brother, but the idea of taehyun’s happiness did much to quell their hurt. taehyun smiled to himself, feeling free after so long, and entangled his legs with yours. he pressed his lips to the back of your head softly before a familiar darkness washed over him, gently lulling him to sleep.

“he’ll be okay... right,” kai asked, his worried expression growing more concerned with each fleeting second.

“yeah bub, he’ll be fine. both of them will be. they have each other,” soobin gently confirmed. he circled an arm around kai’s shoulder and ruffled his hair affectionately.

“you did good, kai.”

· ──────────────────── ·

you woke up first with a dull ache between your shoulder blades and a warm body pressed against your back. you remained oblivious to his presence, your mind trying to reel in the events that occurred before you fell unconscious. the pain in your chest was practically gone and you felt lighter as if a weight had been lifted off of you.

it wasn’t until he slightly stirred behind you that you realized his presence, the familiar scent of cinnamon and nutmeg suddenly overwhelming your senses. you were scared to turn around, you almost believed it was another realistic fever dream but your instincts told you otherwise. when you looked at him, he was still asleep, his beautiful features softened by the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. you nearly shed a tear as you delicately traced a finger down his sharp jawline, fearing he would dissipate into thin air at even the slightest bit of pressure. he seemed livelier. his skin was clear and glowing, the apples of his cheeks were painted pink, and his overall appearance seemed healthier.

his eyes fluttered open, your gentle touches peacefully waking him up. immediately, a deep sigh of relief escaped from his lips. you weren’t just some beautiful dream; he was finally next to you, his home. you didn’t say a word but judging from your trembling lips, you couldn’t even if you wanted. your mind ran rampant but all you could think about was how you were back in his arms. you didn’t notice the tears falling until you felt the pillow beneath you dampen. he pulled you into his chest and threaded his hands through your hair, pressing gentle kisses along your forehead. your walls broke and you sobbed into his chest, overwhelmed with the grief of losing him but also with the joy of being back in his arms.

“it’s been so hard, tae. it’s been so hard without you.”

he closed his eyes and sighed, “oh baby, i know. but i’m here now and i’m never going to leave you again. i promise.”

you ran your hand along his back, stopping when you hit the area where the base of his wings usually started. even when he hid his wings, there were still two visible slits that sat between his shoulder blades, but you could neither see nor feel them anymore. you tensed and swallowed harshly, “um, where are they... where are your wings?”

you already knew the answer but his answer still shocked you.

“they’re gone... i’m not an angel anymore, but please don’t worry, i promise you i’ve wanted to be human for so long. it’s just, because of you, i finally had a good reason to give them up.” he meant every word he said. for the first time in his life, he felt free and unhindered. as an angel, he was able to see the world, meet new people and he loved it but he’d been alive for so long and as much as he truly loved caring for others, he felt lost, almost hopeless. at least until he met you.

you were confused and left with a lot of questions but you didn’t quite know what to say. he wanted to answer all of your questions but he’d gone so long without your lips on his so he leaned down to press a gentle kiss. you let a soft sigh escape, the feeling of his touch after so long was both relieving and comforting. he soothingly ran his hand along your waist, the other threading through your hair. there were so many things left unspoken but the kiss was able to say it all. when he pulled away, you were left breathless and dazed. he kept his face hovered over yours and his eyes shut, wanting to savor the moment.

“i love you,” you whispered.

he missed hearing you say those sweet words. his hand gripped your waist and he shyly smiled, “i love you too.”

honestly, you’d miss his wings, though the more you thought about it, they symbolized his immortality and his inability to truly be yours.

“so... i guess this makes you a fallen angel,” you hummed.

“i guess so since i’ve fallen for you,” he mused cheekily. you lightly pushed his shoulder, his corniness making you cringe, but you couldn’t help the obvious blush that dusted your cheeks. he chuckled softly, entwining your hands once more and pressing a light kiss to your temple. you smiled at him, realizing you were granted a second chance— a bright, wonderful future where you could grow old with him.

“i’m home,” he whispered against your skin. you let out a content sigh as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes, listening to his steady, human heartbeat.

what a beautiful way to begin the rest of your lives together.

#taehyun x reader #taehyun scenarios #taehyun imagines #txt x reader #txt imagines #txt fanfic #txt scenarios #kang taehyun #taehyun #tomorrow x together

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beevean · 3 years

Note

How about a top 5 (or 10 if you prefer) best and worst bosses in video games? :D

I’m not very well versed in videogames, but anyway...

WORST

10) Chaos 4 (Sonic Adventure): Not a big fan of bosses who waste so much time - ooh, look at that, trying to hit me with very slow, very telegraphed attacks, and taking more and more time to becomes vulnerable the more the fight progresses. Also not a big fan of Tactical Suicide Bosses (excuse me Chaos, why is your strategy “stay in the water for increasingly amounts of time and then decide to raise my head to breathe”? In this form you’re a fish!). Even less of a fan of bosses that you have to fight three times to complete the game.

9) Sonic and Diablon (Shadow the Hedgehog): They couldn’t have come up with a more boring boss if they tried. Shoot the shield, shoot the cannon, avoid the hand, run away when you hear the word “anti-matter”, kick Sonic in the head, slowly chip at the large energy bar, rinse and repeat. The G.U.N. Fortress version is particularly painful, too, as the arena only offers those piss poor pistols with 10 bullets and minimal damage. And much like Chaos 4, you have to fight this lovely boss three times to get to the Last Story, except you don’t even get a different character with different abilities. Also, poor Sonic, from protagonist of the series reduced to nothing more than a footstep.

8) Collision Chaos boss (Sonic CD): Try to play a boss that relies on wonky pinball physics, that shoots projectiles with the only purpose of changing your already precarious trajectory, in the Bad Future that adds slightly more bumpers to destroy, with the American music (I linked the extended version to properly depict the experience). Pain is real.

7) Egg Pinball (Sonic Advance 3): Surprise! I find this boss worse than the more famous Egg Chaser. Yes, the Egg Chaser is very anxiety-inducing with its bottomless pit and the ball chain sending you into it, but once you learn the pattern of the platforms and that Amy as a partner makes it a joke it’s not that bad. This one, though? Even with Amy/Sonic, which is the only team where your partner is useless but you aren’t, this boss relies too much on luck, expecially by the end when way too many balls are flying across the screen. It’s almost funny, in a “screw you” way, that this is one of the two bosses in the game that can’t be hit by Cheese, in the stage where you finally unlock Cream. Pinball and Sonic don’t mix as well as Sonic Team thinks, apparently.

6) Boost Guardian (Metroid Prime 2, Gamecube): This boss’ strategy isn’t even that bad, it’s just that it hits you like a truck in an environment that is already sipping you of health. If being hit was less punishing, guessing the correct timing to jump over it would be fun. Too overkill for its placement in the game.

5) Mother Brain (Metroid Zero Mission): MB in the original Metroid 1 was... there, with the difficulty of the final boss coming from those stupid Rinkas pushing you into the lava below. In the remake, which otherwise is much easier than the original game, you have to think about the Rinkas, the lava, and MB who shots you fireballs! And if you fall into the lava (and you will spend half of the time in the lava)? She closes her eye and protects her only weak spot, forcing you to wait at the mercy of the Rinkas hitting you all over again. Asshole.

4) Dark Gaia (Sonic Unleashed): Dark Gaia, as a whole, is a stain on an otherwise beautiful game. Setting aside his “character” for a while: this boss is way, WAY too long (the first time I clocked at 11 minutes, like hell I’m trying again), the Gaia Colossus phase is frustrating for how slow it is and for having a nigh-unavoidable attack, the running phase requires pitch-perfect timing otherwise say bye bye to your life, and the Super Sonic phase is essentially “slipping down the shield to run over a bunch of snakes, then QTE up your ass”. Riveting. At least it has some banging music...

3) Egg Saucer (Sonic Advance 2): The bosses in SAd2 are already questionable with their “wind pushing you backwards” physics, but this one flings you enough bullshit to make you ragequit. Whoisthisgit made an excellent video explaining everything that makes this boss such a miserable experience. I am so sorry, Knuckles, that you had to be associated with this tragedy.

2) Antlion Mecha (Sonic 2, Game Gear): So let me get this straight devs, you take a boss that is already a little too had as the first boss in the game, you put it in a console with a much smaller screen, you screw up the slope physics making it just a little too easy to slide into the antlion’s jaws (and of course you don’t have any Rings), and on top of that you make the trajectory of the projectiles random when in the Master System they were consistent? Great game design there, guys :V

1) Spider Guardian (Metroid Prime 2, Gamecube): I was never as close as bestemmiare ogni santo e pure il padre eterno as I was when I was trying to beat this abomination. I love the Ing theme, but FUCK if I wasn’t hating every single sound of it while playing, OH MY GOD I envy the people who played it on the Wii so damn much

BEST

10) Robot Carnival/Storm (Sonic Heroes): Yes! Yes, I do like this boss! I’m probably the only one, I don’t care, I find these fights cathartic, especially with Team Chaotix <3

9) Jet Drill (Sonic 3 & Knuckles): The strategy may be simple, but I love the setup of Eggman destroying an ancient garden just to kill Sonic and I love how it emphasizes how much of a reliable bro Tails is. (let’s just ignore the fact that with Tails alone this boss is a pain...)

8) Doomsday Zone (Sonic 3 & Knuckles): The series had its fair share of Super Sonic bosses, but so far no one has beaten the original. It has excellent music, you can feel the tension as you smartly redirect Eggman’s missiles to him and as you chase him down through space, and Eggman in this game is really ready to do anything to win, I love it

7) Beta mk. II (Sonic Adventure): This is probably the best part of Gamma’s campaign. 90% of it is kindergarten-easy, and then Hot Shelter and the final boss are a sudden, but welcome spike in difficulty. Beta mk. II is a far cry from any other E-series robot you’ve faced, being almost completely invulnerable, hitting you with straight up nukes, and the time is still ticking in the corner. Then you add the context of having to kill your brother, and the deceptively upbeat theme, and it becomes a memorable experience.

6) Cykka (Metroid Prime 2): The first phase is fairly boring, but Adult Cykka is really fun to fight for some reason. Not only it has a cool design, but it’s a fast-paced battle (due to having to use the Grapple Beam to swing from platform to platform) where you have to go ham on the boss at certain points (when it becomes Dark Cykka), my two favorite styles for a boss.

5) Nightmare (Metroid Fusion): A name, a certainty. This boss looks, sounds and attacks in a way that makes you feel confused and powerless. Even at it becomes a game of “climb the stairs, shoot at its ungodly face, jump around to avoid it”, it’s still tense.

4) Ridley (Super Metroid): SM isn’t famous for having great bosses, but they put all of their effort into Ridley and it shows. There’s no strategy here, it’s simply “kill him before he kills you”. At this point you’re pretty much at the peak of your strength, you went through literal Hell to get The Baby back, you’re not going to be stopped by the asshole who killed your parents.

3) Shibusawa Keiji (Yakuza 0): What a beast of a final boss. The first Dragon of Dojima is the perfect foil to Kiryu, having all of his strength and style but none of his compassion, and beating him up to a bloody pulp, especially as you see him become sloppier and sloppier, is so, so cathartic. Also, Two Dragons, what more can I say?

2) Egg Dragoon (Sonic Unleashed): Best boss in the series? I don’t know but it’s surely in the top 10, and it’s ironic that you play as the hated Werehog. Not only it has some delicious music (that generations ruined), but it’s such a fun climax after the hell and a half that is Eggmanland! On one hand, Eggman sounds seriously angry and he is ready to kill Sonic (and if you take too much time, which admittedly is hard if you’re not doing it on purpose, he is positively gleeful while he sends you into a fiery death); on the other, Sonic just rips this giant robot apart like tissue paper, and even if it’s done through QTEs, it looks awesome.

1) Kuze Daisaku (Yakuza 0): I’ll let this say it all. If I had to pick a favorite version, the fifth one was my favorite to fight (by that point you have likely upgraded Kiryu’s abilities to the point of making him a juggernaut), but the second one is iconic for a reason... multiple, in fact. “DIE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!”

Special mention to Majima in Y1, YK and YK2 because he looks really fun, but I have never faced him myself so yeah.

#sonic the hedgehog #metroid #yakuza #sorry for the random italian #not my fault you guys don't have a word for insulting god himself #spinningbuster98

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celosiaa · 4 years

Text

ungodly hour

For a prompt from @drmcbones: during s4, martin gets hurt in some non-institute-related incident, and jon accidentally Knows about it and races to help him. martin isn't exactly happy about this, but he doesn't have many other options....

CW: injury, mugging, blood, fainting

(Jon’s thoughts are formatted in italics. The Eye speaks in glitched text.)

Please enjoy!!

Jon pulls the threadbare blanket from where he’s folded it in the corner of his office, spreading it over the cot which has become his new bed. It’s a rare day that he leaves the archives anymore, not even to eat—and he’s not sure how much he really needs to do that, anyway. It doesn’t feel like much. In fact, it feels like nothing at all.

It’s all just hollow, now.

Outside the office door, he hears the padding of stocking feet, and knows that it’s Basira. She too has been staying in the archives more often than not, finding herself feeling more and more endangered each time she leaves this musty, miserable place. Though she does not say a word about it, Jon knows she’s angry with him—Knows it, really—and so avoids crossing her path wherever possible. She needs the space, and Jon is willing to give it to her.

It doesn’t mean it isn’t hard. Every time she passes by his door, which he keeps almost eternally closed now, the Eye pulls at him—teasing at his paranoia, promising him such a very tasty morsel, just one little bite and she’ll never have to know. He shoves down the thought violently each time, unwilling to invade the privacy of her thoughts, especially as she now seems to be his only friend.

If I can even call her that.

He tries not to think about it for as long as he can avoid it. The hurt runs too deep, too fragile to look at for long—the way he can’t even remember Sasha, Tim’s unforgiveness, Daisy’s vanishing, and now…now even Martin won’t speak to him.

Stop it stop it stop it stop it

Groaning softly in frustration, Jon buries his face in his hands, trying to focus on anything other than the near constant litany of MartinMartinMartin that he tries so very hard to keep from his mind. The force of his thoughts beats against his skull agonizingly, tempting him into Knowing how he is, where he is, what he’s doing with such incredible strength that he can hardly resist.

Aͤrͩ̽e̬͛̚ ͕̞ͭ̔y͈̎̐̑̆o͉̤̲ͬ͋ͩụ̼͕̺͎͂̈́ ̜̫̮ͪͨ̓ͫs̞̘̩͔͍̹̍͂u̝͍͑̽͊̐̿̃ȓ̯͖̈ͬͤ̔ͮͅe͓̳̳̱̩͙̋̃̂ ͎̱̼̠͎̟̺̥́ͧh̳̮̹͖̻̜̰͛͐̇e͇̲̪̽ͥ̓ͦ͑̒ͤ'̣̺̗̀̅̿̾̐̑̚s̩͉̱̻ͨͮ̃̓̓̚ ̣͔̦̈́͂ͦ̀̿̚ͅn̳̘͈̞̻̼̒̉̃ͦǒ̩̬̗̗͙̰ͣ͑t̗͔ͦ͒̔̓̊̃ͭ ̳̹͓͋̅ͩͦ͆̈i̻̳̲̰̜̾ͤͅn͈͍̣͍͓͋̓ ̻̥̉̋͛̔ͯd̩̰̜̝͕͆a̩͚̟ͭͅn̜͈̉ͬg̬ͬ̊̄e͖̫͍r͕̖?̈́

He’s fine, and he doesn’t need me. He’s fine.

O̰h͒ͬ,ͥͣ̌ ̫̈̍ͅi͚ͪ̈́̋s̫͚͖ͫͥ ̣̖͕̿͐t̼̱̯̿͛h̲̟͉̿ͣa̼̣ͮ̐t͇ͫ̅ͩ ͯͨ̚s͕̾o͛̃?̖

Y̅o͎̠ũ̚̚ ͎̻ͯ̈́o͇̙̭̝ͧu͎̰ͨ̒͗͆g̖͌͋̇̆̏ĥ̬̺̦̍̇ͫt̻̝̩̘ͨ͌̚ ̤̱̫̂ͪͨͨͣt̝̩̪ͯͥͮ͗̚o͍̲̞̱̓̍̍ͧ ̜͚͒̓͐ͩͯ͑h͓̞̥̫̓ͨ͛͂a͔̺̰͌̊̊͛̀v̟̫̳̥ͤ͊͋e͉͙̠͈̙̎̚ ̄̎̾̓̔ͅa̩̥ͤ̾̀̇ ̣͈̰ͩͅl̺͈̀͆ȯ͉̚ó̜͛k̐̄.̞

I won’t I won’t I won’t

His vision winks out in a blinding flash.

---

Fading slowly back in shades of grey, sight pulsing at the edges in time with his heart, his eyes land upon Martin—walking briskly down an empty London street, head bowed against the falling snow. Dim light from the lampposts illuminates his pale and drawn face, set in stark contrast with the deep bruises forming crescent moons beneath his eyes, darker than Jon has ever seen on him. If he didn’t Know better, he would think Martin were ill enough to be in bed.

Seething rage at the Lonely and at Lukas builds like static behind his skull.

God, look what it’s done to him.

Sick at heart, Jon tries to pull himself out of the vision, not wanting to risk Martin somehow noticing his presence, when someone stops him on the sidewalk to ask directions.

And three others creep up from the alleyway behind them.

Shit shit shit

Jon cries out a warning, stumbling forward toward him, voice falling soundlessly into the void of this space as he watches the scene unfold before him with horror. The three figures behind Martin jump him at once, their numbers easily overpowering his great height and pulling him into the alley from whence they came, his shouts of fear and pain echoing through Jon’s entire body.

Help him help him help him—

Jon desperately claws at the vision, at the Knowing, anything to break him out of it so he can run run run run—

---

He falls onto the floor from the cot, tile cold and harsh against his bare legs. Despite the pain of landing, his heart still pounds frantically in his ears, drawing him out the door as quick as he can scramble up—merely slipping on his loafers and bolting out into the snow in shorts and a thin hoodie. Without his brace, his knee screams at him to stop, but he can barely register it—so focused is he on reaching Martin, hoping against hope that his vision had been some sort of premonition rather than reality.

Please please please please

The sound of a commotion rises in volume as he approaches the street from the vision. Rounding the corner into the alleyway, his eyes fall upon the four figures he had previously seen, bending over a figure they’d knocked to the ground—

Static bursts from Jon’s mind, and he can feel the Eye opening above him, within him, around him.

G̩̼̉ọ̅ͧ,ͥ he demands simply, voice growling and deep, much deeper than could ever be his own.

At once, the figures drop the man they’d been holding by the collar, backing away from whatever monstrous form Jon had managed to take in absolute terror.

G̝̎ͧ͂Ő̺͗ͭ!ͣ

They begin to run, feet slipping on the ice-laden cobblestones, around the corner and out of sight. Feeling the Eye beginning to close, Jon senses himself lowering back to the ground, from where he had not realized he’d been hovering.

God, what must I look like right now?

He does not spend much effort trying to answer this question, as a low moan from the figure in front of him draws him back to the present.

Oh god, Martin.

Dashing over at once, Jon kneels in front of him, eyes sweeping quickly over his body—face covered in blood from where his nose is streaming, a nasty laceration at his hairline, clothes mussed and dirtied from where he’d likely taken some hits. His head rolls to one side on the cobblestones, brows pinched closely together as he moans in half-consciousness.

“Martin? Hey, Martin, can you hear me?” Jon asks desperately, trying to keep as calm as possible.

Even now, the sight of so much blood makes him shaky, especially blood that is not his own. He takes great care not to dizzily tip over when pulling off his hoodie, balling it up to press against the nasty cut on Martin’s forehead.

Christ, Jon, keep it together, he begs silently, as blood continues to pound in his ears, vision swimming sickeningly.

“J’n?”

Jon could nearly cry with relief at the sound, slurred and thick as it may be.

“Hey, there you are. Are you with me?’ he asks, the shakiness having crept into his voice as well.

“Wh’ are—” he pauses, coughing briefly and clutching at his ribs in response. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I came to help you. Saw it happening. A-accidentally.”

At this, Martin opens his eyes, offering Jon as contemptuous a half-lidded glare as he can manage in this state. Opening his mouth to reply, he gets no further than an inhale before the coughing resumes, choking on the nosebleed that must have spilled down the back of his throat.

“Oh Christ, here—”

As well as he can, Jon guides Martin up to sitting, leaning him back against the dingy wall of the alleyway as Martin bends double with damp coughing, blood spilling from between his lips. For his part, Jon feels as though he could faint at the sight, and he begins to see stars floating across his vision—but tries to focus his efforts on keeping pressure on the head wound.

“S’rry,” Martin mutters, eyes drifting closed as he leans a bit into Jon’s touch.

“No no—you’ve got to stay awake, Martin,” Jon says, voice thin enough to break.

“M’awake,” he replies as Jon pulls the sleeve of his hoodie from where he’s balled it up against Martin’s head, sweeping it down across his still-bleeding nose and split lip.

“Can you—can you tell me you name?” he asks, not liking the way Martin’s head still lolls against his hands.

He opens his eyes a bit at this, squinting at Jon in confusion.

“But you know…oh. Martin Blackwood,” he replies dutifully, having figured out what Jon is trying to do.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Erm…an alleyway, it seems?”

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

Martin falls silent at this, eyes drifting back closed for a moment as he considers.

“I...I’ve sort of lost track,” he whispers, eyes remaining closed.

Not good.

Now that Jon has asked these questions, however, he does not know what to do now that Martin cannot answer one of them.

“A-alright. That—that’s alright, just give it a moment,” he soothes shakily, arguing with himself over whether to dial 999.

Martin suddenly tenses under his hands, eyes snapping open in panic.

“Oh god, you shouldn’t be here,” he whispers intensely, eyes shifting quickly to the left and right as he grabs Jon’s wrist, pulling the cloth from where it’s pressed his head.

Jon sputters for a moment, nearly losing his balance at the sudden motion.

“Wh—Martin, you—”

“No, you can’t—”

Martin sits forward at once, shifting his weight onto his feet as he attempts to stand.

“You can’t be here with me, I—"

His already ashen face goes stark white at the movement, eyes rolling back as he hits the ground again, the back of his head smacking against the brick of the building behind him.

“Christ! Martin!” Jon yelps, cupping a hand behind his head to feel for blood, the other gripping his upper arm.

“M’sorry,” Martin mutters again, eyes fluttering open after a moment, wincing as Jon’s fingers brush over a sore spot where his head had hit.

“Just—just lie back,” Jon soothes anxiously, reaching for his phone. “I’m going to call Basira.”

“No! No—please, Jon, I’ll be alright,” Martin begs, reaching out to grab Jon’s phone from him—giving a sharp, pained inhale as he goes—if possible—paler, clutching at his ribs in agony.

Oh god oh god oh god

“Martin? Where did they hit?” Jon asks, phone clattering to the pavement when Martin’s breaths begin to pick up speed.

He does not reply, merely squeezing his eyes shut, tears beginning to leak out at the corners as he does so.

“Oh god. Martin?” Jon calls softly, fighting back against his panic, voice ticking upwards with effort. “Can you tell me where?”

Martin lets out a shuddering little breath, not opening his eyes as he replies.

“Face. Ribs. Stomach,” he chokes, draping one hand over his eyes, shoulders shaking with barely-repressed sobs.

Oh, Martin.

Jon feels his own tears creeping up his throat, swallowing them down in an effort to stay calm, to stay focused, to do something to mend the heart-shattering sight in front of him.

“My god. God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, reaching out a hand to hover dangerously over Martin’s, before thinking better of it and pulling back.

Stop it. Focus.

“Can I take I look?” he asks as gently as possible, wishing more than anything that Martin would just open his eyes, would just look at him—

When he does, it’s with such wariness that Jon wants to vomit. He is not a stranger to this look—far from it, in fact—but to receive it from Martin’s eternally kind hazel eyes…that’s something Jon never wishes to see again. Despite his clear apprehension, Martin does reach a hand down to lift his jumper, revealing a bruising abdomen just up to the edge of his binder.

His binder.

“Martin, we should get your binder off those ribs—” Jon breaths out in a rush, hands instinctively reaching forward to touch—

“Don’t! Please don’t, Jon, just—just leave it, please.”

In a last-ditch effort to stop him, Martin grabs at Jon’s hand, keeping a shaking grip on it until fresh rivulets of tears begin to spill down his cheeks.

“Alright, alright—I-I’m sorry, I won’t…I won’t touch it,” Jon soothes quietly, unable to resist offering some gesture of comfort—and rests a hand on Martin’s forearm.

To his surprise, Martin does not pull away.

“I-I’ve got to call Basira, I’m sorry. She’ll pick us up,” he mutters, guilt heavy in his tone as he reaches out for his phone, though Martin does not protest.

As he talks, he keeps his voice intentionally calm and low, running his hand up and down Martin’s forearm now, hoping that the repetitive motion will give him something gentle on which he can focus. To his relief, Martin’s breathing begins to gradually slow, though the tears still slip unbidden down his cheeks.

“She’s bringing her car around as quick as she can,” Jon murmurs, squeezing his arm gently.

At this, Martin shakes his head rapidly, squeezing his eyes shut yet again.

“Just leave me here, Jon,” he whispers in a broken voice, beginning to tremble.

All Jon’s breath leaves his lungs at these words, absolutely devastated that they could even be spoken aloud.

“Wh-what?”

“Just leave me. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t have looked,” Martin continues, voice a bit stronger, though his body still shakes.

Jon’s chest aches.

“I—maybe you’re right. But I’m not leaving you here, that’s absurd.”

“You don’t understand,” Martin snaps, though his angered expression drops almost immediately into something approaching guilt.

You’re right. I don’t.

And it breaks my heart.

Worrying at his bottom lip for a moment, Jon fights against the rising lump in his throat, choking everything back as he whispers.

“What happened, Martin?”

An echo of the first time he’d asked this question resounds through his mind.

“What happened, Martin?”

"You died.”

"I came back.”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to let it happen again.”

He can hardly bear it—this silence, this loneliness, this complete agony of facing a world without Martin—

And does the only thing left to his power: taking his hand in his own.

“Have I done something to hurt you? Please—if I’ve done something, anything—please tell me and I will try to make it right,” he begs, voice fading into a choked whisper against stinging tears.

Please tell me.

I don’t know how I can do this without you.

At last, their eyes meet in earnest, snow falling softly in both of their hair—but the warm hearth that is Martin’s gaze has gone out, swallowed up in swirling fog.

“I can’t,” he whispers, more tears slipping down his face as he removes his hand from Jon’s hold.

Jon’s heart is absolutely shattered.

“Can’t what?” he croaks, unable to keep the damp from his voice now.

“We can’t do this, Jon. You know we can’t.”

To that, Jon can find no words—no words to surmount this ever-deepening chasm between them. Bowing his head, he at last allows himself the relief of weeping, overwhelmed by the fog and the snow and the ice and the winter chill.

I don’t understand I don’t understand I don’t understand

He trembles—whether from wearing shorts in the snow or from the hurt of it all, he’ll never know.

“You’ll freeze,” Martin mutters from somewhere far, far away.

“It’s fine.”

“No. No, it isn’t.”

…what?

Momentarily taken aback, Jon blinks in shock before dragging his gaze back up to meet Martin’s. The way he looks at him now…there’s something he’s trying to say, something desperate to be spoken aloud, something in the way his eyebrows are creased and his eyes are soft and wide and full of regret—

“Christ, Martin, are you alright?”

Basira’s exclamation jolts them both back into the present, causing them to jump in surprise.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Martin assures, as blood continues to cascade down his face.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, crossing her arms. “I’m driving you to the A&E. No arguments.”

“I don’t need—”

“I said no arguments,” she barks, shutting Martin up at once. “What were they even getting at by attacking you?”

“I’d just gone to the cash machine,” Martin mumbles, dropping his head in shame. “Didn’t think anyone was watching.”

“That’s rich,” she mutters, pointedly glaring at Jon, who sighs exasperatedly. “Help me get him up, then.”

Crouching down on either side of Martin, Basira and Jon loop his arms around their shoulders before dragging him to his feet—nearly pulled back down again when Martin’s dizziness threatens to get the better of him. He gasps with pain at each step, chest heaving shallowly against the stabbing pain of his ribs, until they finally get him settled in the back of the car. By the time he’s seated, his face has gone paler still, looking ready to tip over into unconsciousness at any moment. Jon starts to squeeze in next to him on the seat, trying to press the hoodie back over his laceration, before—

“NO, you can’t.”

Martin half-shouts at him, pulling his hand down yet again and glaring frustratedly.

“But—but you need help, you—”

“I don’t need your help,” he hisses sharply, deliberately not meeting Jon’s eyes.

The hollow ache of it all settles deep in Jon’s chest, and he takes a small step back from the car.

“Just let it go, Jon, I’m begging you. Let me go,” Martin whispers damply, curling in against the pain of his battered ribs.

No no no no no

Tears pooling in his eyes, Jon hesitantly reaches out a hand to grip Martin’s forearm.

“Get well. Please,” he whispers—and drops his hand, gently closing the car door and wondering dimly if that’s the last time he will ever see him.

“Hey.”

Basira turns him around gently by the shoulder, forcing him to look at her.

“Don’t worry, Jon. I’ve got him,” she assures, gaze intense with meaning.

“I know,” he replies softly. “I know. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She gets in the car at once, giving him a nod before she drives off—tires kicking up the sludge in her wake, leaving Jon shivering in the emptiness.

Grief, bitter and biting, falls over him like snow.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #trans martin blackwood #cw injury #cw blood #cw mugging #cw fainting #my writing

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allandoflimbo · 4 years

Text

Take It Back (Chapter 22)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: About five years ago, a one night stand with Y/N tore Bucky’s life apart. It was also the night before his wedding. Now he’s married to her sister and she needs a place to stay.

Chapter Warnings: Some language, mentions of cheating and sex. Like I've said before, this story is filthy.

MASTERPAGE |

Chapter 21

Two years later.

“We’ve been doing so well for five years that I found it strange that nothing has broken us yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m paranoid, maybe I’m just expecting something to blow up in our face. Like I feel like sometimes it’s hard for you to see how much I really do love you.”

Ashlyn’s heartfelt response made Bucky sigh.

“We’re in our new home, Ash. We’re literally on top of the world, and I’m on it with you. Of course, I see it.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled softly.

“Yes. We’ve worked on our issues and we’re doing so well.”

Silence. Two hands were on the back on his neck, dark eyes looking into his.

“Have you ever made love, Bucky?”

The question caught him off guard and Bucky’s heart was suddenly in his throat.

“Five years and I’ve to think I’ve never made love to you. It's always just been sex. I’ve always wanted to, though.”

“Ashlyn...”

“Baby, let me show you how much I love you.”

He wanted to rip her hands off his neck, but instead, he reached around and held them tighter against his skin.

And for the first time in a while, he thought of you. He finally admitted to himself that he still wanted you.

After much denial, he caved and thought of you as he fucked his wife.

Bucky couldn’t take it.

His heart kept shattering over and over again as he grabbed her small neck in his hands, the neck of someone that was supposed to be his wife.

He felt hot tears behind his eye lids as he sobbed into her neck, as he attempted to make love to her, knowing he was doing so miserably. Because it wasn't love, what he felt for Ashlyn was no longer love.

Just respect.

He grabbed her hair in his hands and whimpered as he tried to allow himself to feel.

He had put up a wall around his heart for so long, trying to be this horrible person he really wasn’t; all of it just to forget you.

He was supposed to love his wife by now, he had hoped to especially because of how well she had been treating him lately. She was truly trying to become better and she had.

They finally had a great life together, they had it all, but he still loved you.

And he hated you for it.

“Bucky, baby gonna cum.” Ashlyn had cried, tightening her legs around him.

He came into her with a shout.

He should’ve known everything had changed, that he had finally admitted to himself that he was not over you and that he needed to talk to Ashlyn about it. He knew this the moment he felt the disgust run up his spine at what he had just done- what he kept doing.

He wasn’t an unfaithful man.

He was prepared to finally look the barrel of the gun down the eye, but what he wasn’t prepared for was for Ashlyn to hand him a little gift back five weeks later with a bib inside along with a positive pregnancy test.

Daddy’s little baby.

The bib had read.

Bucky was shocked. He had thought Ashlyn had been on birth control - he was not ready to be a father. And most importantly, he didn’t want to have a child with her.

He had held Ashlyn in his arms as she rejoiced.

Afterward, when she was in the kitchen drinking a glass of water, Bucky’s head had been in the toilet as he violently puked out his nerves.

He hated the situation he was in, and he hated you.

“Steve, did you buy more tomatoes like I asked?”

A muffled response came from behind the closed bedroom door down the hall as you rummaged through the refrigerator.

Looking one last time behind the bottles of random condiments - ketchup, mustard, soy sauce, and Worcestershire sauce- you cursed under your breath as you dropped a garlic glove from between your fingers.

Brodi’s little nose was sniffing at the clove at your feet before you realized it.

“Brodi, honey, stop it. This is for din-din.” You said playfully as you reached down to grab the garlic.

Brodi stuck his tongue out at you and you sighed contently.

You hadn’t even had the chance to get dressed yet, barely making it through the door before already preparing a nice dinner for you and Steve.

Giving up on finding those extra tomatoes, you turned your attention back to the cutting board in the counter.

The last two years living with Steve had been amazing. You couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.

It all started when he spoiled you by offering the largest bedroom in the apartment.

He was kind. He’d let you call dibs on the shower whenever you wanted and on Netflix. He was understanding. He would respect your boundaries on your lowest days - especially on those days- when you needed to be alone and just sulk in silence.

Steve lived in a nice three-bedroom apartment on the upper west side, right off West 88th St, and it was more than what you ever thought you deserved. But with much gratitude and kindness, you took his offer and accepted it.

His gesture never went unnoticed by you. It wasn’t every day you were offered such a comfortable living situation.

When you first moved in, you had asked him why he lived in a place with two spare rooms if he lived by himself to which he simply responded that he used to have roommates that lived with him fresh out of college but over time as they each began to make their own money and eventually got married, they got their own place.

Steve never moved out, he was able to afford it all himself anyway, so it worked out perfectly.

Barnes Enterprises has blessed him with a beautiful salary at the time.

Speaking of Barnes Enterprises, you hadn’t spoken to him in five years, but it wasn’t like you didn’t own a television or a smart phone. You knew that The Barnes were now living a happy and wealthy life somewhere across town in a prestigious penthouse somewhere on the East Side by the river.

You tried not to think about it, you tried not to think of him anymore.

It took you about five months to get used to living a somewhat upper-class life.

You still settled for doing the same things you always did, vowing to yourself to never change just because you were now more comfortable. You would take the train - the M track - every day across the said river to Brooklyn to work at the coffee shop, where you had been promoted to Manager (but truth be told you were looking for something closer now). You never thought you would be one of those New Yorkers that could wear headphones the entire commute to work on the train ride and on the walk to work. You were always worried you’d accidentally miss your stop or miss something important, like if the train derailed or if you wanted to pay extra attention to a bum that was doing crazy things on your train.

You were surprised that only a few months in, you were able to simply count the stops in your head, and let your feet drag you to where you needed to go on a will of their own. You weren’t like the tourists who waited for the walking man crossing to light up on the sign to cross the street while you blast your favorite song of that week.

You didn’t think you’d fit in so well, learn the city so well. And yet you did.

On your way home, you’d go to the little market and buy some groceries when you had the chance, and if not, you’d try to at least stop by at home first, In one arm you’d have the ingredients for the night’s dinner, and in the other holding a leash walking Steve’s Boston Terrier, Brodi.

You were more than thankful that Steve let you keep Pebbles, and even more so when Brodi and Pebbles got along fairly well.

The dynamic between the both of you had changed gradually and then suddenly.

You knew what you were getting yourself into.

The first few months living with Steve you would feel his lingering eyes on you during small nonintimate moments. Like when you were preparing breakfast, trying to flip one of the pancakes, or when you were reaching across the coffee table to grab the remote control.

Part of you felt bad for him, you knew very well how he felt about you.

It wasn’t until your sixth month living with Steve that you walked in on him tying on some nice dress shoes. You had leaned against his door frame with a small smile and crossed arms and asked where he was going dressed so nicely.

His cheeks turned a sight shade of red.

“I have a date.” He had said smugly.

It had caught you off guard at first. You could still feel his lingering gazes, his comments with underlying meaning.

Not that you were trying to play him or that you enjoyed the attention, but more so because you wanted to feel the same way back desperately. You wanted to move on, you wanted to love another man, especially a good one at that. You prayed that with time maybe it would happen.

Maybe life would give you another chance. You wanted a distraction from your late-night thoughts when you would still think of Him and how he used to make you laugh, how he used to kiss you, how you felt when you saw That dress, and how he had felt when he had made love to you in his bed that he now shared with his wife.

Steve and Sharon didn’t last long. Four months later at some ungodly hour of the night, Steve had walked in drunk into your shared apartment. It was hard to miss the way his keys had slammed onto the kitchen counter, the way he had looked into your eyes when he pleaded with you and cried asking why you just wouldn’t love him. Why you wouldn’t kiss him again, finally give it a try.

After his pleading moment, you had held him tightly to your chest as he finally told you that Sharon had dumped him.

Maybe this was your chance and maybe you should finally give it that try.

You had run your hands up the side of his face, allowing his ears to slide in between the edges of your finger tips. With slight hesitancy, you had angled his head down to yours and You kissed him.

You gave it a try- you and him.

You knew it might’ve not been the best idea, especially since he was your roommate, but part of you secretly hoped this was finally the escape you needed, the once you’ve been asking for.

You’ve been given The chance to move on, with someone else.

You wished you felt more in your shared second kiss, god how you had prayed for it. It was sweet and gentle, but it lacked that fire that you had felt when you kissed Bucky.

And that made your heart shatter.

But you pushed it down and kept trying to make it work. Six months had eventually passed and here you were.

Tonight was your turn to cook dinner and you had worked late at the coffee shop. You had called Steve on your way home asking if he could pick up some tomatoes since you were exhausted.

With another sigh, you quickly shut the refrigerator door.

“Did you find them?”

His happy and jittery voice came from behind you.

You turn around slightly after putting the freshly washed vegetables on the cutting board to see a tight towel hung low on his hips. Your cheeks turned a slight pink shade as he walked up behind you, taking your hips in his hands.

He moaned slightly as he placed a small kiss on the side of your neck.

He loved kissing you.

“So you did get them?”He chuckled slightly against your skin and the rumble made you smile.

“Of course,” he continued his trail of kisses up your neck and to the back of your ear, “Why don’t we do something else instead, though?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked.

When the words left his lips you felt something cold in the pit of your stomach and you tensed against him. Steve noticed this and slightly cleared his throat to prepare for the upcoming rejection that he had heard a one too many times.

He’s noticed how you’ve been together for months, and you haven’t slept with him yet, he noticed how you kept avoiding it. How you would lie and say you were too tired, just to get up and watch some tv or look on your phone. How when he would drag his hand just slightly up your thigh, how you would grab it and intertwine his fingers with yours.

He was even starting to wonder if you didn’t believe in sex before marriage.

With a deep breath, you removed his arm from around you, “I’m hungry, I should cook."

”We can order take out.” He murmured against your hot flesh.

You started feeling dizzy, sick to your stomach.

“Come on.” He returned his arm to your lower tummy, “We can order take out. We haven’t had Thai in a while.”

You felt the bile in your throat, the strong hammering of your heart against your rib cage.

“I don’t want Thai, Steve. I want to make home made dinner,” You remove his arm one more time, this time sharply. Your voice was borderline imploring now, “Why don’t you go get dressed and then pick out something good for us to watch?”

Steve gave you a look that made you want to smack yourself across the face. You could see the look of shame in his sad puppy eyes.

Damn you.

You were glad that Brodi decided at that moment to hop on his back legs to get Steve’s attention. Steve let go of you and looked down at his little dog.

You watched in shame and guilt as Steve called Brodi to follow him to his room. He didn’t even look back at you.

——

One moment you had been cuddled in his lap as you watched TV. Then you felt his hands on you and you allowed it.

You needed to try. You needed to stop feeling like you didn’t deserve it.

Quickly, The air between both of you became thick and he stared up at you. You felt yourself gulp as you felt the soft skin of his palm against the side of your face.

You felt physically sick to your stomach. You felt like a whore.

You didn’t deserve his kindness, his love. What you were doing to him was killing you for the first time in five years.

Why were you doing this to him? Letting him touch or kiss something so vile?

You were your own worst enemy, but with a great cause.

You had gone head first into this, hoping that something innocent could become something great. That what you had with Bucky would be something you could eventually shove under the rug and that you would eventually work things out with Steve. That’s why you never blew off the idea.

Dating him had been exciting the first few months, but for some reason, as you now sat in his lap and with the way he was looking up at you, it finally hit you how much you did not want him.

What the hell was wrong with you? Did your heart really want to betray you that much?

The soft feeling of his lips on yours caused you to close your eyes even more tightly together.

Maybe if you just tried…

You felt him grasp the back of your neck harder, bringing you down harshly against him. The feeling of his tongue dancing around yours caused him to moan.

It wasn’t until he had flipped you over so you were laying on the couch beneath him, his lips on your neck, and his hand bringing your thigh around his back when you felt the disgust in the pit of your stomach.

You were disgusted with yourself, you were ridden with an absurd amount of guilt.

You couldn’t take it, not when you kept picturing his best friend.

Five years and you still kept hoping.

“Steve, no!”

Your shout came from somewhere inside of you the moment his fingers touched the bare of your tummy, like a natural reflex.

Steve pulled back, startled. You looked up at him with guilt, feeling dirty, as he sat back on his feet kneeling between your open legs.

You tried to close them in shame.

Steve looked confused and worried. He knew you’d kept stalling around this, but he wasn’t expecting that exclamation from you.

“Did I hurt you? I am so sorry-“

What was wrong with you? Steve was perfect, he was a gentleman, he was gorgeous, he was everything you’ve ever wanted in a man, and here you were not wanting to go through with it.

Why? Why couldn’t you just give yourself this opportunity, why did you keep pushing him away?

Damn you, you knew why.

He was cut short as your face crumbled and hot tears started leaking in your eyes.

How could you do this to him? To everyone.

You couldn’t take it anymore. At that moment, you realized you could no longer hold it in, any of it.

Steve pulled back even farther as he rose to stand up on his feet. He had a feeling in his chest that something was really wrong.

He knelt down next to your face on the couch and softly touched the side of your face.

“Stop it, Stevie.” You begged softly turning away but not necessarily pulling away.

“You’re scaring me.” He mumbled, “did I touch you wrong? Please. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head furiously from side to side.

“No, it’s not that,”

He swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing together in concern.

“Tell me.” He pleaded, hands softly touching your forehead.

“I need to tell you the truth.”

His breath hitched in his throat and he paused before asking further.“What are you talking about?”

Your bottom lip trembled as you brought it between your lips.

“I can’t do it.”

His eyes trailed over your features, considering your words delicately.

“If you’re not ready, we can wait, it’s okay. I won’t force you into anything you don’t want to do yet-“

God, why was he so damn sweet?“It’s not that- I can’t,” He looked at you confused. You looked into his eyes and repeated, “I can’t.”

His face immediately changed from sad to blank and he began to understand what you were saying.

The silence became unbearable as you felt him rip his hand off your face. His face was red as he stood up quickly on his feet.

“What are you doing to me?”

The question made a soft sob escape your throat.

“I gave you a place to live, I gave you so many good things-“

“Because you are my close friend and you have a good heart. Not because of your feelings. I know you, Stevie.”

You knew you couldn’t have said anything more heartless.

But your heart was ramming away inside of you now.

“I gave you my love,” he continues. you felt more tears in the back of your throat as you turn your face towards the back fo the couch in shame, “I gave you five years of my life because you asked me to wait for you and suddenly you ‘can’t’? You told me to wait. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie, Stevie, I always hoped something for us.”

“‘No. If you did, you wouldn’t suddenly not want this.”

“I want to want this!”

“Then what the hell is the problem?”

You were silent.

He literally recoiled as he observed your face.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Silence. “Please, for the love of God just for once tell me the truth. Is it because of him?”

There was another silent break before you nodded shortly.

You heard an intake of a sharp breath followed by an aggravated groan.

Fear crept into your body as you slowly brought yourself to sit up, hiding your face behind your hair.

Steve just stared at you in disbelief.

“How long?”You were confused by his answer.

“For how long have you loved him?” His voice broke, “Since the wedding night? Since before you two met? Since you met me?”

“Steve-“

“No, Y/N. I should’ve known. I always had this feeling, but I thought no that wouldn’t happen. You wouldn’t lead me on for so long.”

“Steve, listen to me-“

I don’t wanna hear your little pleading voice anymore because this is serious. I wasted five years of my life on this. You wasted five years of my life pinning over something that was pointless-“

“It wasn’t pointless, would you stop with that.”

“If it wasn’t pointless then what was it? You know I was waiting for you.”

“But you went out with Shanon.”

“Because I was trying to keep myself distracted. Do you know how hard it is to wait for something, for someone that doesn’t communicate.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“Should’ve told you? You knew this! God, and you kissed him. I can’t stop picturing the two of you ever since you told me. I tried to push it down and eventually I did but it kept coming up.”

There was silence between the both of you for a few long seconds and all you could hear wAs your breathing.

You had to tell him the truth.

“It wasn’t just a kiss.” You whispered.

Steve raises a brow and tilts his head, not sure if he heard right.

You raised your head up slightly so you were looking him dead in the eye. Some of the strands of your messy hair stuck to the side of your face in a disarray, “It wasn’t just a kiss that night.”

You whimpered.

Steve felt many emotions at that moment. Shock, anger, jealousy.

He literally recoiled as he stepped back.

“No…” he whispered shaking his head in disbelief, “He wouldn’t- he wouldn’t do that to her, to me. You wouldn’t.” You felt his burning gaze on the side of your face as the air between the both of you became hot, "Why would you hide something like that?” His voice was broken.

“Because I wanted to make it go away, I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen!”

“Why? So you could then make a move with me? His best friend?”

“No! Because it was wrong!”

“Then why did you guys do it in the first place?”

“It just happened.”

He scoffed “Shit like that doesn’t just happen, y/n! You don’t just sleep with someone who was already in a committed relationship. Are you kidding? it was in the making. Shit I should’ve known something was up when he went missing that night. He was with you. And That’s why you ran away.”

You sniffed loudly. He still remained in the same spot still and in disbelieve. Hurt.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asks pathetically, “Why now?”

“Because I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“I just want you to stop and think about what you’ve done to me, to your sister. Damnit, even that bastard that I call my best friend. He shouldn’t have done what he did, but you shouldn’t have ran out on him like that. Underneath his stubbornness and his foolish acts, he’s a good man. What you did was not right. What you did to any of us. For once, stop thinking about what you want and what others want. Damn it, I loved you. You know I always have. But this breaks my heart. Prove to me that you’re still the strongest woman I know.”

You were shocked at his change of heart. You felt guilty.

“You still love him and I have a feeling there’s a lot left unsaid between the both of you.”

You didn’t deny is as you remained quiet.

Steve allowed himself to take a couple of deep breaths, now matter how much pain he was in.

“Does Ashlyn know?”

“No. And I don’t think he would tell her either.”

“She’s going to be devastated when you do.” He added quickly as he spun around to grab your phone off the coffee table.

Fear crept up your chest as you eyed him and the phone in his hand.

“What?”

“She has to know. This was so wrong. What you both did to each other, to everyone around you; it was wrong.” You watched as he blinked violently, trying to keep his tears at bay, “I can’t even stand to look at you right now,” He took a deep breath as his hand stopped over your phone, “I don’t want you here.”

“Steve, please-“

“I don’t want you here because by you staying here all you’re doing is running away. You have to tell them,” His voice was surprisingly calm as he continued, “You have to tell her especially. Because what you both did is so wrong. For the sake of all of us. And you’re just hurting me more now. I loved you. And god, I still do even after all this. Which is why I’m giving you a chance. You can come back, but only after you tell everyone about what’s really going on.”

You shook your head quickly, already imagining your sister’s reaction.

His reaction.

You gulp, “I can’t- I can’t do that.” Your blurry eyes watched as he reached out to you, your phone in his hand,

“Call her, and tell her you need a place to stay. You need to talk this out-“

“-I’m not a home wrecker, Steve. I’m not a damn mistress. I can’t destroy them.”

You both said at the same time.

Steve watched you as he took in a deep breath.

“I didn’t say you were, and I don’t know what happened between the both of you. But You can’t keep it hidden. I’m making you go there, I’m going to help you stop running away from your past.”

“Steve.” You begged, “I can’t.”

“You will,” He looked you dead in the eye, “You’re lucky I’m not a bawling mess right now for you, because I sure like hell want to be.”

You didn’t know what to say to that as you stared at the throw pillow on the side of the couch in shame, but yet relieved all the same.

Steve finally knew the truth, and something about that felt liberating.

But he was right, you had to stop thinking about you and just you. Right now, you were hurting everyone.

Especially Steve.

“Please, it will make everything better.” He whispered.

Hesitant at first, you take your phone from his grasp. You stare at it for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“I’m sorry.” “Stop, Y/N-“ “Listen, please.”

You begged. Finally, he met your eye and you saw a flicker of hope in them.

“I’m sorry I haven’t moved on. It has nothing to do with you, I still wanted us to try, regardless of the past.”

Steve stared at you as he took in your words. He nodded shortly.

“I believe you. Look, give her a call. Get this whole thing straightened out, and when you are ready, really ready, to come back, I’ll be here waiting for you.”

You considered his proposal.

If shit hit the fan with Ashlyn and Bucky, at least you would have someone to run back to.

“You’re a selfless man, Steve.”

He knew that by you taking this step, it would finally allow you to heal.

You were finding your sister’s number and about to call her when Steve’s hand landed on your left shoulder.

“There’s nothing wrong with loving someone. It’s how you handle it that makes the difference.”

You pondered his words, and with a deep breath, you finally made that phone call.

You were going back.

While Steve watched from afar, he raged in silence for his best friend. After everything, he still couldn’t believe Bucky had touched her in a way that he always wanted to.

He was absolutely seething.

@wxntersoldxer16 @void-imaginations @heykarsyn @avashroom @sarcastic-and-cool @lunaticbarnes @benhardygalileo @wildmavs @runaway-escape @stevieboyharrington @kimvmarvel @chipilerendi

#Bucky x Reader #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes Drabbles #Bucky Barnes Series #Marvel Fanfici #Marvel fanfiction #Marvel smut #Bucky Barnes Smut #Bucky Barnes Angst #Bucky Barnes Drama #Take It Back #Alandoflimbo #allandoflimbo

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one hundredth page

title: one hundredth page pairing: qian kun/reader genre: university!au/silent love!au/friends to lovers!au summary: a thesis is just one big, long goodbye to university and a tremendous hug from adult life. it is also a headache if you happen to be a psychology major. when her friend basically ditches her as her partner on her thesis and the textbooks are unable to give her an eventful idea to get the best grade she can, her whole world comes crashing down. behind some textbooks in the library seated her savior, glasses propped on the bridge of his nose, lowered by his fingers when she screams: “qian kun, i need your help!”. type: fluff/romance word count: 10,756

As though needles are going through her throat, she feels. Swallowing is already difficult on its own, but having to sit down and work in a word count that seems unreachable. The line in the document blinks, mocking the stupid fifteen words she has out of hundreds more. Her head, though thumping with the need of rest, seems to be stuck in doing both things—writing her thesis and keeping her eyes opened, skin shivering with a triggered fever, blankets covering up her head to warm the air around her up while she shivers. Everything seems to be twisting and turning, her eyes glossy and unable to concentrate on the task at hand.

This was the worst season to get sick.

Sniffling, her fingers skim around the keyboard using too many ‘therefore’s’ and ‘furthermore’s’, none coming to the presentation of an issue that she should have plotted long ago. Nothing sounds perfect, keeping her in a never-ending state of turmoil and frustration. Leaning her head against her couch, she uncovers her face to breathe some fresh air in, wanting to toss her hand against the keyboard and then just send it her thesis partner’s way so she could get it over and done with. Nonetheless, that is far from the reality that she could potentially depend on, so she ignores the clogged up nose and the headache, and lets her hands do its magic in the blank document.

Only that her body jolts awake mere hours later, sweat pooling on her lower back and her forehead. When she opens her eyes, she hears the sound of pots clashing against one another—one of her three roommates must have gotten home, but the obnoxiously loud sound is not equal to the ringtone that fills the room. Draping one arm over her eyes, she remembers that her laptop is resting over her abdomen when the sound of a low battery percentage has her looking at the screen. Groggily, her hand pats around the coffee table, taking the device in between her fingertips, the name of her thesis partner glowing in the screen.

Not to be mistaken, this is quite possibly the most beautiful stressful time that she has ever gone through. A little bit of masochism there, something her psychology major tells her, but it is her truth. A thesis means that she is one step closer to earning that degree that she has worked endlessly for, long hours of studying sounding melodious to her ears when she recalls that she doesn’t have to do it anymore. Or, rather, she won’t have to do it after her thesis.

Gravity brings her phone down to her ear, nervousness coming to her senses when she realizes what time it is. Eight at night, and she started working on it at four. Whether it was her fever or the fear of failure, she did not know, but one of those had caused her to sweat endlessly, the friction in between her partner and herself suddenly becoming palpable when she picked up.

“Where’s your part of the thesis?” Swallowing thickly, she listened to the roughness of the woman’s voice, only to have her grasping at her throat. Somewhere on the internet, after tired research of what to do for her sore throat, she had heard that rubbing her knuckles down the column of her neck would help ease the pain and make it easier for her to even swallow saliva, but when she does such thing and tries to speak, her voice fails her, breathy and raspy. “Answer me! Hello? Are you there?”

“I—I’m sorry. I’m still sick.” And damn her body for not reacting how she wanted it to, but not enough reverse psychology has helped her to do anything that she should have done long ago. Her eyes are aching when she put her laptop down on the coffee table, turning to her side on the sofa when her classmate continued speaking.

“Well? You just have to sit down and write something. We have one month left and you’re procrastinating—”

“I’m trying. I’ll send it today.” She spoke, desiring her hardest not to snap at the person on the other end. Perhaps, the fact that she did not like being bossed around played a huge part on it or she sincerely only paired up with her classmate because said woman was the best in class, but that excitement to work together is long gone, as it seems.

Scoffing, the other woman says: “When will you send it? In the middle of the night as always?”

“What?” She asks, wincing audibly when a shrilling pain settled on the back of her throat. “I never do that! You’re just overreacting. Can’t I get sick for once without having you being so annoying?” Her eyes widened, her headache worsening with the stress that now took over her body. Typical, untasteful, bringing her a sense of panic and fear that shook her every joint, articulations too sore to move to her will, but the whisk of anger falls to lifelessness when she realizes she can’t even transport properly.

Miserable as always and obsessed with perfection, her thesis partner screamed into the phone before she could even say anything else. “I don’t know about you, but I actually want to graduate and with honors, not like some half-assed Freud wannabe.” Her lips parted at the sound of her voice, sitting up when she realizes it is just one of those nights where everything falls upon her feet, crumbling down to nothingness. “I’m kicking you out of this project. Don’t even dare do anything with it—”

“As if I would, you’re just studying theories that have been proved plenty of times before.” She lands some punches, threatened and triggered both at the same time, deciding that if she is going to sleep tonight, she has to do it with peace, knowing that she sat someone’s ass down.

“At least I know about said theories—”

“Yeah, whatever. Bye.” Her fingers press down on the red button like her life depends on it, closing her laptop with a thud before laying back on the couch, pulling the blankets up her body and deciding that for one night and simply one night, she is going to relax.

The next morning comes with the crippling fear of not graduating at the time she had hoped and of course, with lack of caffeine given that she can’t even let the liquid go past her throat without hissing at the pain. To say the least, she wants to run into dreamland and get lost in it, using her body’s automatic mode to start a new thesis and get it over and done with, but by the time she is out of her classes, she realizes that there is more to this world than letting it win over you, so with the little determination she has left and her hoodie pulled over her head, she lets the air of the campus caress her face, walking over to the local library to get lost in psychology books, free Wi-Fi and definitely and most importantly…get to that graduation and have her farewell with university.

The library is a place she frequented the most when she was a freshman or a sophomore, definitely the home for productivity during the hardest time of her university life. Those years, she did live far away from the campus, more often than not staying at the library when she had various classes in the day, studying in those hours and leaving to her home at ungodly hours of the night, only to wake up even earlier. She will never recover those nights of sleep, she realizes, the bags under her eyes more prominent at this time of her life than they had ever been before, but she thanks the excellent knowledge she earned in that time to the hardships.

She had forgotten the wood was dark in the library, definitely not the minimalistic style of decoration but it did have a monochromatic color scheme, tables filled with books and laptops, the book-club individuals clearly visible by the smiles on their faces as they read and the hardworking students even more noticeable with their looks of distress, in the verge of crying or laughing about their misery. Coffee filled the air, typical of students, and definitely somewhat intoxicating the more she neared the tables in the back—her caffeine intake was low, making her drag her feet against the floor, nodding her head to someone who greeted her though she did not even look their way, plopping down on the seat and putting her laptop down, her eyes trailing down the psychology section when she sees someone taking out a handful of books, turning around to introduce his enchanting face.

Oh, she knows this guy…and he may be the only great thing she has seen all week.

His brown hair neatly falls over his forehead, clear that he takes the time to make himself look good, the collar of a white shirt appearing under his beige sweater, the epitome of a studious guy as he makes his way through the library. In reality, he was there in those eventful days of studying in the library in her earlier years of university—Qian Kun is a studious psychology major, as well, definitely the type of person everyone envies for his habit of acing everything he tries. His features, though meant to be stoic and harsh, fall into the name of beauty—slightly bigger nose, thick eyebrows framing his sweetened eyes perfectly, thin lips in a rosy color when he takes a sip of his tea, different from the rest as he dives deep in a story of knowledge.

His name is at the top list of everything, word of mouth in the shape of those syllables that represent him, but he always disappears in the back of her head, memories that she never recalls of silent endeavors. She thinks that if they have talked once, it is an exaggeration of her, because in reality they only know of each other thanks to acquaintances. Not to be mistaken by lack of interest, because Qian Kun is evidently a man of high interests, sweet talk and enchanting nature…but he will always be another person in this world, people that will never have to deal with her…

He’ll always be Qian Kun. Never Kun. Never a friend. Just someone else in this library, taking the same space as her in that book-filled fantasy of hers.

Standing up from her spot, she was mindful of keeping her things organized before looking for her favorite textbooks in the psychology side of the library. Her nosy curious pushes her to press her hands on the expanse of the bookshelves to look at Kun’s face, writing down notes from something he just read, nodding his head along to what he had just written, using different types of pens and colors. Mindful, he is, and she bites her lip when a smile tries to escape, dancing along the subject that she had completely forgotten how cute he really is. In the first few months of university, she had prayed to have some classes with him in one of her semesters…and it never happened, fate knowing more than she ever would.

Taking out a few books, she rests them in between her chest and her crooked arm, taking one last glance at Kun before returning to her seat. On the way there, though, her body is stopped when a loud sneeze leaves her lips, sniffling her runny nose away and looking around to see if anyone had seen her. Not a single ‘bless you’ is thrown her way, but she does see Kun lifting his eyebrows, waving his hand at her softly with a pen resting in between his hair and his ear. She does the same, fingers wiggling before settling her mind into the task at hand: coming up with a thesis name, subject and getting it over and done within a month.

She can absolutely do this.

She will, rather.

In dreams, actually, because the hours she spends there are spent in absolute distress as she tries to come up with an idea, only to erase it quickly when she realizes it is not interesting enough. She crosses over the thoughts she had written down, the list becoming shorter and shorter with the passage of time. At some point, people start to leave, chairs dragging across the floor, the smell of coffee being replaced with sad and tragic atmosphere of the library when alone. The lights feel somewhat scarier when they cast down on her textbook, her laptop longing for some touch of interest, but it is abandoned. Her hands try to rub at her throat, wishing that her water bottle had some more of that juice her roommate had prepared for her, but that would never happen in such a bad week.

The sound of someone’s laptop shutting is not different from anything she has heard in the past hour but the smell that lingers fifteen minutes later does make a difference, much more when there is heat radiating towards her hand when someone places something down on her table. When she lifts her gaze, she sees soft fingers wrapped around a Styrofoam cup, reading a tea order that she would never be able to forget. Chamomile, good for the stomach and for the heart, but the person who put it there is even more interesting. Kun’s hair is a little bit more rustled, as if he had run all the way there, but that must be impossible. His cheeks are pink, tilting his head to the side slightly when he speaks.

“I thought this would be good for your cold.” Though, what she has is definitely the worst cold that could have gotten to her—she’d even call it a flu or the reason of her imminent anger, but she can’t voice that out, not when her voice suddenly disappeared in the morning, thanks to the usage of her voice the previous night. Her hands fiddle for her notebook, watching Kun’s smile fall when she uncaps her pen and writes down on the page.

“Sorry, I can’t speak well. My throat hurts too much.” She writes down, hoping that he understands her handwriting and it seems he does because he pushes the cup closer to her, humming at her reasoning.

“More of a reason for me to give you this cup of tea.”

“Thank you.” She mouths, watching the confusion on his face when reading her lips only to reach forward for her notebook, sighing with a smile on her face and writing what she wants to say. “Thank you, Qian Kun. It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s a pleasure seeing you, too. Well, I always see you around the campus, you know…” He trails his voice, licking his lips before giving her a shy smile. Wishful thinking is for her to desire to have a voice just to ask how he has been doing and what there is to him that makes him so interesting, but she is stuck in the state of blueness that overtakes her with sickness. “I’m glad to help.” She only manages to nod her head, lifting her thumb up in the air and making him chuckle, delightful to her ears when he waves at her. “I’ll have to get going, though. I’ve been working on my thesis all night…” It shows through his face, definitely not as clear as the helplessness in her face, but something is lacking in his precious and bright persona. “Go home soon, okay?”

And with that, she sees Qian Kun leave like he normally does, a stranger like always…a book she will never get to read, much less now that she is about to graduate—

If she finishes that thesis, that is.

📑

Seeing the starlight is the most magical moment of her night.

Working as an intern on top of being a student is the most difficult task of her life currently, draining all energy away from her, keeping her from dreaming the most impossible of things simply to stay in the now. Stars, however, do not think that way. They calm her down when she takes a deep breath against the bus’s window, clouding her vision for a moment, though it is forgotten when she closes her eyes. She weights the option of sleeping for a bit while she gets to the campus…or simply staying awake and relishing on a good night of sleep, forgetting the thought of getting lost in the middle of nowhere for her negligence. It seems the first option wins against the rational one, her head leaning back slightly as she relishes on the nicest sleep she has gotten ever since last week, when she was terribly sick.

The air in the bus is perfect, too, shy in its touch but cold when it approaches her, barely passing through her sweater but definitely not as welcomed by her leggings. Her eyes are droopy, already closed by the time her hands relax against her backpack, but the sound of someone sitting beside her wakes her up, gripping the straps of her backpack on her lap just in case someone tries to steal from her. Now with her mind buzzing with fear, she turns to look at the suspect, surprised by the turns of life of getting her to see a person she rarely catches up on twice in less than a month, Qian Kun’s gaze not even touching hers.

Did he sit beside her because he wanted to or simply because he decided to take whatever seat came first to his mind? She wonders, looking at Kun’s expression as he stares ahead. His hair is sleeked back, office clothes cladding his body, his blazer hanging from his crooked elbow, his tie a little bit loose—he probably doesn’t like being too put together, but he has to do it for his job. The stars disappear when he is there beside her, shining with the thin layer of oiliness around his nose, eyes portraying all the patience in the world when he breathes out to the atmosphere around them:

“I wanted to see how you were doing…” He says, turning his face to her and she can’t help but smile softly. Kun’s overall personality is very welcoming, the manly and naturally charming way he uses to speak coming off a bit nerdy when she looks more into him. Qian Kun reads like a man who is afraid of not being better, of not being good to others…and that is such a nice thing to have in someone’s personality at this era in the world. “Not that I got in this bus knowing you were here, though.” He excuses himself, even when she knows that is not the case. “…I didn’t even know you took this route. I found a job just last week and…you know, now I know you go through the same place that I do. We’re going to the campus, too.”

Chuckling slightly, Kun seems to be surprised by the sound of her voice. Void, it once was, not too long ago, and now life fills her fervidly with happiness. The sleepiness drains away from her, staying in the form of aching eyelids and a sense of hotness that lingers on her body even when she speaks to him. “Better. My throat doesn’t feel like hell for once,” She says, pressing her backpack to her chest before sighing. “I didn’t know you worked nearby, either.”

“I’m working for a psychologist. I’m still in the trainee stage…but I’m getting a paycheck, that’s good enough for now.” She imagines he is the one to search for bigger and better things, never staying in one place for too long if they mean to cut his wings. “I’m surprised you’re speaking.”

“Tell me about it. I drank lots of tea with honey.”

“Chamomile?” He hopefully asks, earning a shameful smile from her when she replies with a shortened ‘yes’. “I really enjoy the taste. It keeps me awake for when I have my long nights of studying. Much more now with my thesis and all…” One good look at him is enough to know Kun does not deserve to be alone in this world. No one does, unless they want to, to be completely alone—he deserves endless conversation, a text to welcome him after his long endeavors of studying, nothing more and nothing less. He, with his glasses propped up in the bridge of his nose, silver brimmed and shining beneath the lights inside the bus, looks like someone who has been alone once or twice in his life and though he had given his heart out to the stars, he never asks for it in return. She remembers him like that even from the first time she met him, fixing his glasses when he flipped a page to continue reading…he seemed so alone in his table and she was alone, too. What a curse of destiny to keep them that way.

“God, don’t even say the T word.” She sighs, closing her eyes tightly before leaning her head back. After all, keeping eye-contact has never been her best habit. She doesn’t do it often, really. “My partner left me and now I have to start the thesis all over again.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Who was it?” Kun asks, looking forward by the time she returns her gaze to him. You see, it has always been like this—when life reaches out to them to unite them, someone is out of pace. It is told that when someone is dancing and they cannot keep the tempo, their partner gets lost as well…and that is what happens with them. Two people who are so used to being alone that they don’t recognize company.

She pushes her lips forward, thinking about the uneventful night more than a week ago. “Did you ever have a class with Yuna?”

“The one in top of the class all the time?” Out of habit, he fixes his glasses and it feel damn right to have someone listen to her. What she rarely has now that she spends most of her time seated in desks, working for others and completing university tasks as an almost-graduate. “What did she do?”

Qian Kun is more than just a name; he’s the right amount of curiousness that a person needs to live an eventful life. Not to be mistaken, he’s not perfect, too manly in his way of speaking, perhaps a little bit obstinate with the people that bother him, but he’s charismatic, opening the gates of her heart as they go towards the campus. When the bus arrives to their destination, she feels like she is unable to pull away from him, finishing a story about something that happened in her past with a smile on her face, Kun listening with intent, ears made to make the world feel alive and his words light up the crowd in her stomach with warmth.

That night, even when she enters her dorm and all the lights are turned off, indicator of her roommates being asleep, she feels like she is not alone. That night, everything seems to be able to be okay for once.

📑

If she ever becomes a famous psychologist, and only if this happens, she wants every chapter of her life to be titled “what the fuck?”, either in all capitals or in lowercase, depending on the levels of confusion on each of these states.

Pushing her head further into her palm, she wonders if she will ever get an idea nice enough—even her new tutor tells her that she can’t seem to find her vision, the thoughtfulness that exudes from her when she actually thinks of something. However, her creativity is lacking, blocked by the utter stress of other classes and continuously working, leaving her with a mess of previous printed works in the library, reading over titles to see if she can get some inspiration. None of them hit her wildly enough, or none of them sound interesting, and the deadline is coming sooner. Three weeks to work through a presentation, write a thesis and ace it, as well as make a PowerPoint presentation that is both elegant and fulfilling.

Whites, grays, those are the colors that give out the most professional look, she imagines…but it’s not something she can do or think about if she hasn’t worked through the tangles of the project first. If she hasn’t picked a subject, actually. Turning around on her seat, she flips one of the printed thesis closed as she tosses the plastic-covered work to the side, picking another one up and reading through the first few words. Another Freud based work, next.

Her fingers are starting to become dry as she continues to flip through the pages, one after the other after the other, picking another thesis up and finding everything but inspiration. Sleeping sounds good at the moment and maybe, she should be back in her dorms instead of staying in the 24-hour library her university offers. She should really just try to rest properly and maybe; he’ll brain will work nicely again. She has only barely studied for the test she has tomorrow, given that she has been working endlessly n the new office and as an intern, she still has to organize the list of patients by case and date of their last appointment. It’s not exactly what she is studying for, but if she wants to be taken seriously as a psychologist, she has to go through this.

Through all the pain that settles in the back of her eyes, wishing to check the endless notifications she has on her phone of months’ worth of negligence, of forgetting about family, friends and roommates simply to sit down and get that degree. The hardest part of the run is when a person is about the reach the end-line; suddenly, she realizes how tired she is, how the other competitors are catching up to her and those who are ahead seem to be mocking her by now. What she wants and what she needs seem to be different, leaving her angered as she wonders if university was really the best decision.

When she lifts her gaze, she hears the sound of someone entering the library, restlessness taking over his body when her eyes take in his appearance. Qian Kun’s glasses are crooked, hair done a mess as he wears his pajamas—they are matched, nothing to be surprising about that, and she even catches herself gliding her stare across his toned arms, the definition of his waist when he leans over the table after picking out a variety of books. His jaw, marked down in a slightly curved shape and she swears that even though he is not smiling, the holes in his cheeks gave the depth of craters. Hypnotized by the beauty of him and lacking sleep, his legs seem a thousand times more inviting now that he sits down, meaty in just the perfect amount and…

The least she has to think about is making out with Qian Kun in the back of the library with one of those thighs propped in between her legs, but there she is, shaking her head as if she had just thought of the devil.

But Kun is an angel, there is no way he could ever be half like what has gone through her head just now.

Taking out his laptop, Kun gets to work even when she swears she sees eye-boogers in the inner corner of his eyes. His fingers move diligently, looking down at the set of words he had just pointed at with his finger, moving his gaze from the screen to the book, the screen to the book. He’s diligent, totally expected of him and the exact reason why she takes up on the challenge of standing up from her spot and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Qian Kun, I need your help!”

Someone shushes her from afar, not to be misunderstood, even though almost five students are all the people that stay in such a place at that ungodly hour of the night, she is still a bother. Lowering her head slightly to the librarian, who only gives her a dirty look, she turns back to see Kun’s widened gaze from behind his glasses. She picks up the big amount of printed works she had picked out for the night, dragging them to Kun’s table and settling them down. The thud is softer than her shout, taking a seat in front of him in the matter of seconds. “Won’t you ever stop calling me Qian Kun? It sounds like you’re my professor.” He says, earning a giggle from her that she tries to muffle.

“I just have heard everyone call you that when they talk about you to me. Qian Kun.”

“Just call me Kun.”

“Okay, I will. I’m sorry.” She points out, knowing well that if she ever wants to tease him or get that supposed obstinate side of him out, she will use the Qian Kun card. Fiddling with her thumbs, she wonders if she really is interrupting him; he has taken out his set of pens and pencils, has a notebook open and is writing down whatever he has read in that textbook. “I was going to ask you, if it’s not too much of a bother however, if you could help me come up with a subject for my thesis.” It sounds stupid and it makes her feel even more so when she realizes that she is so idiotic that she can’t even come up with an idea. Kun frowns at that, blinking quickly as he wishes he could be more helpful.

“I would have to think for a bit…but…it was already hard to get an idea for mine.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck before stopping the movement of his fingers over his keyboard. “Ah, you know…my tutor was telling me that I shouldn’t work on this thesis alone and that I need to do some major improvements if I want it to be as interesting as it can get, so I think we could work together.”

On his head hovering was a halo, it has always been there, typical of an angel like him, but right now it seems to be shining towards her, a reminder that kind people still exist in this world. “But, I don’t want to be bothersome,” Still, doubt takes over her heart, afraid that he could ever think she is using him. “I don’t want you to think I am using you.”

“I wouldn’t think that!” He exclaims in a whisper before turning his laptop around, showing the title of his work and the pages that he has written. “I’ve been writing my thesis but it’s incomplete. I studied, theoretically, the aftereffects and psychological changes of physical affection after several meetings. I took up on different theories; from what could change if a person were to kiss a stranger or what years’ worth of a relationship can do to PDA.” The explanation is brief, simple, interesting and touching on a subject that everyone goes through. More often than not, students in university or college get lost in nightly affairs with absolute strangers and after graduation, most get married. Marriage life, however, can turn all types of affection into boring routines. “But Mr. Hung told me it’s too much theory. Real, but not practical.”

Her lip is bitten down by her teeth, staring at the screen and pressing down on the buttons to read more of the information. A frown settles on her face, taking in the information before clicking her tongue. “You have to study subjects, that’s what normally makes a thesis interesting. Like, a little investigation.” Finally, she looks at him. “We can find some people in the campus. Let’s find people that have been together for long, friends kissing, and maybe strangers kissing. We could study the state of nervousness, the levels of awkwardness, possibly the aftermaths and if they create some kind of bond in between the two. We could compare the passion between two strangers and of course, a couple.”

Kun nods his head frantically. “I have a camera, actually. We could make that work.”

“We could.” She breathes out, realizing that she is leaning over the table, pretty much nearer to him than she was in the beginning.

“If you want to work with me on this thesis, that is.”

“What? Qian—Okay, Kun, this is way better than the thesis I had been working in before.” Her eyes gleam with excitement, taking out a textbook from her backpack before smiling. “You have vision.”

“You think so?” He asks and she nods her head.

“I do.”

📑

Meanwhile, the video titled The Kiss Experiment shines bright on the screen, one of the earbuds in her ear and the other inside Kun’s, staring at two people kissing while monitoring their levels of stress and the heart rate, with interviews directly edited by her own hands. Not to say it was not awkward, because it is, simply sitting beside Kun as they look at the subjects, people that they had gathered from around the campus to share a kiss, whether they were a couple or complete strangers. One of them, even, is Kun’s roommate.

The closeness is permanent, knees touching each other under the table as they look at Dong Sicheng portrayed in the screen, along with the woman she had been friends with for a while, a sophomore in her own major. His fingers touched the loose strands of the black bun behind his head, the apples of his cheeks tinted pink but the tips of his ears shining with the color of red. Sicheng’s plush lips move as he tries to talk things out with the stranger, one of the many subjects that wanted to create a conversational bond before diving in the kiss. She realizes, too, that Sicheng is the nervous type—one that wants to please everyone and everything around him.

The magic was done in one week; finding the supposed ‘cast’ for this project, recording it and using the black and white color scheme that they had opted for their project. She has written far more in that week than she had done in the past, using the few free minutes she has at work to write down with endless inspiration, or even getting out of class with the document open in her phone, typing on the screen frantically. Kun is the same, sharing e-mails with her and texts asking how she is doing, their tutor becoming used to the new portrayal of Kun’s project and being far more interested, too.

Pointing at the screen around Sicheng’s face, she clicks her tongue before clicking her pen. “His level of stress is high. He continues touching his own hair and he keeps tapping his foot. Write that down.” And while she adds yet another line to the notebook, divided in different and typical reactions to the situation, Kun makes his annotations in their final draft. She looks at the paused video, Sicheng’s face on the frame when he looks the most stressed out. “Your poor roommate was so scared.”

“I had to get him out of his shell. He’s been so down after his break-up.” Kun tells her, that boyish tone on his voice when he finishes typing, returning his gaze to the screen even though hers is inspecting his expressions. There is something so radiantly natural about him, like he is exactly what he shows, not overly innocent, not exactly devilish. “Besides, he really liked the kiss.”

“Tell me about it,” She scoffs, resuming the video and turning to the screen, watching as Sicheng leans down to capture the woman’s lips in a kiss. “They were into it.”

“It was awkward, wasn’t it?”

“Well, we were locked in a classroom with twenty-six people, all paired up to kiss. And they all kissed right in front of our eyes. I think that’s awkward enough.” She chuckles, Kun’s eyes forming bags under them with the weight of his smile.

“People are going to think we’re cucks.”

“Damn straight.”

Taking her pen in between his fingers, he points at the screen once again, showing the side of Sicheng’s partner face. He is tentative, pointy in his approach when he has a theory. “I think she’s relaxed. Comfortable. Look at her body expression,” Just then, she realizes just how professional Kun is and that magnifies his attractiveness not by a hundred, but multiplies it to a thousand. His eyes study the situation nicely, legs spread and body confident as he speaks. His tone is casual, bringing a sense of comfort to him. “She has her arms wrapped around his waist, unlike most of the people who were embarrassed, and look.” His fingers press down on the spacebar to start the video again, pointing at the movement of her hands. “Sicheng took a little bit more of time to move his hands to her body, but her hands move from his waist to his shoulders and wrap around them. That shows she is the most confident one in the situation, thus the most comfortable.”

“Huh, I hadn’t noticed that…” She mumbles, even though she had been the one to edit The Kiss Experiment. Like gravity, she looks at Kun once again, realizing that he has left her pen over her notebook and writes something down on the paragraph they have been working on for the past couple of minutes. He is so poised, spending the last week giving her instructions and listening to her every word, as if they were meant to work together from the beginning.

As always, she finds herself staring at him and wishing that she could cross that line that keeps them as acquaintances and soon enough, colleagues. His fingers push his glasses up his nose, makes sure they stay in place as he continues to write, hair perfectly put together as always—unless she is counting that time last week when he came to the library after falling asleep, strands tussled to all sides—, sporting that peaceful look on his face. This is the type of beauty no book-club enthusiast could ever describe.

📑

“Go team!”

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Go team!”

Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Go team!”

And she has never hated her youngest roommate, Mai, quite as much as she hates her right now. Mai is a sophomore, as well, going through the psychology major with the strongest of will but the tiniest of interests. To her, living is in the now, in the air they breathe in the present, which means that education comes second to the importance that is socializing, and, of course, going to the football game in the university campus sounds like an excellent idea. If only Mai was not screaming directly to her ear for the team to do something, when all they are doing is running from one corner to the other, falling on top of each other as if they had money on their hands to steal. The tiny woman by her side dressed herself appropriately, jumping on her seat with the university’s logo imprinted on her t-shirt and her reddened lips shining even more thanks to the Kool-Aid-looking drink she just had. Maybe, having a cheerleader girlfriend did rub off on Mai a little bit…or maybe, she is just naturally obnoxious.

Seated on her chair, she tries her hardest not to fall asleep. As of now, she has already taken her phone out to work on her last version of the thesis—but it is under revision, and instead of studying in the last week she has before her presentation, she is now in some football game because Mai insisted that she needed to have her last ‘university experience’ before she graduates. If she even dares to blink, she is scared that her roommates are going to take her out for a one night stand or some ‘sexy hook-up’ to give a ring to her studious experience. Instead, she opted for the least draining and the most annoying option of her university experience dream which is going to this football game.

Tugging on Mai’s shirt, the woman looks down at her with widened eyes. “What?!” She screams over the noise of equally as excited students, making her wince at the sound contamination that is going around the place.

“I’ll go get something to eat, okay?!”

“What?! I can’t hear you!” Mai points out, her hands cupping around her ears. “You’re going to fit what?!” She doesn’t know what Mai is understanding at this point, but she does movements with her hands, faking that she has a plate on one and is using a fork with the other before screaming once again.

“I’ll go get something to eat!”

Nodding her head, Mai gives her a sweet smile, typical of the charismatic woman. “Ah, okay. I’ll wait here for you!”

The hardest task comes when she has to push through the crowd of overly excited students, all placed on her way until she finally gets out of the masses of people. The farther away she is from the groups of people, the nearer she is to the food stands waiting with microwave heated junk food to fill her stomach. However, when she tries to look for the little bit of money she had brought with her, she is surprised to hear the sound of someone calling her name. The hallway is mostly lonely, apart from the workers of the food stands, but when she really does look around, she realizes Kun is rushing towards her, cheeks heated thanks to the work-out he had just done to get there. Just like Mai, he is wearing one of those notorious football team’s t-shirts, still fitting his frame nicely.

“I didn’t know you were coming here!” He says excitedly, hands resting on his knees as if to catch a breath. She chuckles at his actions, pushing her money down on her pocket once again when she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why were you running?” It is common nature to be surprised by Kun. The more she spends time with him, the more she feels like he is truly the most genuine person ever. They share a Google Document, spending a chunk of their time leaving little notes and information on the document for the other to read. Whenever they come together in the library, conversation always ensues, about psychology or movies, even getting distracted with magic videos as they try to solve them. Kun is deeply interlaced with hope for her, now.

“I—One of my friends is playing, but I didn’t get here on time. The game is about to end, right?” He asks, only to earn a side-grin from her.

“Ask me again and I’ll still come up with nothing. I was sitting on the bleachers but mentally I was taking a nap.” Sweet and elongated laughter leaves his lips when he stands in front of her and she joins him slowly, realizing that this is far funnier than anything she has done with Mai. “I came here with my roommate…I was going to be studying for our thesis presentation, but she told me I needed the university experience and I came to my first football game. I regret it, though, not as fun as I expected.”

Kun’s eyebrows shoot up at that, pointing down at his shirt. “I like football.”

“I could tell.” Without knowing, they start walking down the hallway, getting further away from the masses of screaming people and nearing the tranquil campus with each step. “Why weren’t you part of the football team?”

Thoughtful he has always been, fixing the glasses that frame his face as the habit that will always stick with him. Whether they are sharing a spot in the bus, like they do almost every day, or if they are seated in the library, Kun is always a masterpiece to look at—and to hear him, god, to hear him is heaven itself. The nature of his word is caring, honest, he has the littlest bit of mischief that she likes to turn around so it ends up somewhat affecting him. She simply adores listening to his voice, the honey of her tea. “Do you even see me as the type to be in the football team?” He asks. “They are all buff.”

When she interlocks her hands behind her back, she comes up with the perfect retort. “…You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Thank you, but I’m not even football-team level of buff.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mean that. But don’t look me in the eye and tell me you don’t work out even the tiniest bit.” She judges him, a smirk appearing on her face when she sees him nod. They stop right in front of the entrance door, the little glasses on the upper part of them showing the stars that decorate the sky, enamoring her with a night of sleep.

“I do,” He announces. “Still, not as buff as a football player.”

“But you’re better in my eyes.” She shrugs, all knowing of the fact she is practically flirting with Kun…but hey, only a week from then, she will be saying her goodbyes to her thesis and thus, her goodbyes to Kun. This has always been written in their story, mainly because Kun has never shown any signs of romantic interest—of juvenile kindness, of course, he has. One day, they will be two strangers again; when he gets that full-time job in the office he has been working in and at some point, she’ll get a lift in her job, or maybe, she’ll move to another state. That’s what she doesn’t know, what the future uses to mock her when she realizes that being an adult is just as puzzling as growing through teenage years. “What matters is that you try.” She says.

Shrugging his shoulders, he stares into her eyes before leaning against the doors. “I never thought I would be the type of guy to be in the football team.” He clarifies, taking out any clouds of confusion that may be in between them. With each moment they spend together, a layer of their past, present and future shows for the other to judge. “I’m not in for the frat-boy lifestyle. I came here to get a degree, make some friends and leave without any judgement. I didn’t want to be known as the football player, or the book-club guy, or whatever. I just…I don’t know; I don’t like titles to my name.”

“You just only wanted to be Qian Kun.” She teases, biting her bottom lip to stifle a laugh, but Kun simply rolls his eyes, a defeated smile making a plot-twist on his face.

“Kind of. Yeah. I like who I am.”

“You should.” She says. “Not a lot of people are like you, me included.” When she crosses her arms over her chest, she opens the doors, watching the night sky from a nearer perspective, letting the gust of air rub on the skin of her collarbones, Kun’s cheeks and for a moment, it messes up his hair. “People like me…we just look at life as tasks. We leave everything for the last minute, we…need inspiration to continue with life. You are not like that.” She whispers to the night, as if she wants to take the opportunity to tell him everything he has shown her with the most simplistic of gestures. “You are Qian Kun, responsible guy, even more responsible worker. I’m sure whoever hires you is going to have a blast.”

“…But when you get inspired, you create magic.” Kun reassures, something that has her scoffing. “I mean it! Your way of redaction, your ideas—your editing, the colors you used for The Kiss Experiment were beautiful. You may not be based on theory, but your creative approach is…wow.” The compliment has her smiling, suddenly realizing that they are alone while everyone else has fun.

“Thanks, Qian Kun.”

“Kun.”

“I’m just saying your last name.”

“But it feels like a teacher is calling my name. It brings me high school flashbacks.”

“Well, sorry.” She excuses herself with a smile on her face before nodding her head slightly, more towards the door as if to prove a point. “Do you want to go grab some real food before we have to go back to our dorms? I’m starving and I think if I eat those nachos over there, I may not make it to the thesis presentation.”

Stepping out with her, the man hums a small ‘yes’ before frowning deeply at a thought that seems to bother him. “Now that we’re mentioning high school…on a scale of one to ten, how much did you hate it?”

“Nine point eight.”

“…I don’t know what kind of answer I expected, but I should have expected that one.”

Some days, talking does not come easily—either her throat is hurting because she is sick or simply, she doesn’t want to deal with the effects of talking. Other days, shutting her mouth up is the hardest task ever, this happens when she is worried out of her mind and she needs to rant about all the possibilities to the person that stands in front of her, but Kun has this effect on her that has her talking, but at the same time she basks on the sound of his voice, on the gleam of his eyes with the night sky reflecting on them when they share a meal together in his favorite cheap restaurant near the campus. His excitement at life is enviable and sometimes, she thinks he is a walking encyclopedia. He knows too much, talking comes easily to him and there is never a dull moment with the man. Boring, he’s not, rather, he’s enchanting.

A gentleman crafted by his own actions, though subtle, in the way he accompanies her in the campus and reassures that he is going to walk her to her dorm. The walk there is even more enjoyable, looking up at the night sky with more of a silent atmosphere around them; the jocks must be celebrating, the cheerleaders must too, the chanting people are probably careless of the exams they have to present this week and went out, as well and their suspicions are made a reality when she approaches her building to realize there is not a lot of noise, even a penny falling to the floor would outcast the sound of their hushed voices.

“So, here’s mine.” She finishes after giving him an introduction to her building, his gaze that had been everywhere but on her now resting upon her features. His fingers are resting inside the pockets of his jeans, smiling softly at the woman he is about to say his goodbyes to. “You shouldn’t have walked me here.”

“This campus is crazy, we don’t know what could have happened to you if I didn’t.” Kun says, licking his lips before tilting his head to the side. “But hey, I made sure you got here safe.”

“You should go back now, too…it’s late.”

“I should, I’m dying to get some sleep.” Her fingers hook around the key to her dorm, twisting it when inside the doorknob to open her door. “I had an excellent night. I—I wanted you to know that.” The man says with a stutter, making her smile when she pushes her door a little bit more.

“Yeah, we should do it again sometime when we don’t have to worry about our thesis.”

“I would love that.”

“Goodbye, Kun.” Though, she doesn’t want to say goodbye. What she wants to do is stay with him, even in utter silence, because talking to him is heavenly but getting to feel his presence is more so.

“Have a nice night!”

“You too!”

When she closes her door, she is surprised to see the lights turned on but when her gaze falls on the three women seated on their small couch, she realizes that she has just been waited-on by her group of roommates. Mai is the one that looks the most disappointed, given that she was also the one that ended up being abandoned in the middle of the football game, but her two roommates spur to life when the sound of Kun’s footsteps get far, far away, cradling their roommate in between their hands to push her to the couch, as well.

“Oh my God, you like Qian Kun!” She can’t help but let out a smile at that, denying it with the most cynic of expressions because…she may like him a bit. The next question thrown her way, however, puts her off guard.

“Is his dick big?”

Sitting up, she opens her mouth wide at the sound of one of her roommate’s voices. “I didn’t see his dick. Is that why you were waiting up for me?”

The three people that shrugged at her shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was at the time.

📑

One day. Make that twenty-four hours. If in one hour there is sixty minutes, in twenty-four hours there are one thousand four hundred and forty minutes. That should be enough preparation for a duo of people who are trying to speak about the effects of one-night stands, romance and how it develops in physical touch throughout the years, the levels of stress it brings and obviously, the easier it becomes with the passage of time. This, on its own, she already knows it. The…hundred and something pages that she needs to read, re-read and continue to do so until her thesis presentation comes by is a little bit more difficult to remember than the simple fact of their experiment.

Lucky for them, or for Kun, one of the professors loves him enough to lend them a classroom. This classroom had welcomed a group of students a handful of weeks ago to use them as experiments, basically, but is now the peaceful place in which they stay as they study together. Hours and hours have gone by, practicing their introduction, what they are going to say, the possible questions and the answers that they could give, taking something that is learned by memory and turning it into passion, into basic knowledge for everyone to understand. All energy is drained away from them at that moment, leaving them lifeless in the spacious classroom, white walls and blinding lights making it seem like she is about to lose her mind. Her partner, on the other hand, seems to be somewhat sleepy, but calm.

His cheek is pressed against a guitar that they found in the classroom, resting on his lap in a comfortable manner. Under him there is the textbook she owns and Kun seems to adore—no, he simply fell in love with the words, the knowledge, the written explanations that leave nothing to the imagination. On the desk, there rests an empty box of pizza from some place Kun has been gushing about lately, but she can’t even concentrate on the hunger that starts to settle on the pit of her stomach when she realizes that there are only twenty-four hours until she defends her last bit of knowledge from her major. That is scary on its own.

The sight of her face must have shown every ounce of anguish that she feels in her heart, because the sound of Kun standing up from his seat and moving towards her catching her attention. He places his hand down on her hand, stopping the movements of her fingers against the desk as he gives her a natural smile.

“Is there something bothering you?”

Everything.

Fucking everything.

She didn’t even realize when she had grown up and right now, at this point of her life, she still feels like a damned teenager. She doesn’t know where she is going, if this job is good for her, if she is knowledgeable enough in the major she has picked, if she will ever be able to give a presentation to this thesis and make it worthy. All she knows is that she is stuck in this moment of reality in which she knows she is about to give one huge, big step into adulthood and it is the scariest thing she has ever done. Nodding her head, she tries to find her voice, like the moment almost a month ago in which she had encountered Kun in her life. “I am just…nervous.” Her tone is tiny, like it may get lost in her windpipe if she simply doesn’t open her mouth a bit more. Shuddering away from him, she crosses her arms over her chest. “What if I don’t do good?”

He shakes his head, dragging a seat until he is seated in front of her. “That is impossible.” This confidence radiates from him sometimes when he has a really good gut feeling. She doesn’t know how Kun does it, but it may come from the fact that he is based on theory…he knows how people work, what they do, why they do it, like any good psychology major should. “You have helped me craft this thesis into the beauty that it is today. I am sure you will do excellently as long as you don’t let your nervousness get to you.”

“But what about life, Kun? What about how I will do at life?” She asks, warming up to him like she has only done it with a handful of people. Most of the time, she likes to speak about subjects as such with people she has known for years, but Kun is special in his own way, radiating an aura of understanding nature. “I’m afraid that I will go out to the real world and that my major will looked down upon. There are plenty of people who go to university and less that graduate, but still a number of people, and they could all be more outstanding than me or better at their jobs than me.”

Humming, he moves his head from side to side. “That can happen,” He starts, blowing at her heart with his words, a little bit of pain ensues from what he says. “But that doesn’t mean it is a bad thing. It will only push you to work harder. Just think of what happened last month, you had already worked on a project and she left you alone. But…when you started to work with me, you were so fast. You did everything exactly how you wanted it and it worked out perfectly.” The compliments have her looking at him with interest, wondering what she had done to get such a full person in such little time. “That shows that you accommodate to the situations in life and that, even when you do it last minute, you come up with incredible ideas and turn a bland project into something incredible.”

“You were the one to create this experiment.” She pushes on him, and the man simply hums.

“It wouldn’t have worked the same if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t be half as into it if it wasn’t for your idea.” He argues, earning a smile from her when he rests both hands on the desk, their legs touching under the tiny frame of it. “Let’s practice it one more time and leave it at that. We’ve been locked in here for hours and I feel I’m going crazy.”

He would never notice the beauty of him, the way he stands with pride, how he passes every PowerPoint slide with such ease. The tone of his voice, his intelligence, all masking that naturally enchanting side of him that she has always gushed about. Qian Kun, a month ago, was nothing more than a name and now…it holds the meaning of a person she can’t get out of her head.

📑

The air is taken out of her lungs, limbs shaking by the time she is standing in front of the thesis judges, a few of her classmates sitting down and looking at the presentation uninterestedly, much more given to watch the initial video showing their experiment. It was a risk to do such a thesis, but it was loved by their tutor—something that needs to be studied, sexuality and romance both being equally thought-provoking in the scientific light. The green dress makes her feel a bit stupid, maybe it is not really her color, maybe it should be tighter, but she is trying to remember everything she had learned, giving part of her thoughts and her insight on everything that she is saying.

Kun excels, easily, like he usually does without knowing. She swears she can see the light in his eyes passing through his glasses when he speaks, the same one that he held while they were in the library, wasting or earning time she doesn’t know. Even when he was totally nervous, he still manages to make her feel better—because that is how he is. Psychology teaches people that they have to study others, look for an issue, a pattern, a certain numeration of dots that shows a conclusion in a hundred, but she doesn’t want to study Kun or look for the bad in him when all he has shown her is good. He deserves that, the hug that she gives him when the judges congratulate them, the hundred out of a hundred they got on their presentation, making her wrap her arms around him and hold him in his arms out of thankfulness; the feeling that bursts from her chest mixing in with it.

She has never hugged Kun and this is definitely a good start for that touch. His arms wrap around her waist, finally feeling the tightness of his muscles, the soft skin of his fingers digging on her skin. His smile is prominent to the point she feels his cheeks pressing on her shoulder, chin digging on her scapula. She holds him by the shoulders, and just like he said when he pointed out Sicheng’s video, her hands go to his neck, brings him closer as she thanks him over and over again, getting out of the room whilst talking, their eyes only trained on the other, barely acknowledging the people who congratulate them out of formalities.

Kun takes his backpack away from its spot, opening while she speaks to him. “I can’t believe we got…shit, like, Kun, what are we going to do to celebrate?!” She asks, voice loud now that they are away from their judges. At some point, she knows she is going to have to take a picture with him and commemorate the moment the ‘Freud Wannabe’ got a better grade than her previous thesis partner, but that is in the back of her mind when Kun’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are almost tearing up out of excitement.

“I don’t know!” He says, taking the well-known textbook out of his backpack before giving it to her. “Take this. I forgot to give it back to you yesterday and…yeah…”

“Why did you carry this here?! This is heavy.” The sound of her voice is surprised, pushing the book under her armpit to keep it close to her body, but Kun only smiles.

“There’s something on the hundredth page.”

Her forehead tightens under her frown, dragging the book away from its spot only to open it on the hundredth page. Flashbacks come back to her, notes stuck to notebooks, pens of all colors, all the essence of Kun in them, but now one of them is attached to the beginning of the eleventh chapter, the one they had studied endlessly for their presentation. The paper is brightly yellow, the letters in black as she reads the words ‘do you want to go out on a date with me?’ there and she swears she feels a smile permanently making home out of her face. When she looks at Kun, she realizes he wants to run away at that moment—afraid that he has pushed her away from such a question.

Little did he know that this is only the first page of their story.

#kun scenarios #kun #wayv scenarios #wayv #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #cpop scenarios #wayv au #wayv fluff #kun au #kun fluff #the love diaries #university!au #psychology major!kun #nerd!kun

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project-ohagi · 4 years

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Giyuu Tomioka x Reader {Kimetsu No Yaiba} - Omegaverse AU

An unclaimed Omega should have captured both the romantic attention and primal arousal of many an Alpha, right?

Then…why was Giyuu so hopelessly alone? Sure, he was more powerful, and perhaps a little more domineering than a typical Omega, but this was necessary for his job! Every day, his mind and heart were locked in a constant battle - the latter yearned to live a quiet, domestic life, submissively complying to all of his Alpha's demands. The former reminded him that this simply wasn’t possible, given the torturous, demon-infested world; that serenity could be shattered without warning, at any moment. But, still…he wanted it. He wished to be rammed into so violently that stars would glitter around his vision, and then to be showered with gentle aftercare. He desired the infinite pleasure, but also the pain. He wished to be mated, to bear children for his Alpha.

…Was this all just a pipe dream? Could he ever be truly loved, marked and mated?

"(L/n)!" Somebody called your name, and although the sound was distant, echoey, it caused his very bones to shudder.

That feeling - it was one he could experience for an eternity, and never tire of. Month on month, it plagued him, until he fully comprehended what his heart was begging for. His Omega instincts were hounding him to show subordination towards you, to prove his loyalty (herein, he remembered that in fact, a number of proposals had been made, but he had rejected them all, hopeful to win you over - he suffered through his excruciating heats alone, never relinquishing his body to the temptation. He would remain chaste, until the day you finally decided to claim him). Atop this, he boasted only twenty-one years, leaving him with virtually no sexual prowess. He wasn’t sure if this would appeal to you, or whether it was a turn-off, but it meant that he was still extremely fertile, and you could exploit the breeding ground of his womb as much as you pleased.

If you could enjoy his body, and bless him with two or more beautiful, healthy pups, then perhaps bliss would rain down on his life, and the chains of guilt (which had slithered around his wrists at the moment of his first love's death) would at last release their hold. Of course, he certainly didn’t view you as a replacement. He just carried that dreadful guilt on his shoulders, always, and coupled with these fierce, romantic inclinations, they were becoming far too much to handle. If he could relax into your warm, comforting embrace, curl up next to your sleeping figure and observe the rise-and-fall of your chest, until dawn rose…

On second thought, maybe that was a little creepy.

Creepy! Was this the general consensus, regarding the poor, little Omega? You did forever manage to distance yourself, and Shinobu had once mentioned people's distaste towards him (although, she summoned all the authority of a Beta, so…not very much. Her point was probably, hopefully, moot). Giyuu's frantic heart wouldn’t allow the belief that you despised him, or that another Omega had arrested your affections. Another Omega…someone like Obanai, or Mitsuri.

Someone with superior social skills.

Neither was acceptable, and he began to sense blossoming hostilities within his soul, whenever he noticed someone else engaging you in conversation. One question never failed to penetrate the darkest corners of his mind: why couldn’t that be him, laughing gleefully alongside you, flirting with you, earning your unyielding attention? He must have spent an ungodly amount of time lamenting over this, because soon enough, the moon was eclipsing any last traces of daylight, and a new mission had been announced. The expression gracing his ethereal complexion was quite concerning, like a mixture of confusion and anger. You tapped his shoulder, not particularly wishing to break his trance. However, this was a joint job, requiring rather a lot of concentration.

To save from stuttering, and in the process, utterly embarrassing and planting himself beyond the point of redemption, he simply nodded, to acknowledge your presence. When a bright smile swept across your lips, his heart beat violently against its bone prison.

"I guess we're working on this one together, Tomioka." You extended a hand, but he neglected to shake it (to be fair, he had been trembling with both excitement and anxiety, so his palms were horrendously sweaty - he couldn’t contaminate your perfect skin with his germs!).

Death started to coil around his heart at your words, specifically "we're" and "together". For some reason, they sounded so intimate to his fragile ears, with a hint of longing thrown in for good measure. Although…this could have simply been wishful thinking. The two of you ambled towards your destination, an awkward silence following closely behind. The poor Omega's mind had automatically reset when you bestowed the gentlest of touches upon his unworthy person, erasing all the questions and dialogue starters he had so carefully crafted. He cursed such incompetence. In your presence, his only consideration was your heart, and more importantly, how to win it over.

Everything else faded into obscurity, as he watched how you glided so gracefully around the battlefield, owning it completely, and giving Giyuu very little chance to prove his own worth. He had to contribute something meaningful to this fight, or you would surely imagine him a weak, standoffish Omega, for the remainder of his miserable existence - one whom you would rather die before marking. Gritting his teeth, he charged a demon, slicing off its head effortlessly, never glancing back, but hoping beyond hope that you had taken notice of his skills.

The minute your voice manifested a commanding tone, Giyuu had to restrain himself, had to fight the urge to drop down on to his knees before you. A tight, uncomfortable warmth was spreading throughout his entire body, crawling evermore towards his nether regions.

These urges…these primal instincts…they were so, so incredibly hard to control.

The air seemed to swirl with colours and fragrances, almost as if a battle for dominance, or territory, was ensuing, rather than a general Demon Slayer vs Demon fight-to-the-death. Were they feuding over an Omega? But…who? And…why? Giyuu's little heart skipped a few beats, as he envisioned you protecting and breeding another Omega. Subconsciously, a whimper escaped his lips. Your head turned, eyes widening in half-fury, half-adoration. The smell of an Omega's heat was beginning to ripple in the air.

"Breath of the Shadow, Sixth Form: Shadows In The Dusk!"

Giyuu's tired eyes fluttered shut.

I wonder, will you still be by my side when I wake?

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyu x reader #demon slayer tomioka #omegaverse #ABO

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thenorthernrecords · 3 years

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Family Matters

[ The following is a log of a scene between Jacob and Carolina, shortly after the Sargenis family meeting. ]

@seawitchtales

Well that was exciting! Carolina’s heart hurt for Lani, she could completely understand the pain she felt from her Brother’s actions. Sea-colored irises watched Jacob as he told everyone goodbye, and closed the large doors of the long house. “...I don’t really know what to say about all of this. What a mess..” Using her arms she pulled herself up to stand using the help of the table. With a little wobble she’d reach into the pocket of her dress to pull out a flowered crown. With a weak smile she’d extend it out to Jacob. “... I was able to make you this..” And she was proud! (D)

So, dinner had been served, and he got to do some chitchat with the two elder 'cousins', which was nice, and for the most part, as messy as the situation was, dinner wasn't so bad! Riley had chosen to stay in a spare room in their home, and she went in for the night (probably to cry more) while the Areli family went to stay in the inn. Jac practically looked drained by the end of it. He rubbed the back of his neck, as he approached the table. "The man was a fucking prick. I'm glad you didn't get to meet him. The way he insulted his own sister?" He still got pissed off over it. Now, Michael Blackwood was horrible, but Eamonn Sargenis had an edge to his cruelty that made his blood boil. "Lani's holding up better than her two older sisters. It's a fucking mess, but his departure means we never have to worry about that idiot ever again." Good riddance! Jacob sat down with a huff, but the sight of a flower crown did make him feel better. He took it and just placed it on his head. "Look at you! You've recovered enough to start making me these again." Plus she was standing! He looked so proud of her progress. [d](edited)

When Jacob sat down Carolina took the opportunity to sit back within his lap, but this time she faced him. Gently both of her hands held his face with thumbs toying with his beard. For a long moment she looked into his eyes. She had thought she was damned to be trapped forever within the horrors of her mind. “...I’m so happy that you are real, Jac..” Her voice squeaked just a little bit as tears were held back. Her arms would wrap themselves around his neck so that a tight embrace could be given. “...I’m also glad that I never met him. He sounds like a real peach..” A rotten one. (D)

Jacob frowned, and reached up to stroke her cheek with his thumb gently. "Of course I'm real, sweetheart, and I'm not going anywhere." He smiled a tired, yet sincere smile, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly for a moment, reflecting just how damn happy he was that she was wake and with them again. Then, he scoffed. "Oh he was. The man was miserable -- I still can't believe I'm blood related to that man." Plus, they looked a little similar too, which annoyed him further. "I actually felt bad for him for a moment, but after today? Fuck that, and fuck him." He turned his head and spit on the ground because he was super serious! "That's another destructive relative I don't have to worry about anymore." [d]

Slowly Carolina leaned back so that she could lean against the edge of the table to watch Jacob as he spoke. “...what is it about Brothers? I mean everyone we know has the same issues including myself. We’ve got to make sure Erik is a good Brother, or I swear to Odin that I will hang him from his toes..” Because fuck this shit, their children would NOT be like this. Headache city. “..you look exhausted, my darling Jarl. We could go get close under the furs and sleep..” Before their darling children woke them up at the ungodly hour of the morning. (D)

Jacob let out a short sigh, leaning his head back so he can look up at the ceiling. "I don't know. Each case I know about has this odd sense of unearned entitlement, and maybe, their sisters have made them feel insecure, so they had to lash out." Jacob let out a snort, "But it proves just how weak and ball-less they were. This one --" Meaning Eamonn, "--respected me more than his own sister, but that's not saying much. Did you read the letter? ‘Jacob may carry our name if he wishes.’ As if I need his permission when I have Slania's already." Jacob simply chose not to carry it. "No, our children will be better because I'm making sure Erik never harms his sister, or lets harm come to her. I'm not going to coddle him and shit if he does." He raised his head to look at her. "We could, but we haven't had any time to just be together. It's been so long since you and I just spoke like this, without a care in the world. I missed it." Did he pout? Yes. Yes he did. [d]

A brow perked as she watched her Husband, pout? Carolina couldn’t even hold back a giggle. “...what’s this, Jacob Adair?” A content sigh was given as she leaned forward so that her face was directly in front of his. Her finger reached out and poked his nose. “...I missed it too, Jac, and I missed you. Don’t get me wrong..I missed our children. But the love I have for you is just different if that even makes any sense at all. I thought that I was going to die that night in the fire, and I was...well..never mind about all of that. Tell me everything that I missed, even if you think I wouldn’t be interested..” She had missed a whole lot, she was sure! (D)

The pout vanished almost instantly, and Jacob shrugged. "What's what? I don't know what you're talking about." He said casually, as if the pout never had occurred in the first place. But, he still smiled and gave her a wink. "Are you saying I'm more lovable than a child? Carolina Adair, I never!" He teased her, grinning ear to ear like the dork he really was inside. "Well, as you heard, Lani got hurt, but that big big guy, what's his name ... Keiran, saved her. You should have seen it, He came in with her in his arms, bleedin' all over him, and the man was worried." Which surprised him because it looked like Keiran had a sour grape in his mouth at all times. "But she recovered, thankfully. Benjamin Areli got hurt too, but he was nursed to health by Harper Maxson I believe." He raised his brows at that one. He had a feeling Katy wasn't feelin' too happy about that. "Oh, we rebuilt the orphanage, or rather, made it bigger and better. Most of the city is rebuilt, with newer defenses too. Leviticus has a brand new forge now -- the apprentice has become the master." And they totally did not want to give each other the biggest hug ever when Jacob told him he was to have a new forge because that would be crazy. Jacob then looked pensive, as if trying to decide something. He then let out an annoyed groan, and decided it was best to let Carolina know what had come in for her. He fished a letter from his pant's pockets and held it up to her. "So... this was for you. I normally would not open your letters but ...It's from your brother, Michael." He looked so disgusted just saying his name. [d]

“...you are the only man I will e v e r love the way that I love you, Mr. Adair...” Forever and always this fire would burn. Carolina watched Jacob as he explained the happenings over the past few months. “...Keiran is a good man, so I’m glad that he has decided to stick around.” Destiny would of never summoned him if there had been any doubt. Now a brow rose when Jacob mentioned Leviticus, followed by another giggle. “...you guys are disgusting, you’re going to have to control yourself with your mistress. She’s still a newlywed.” Oh ho! Quick with the jabs, lulz. And then her stomach fell. For a long moment she peered at the letter that Jacob held out to her. Slowly a hand would reach out before her gaze fluttered across the words that her Brother had written. By the time she was done reading, her whole body was shaking.

Rage.

The letter fell against the floor as she quickly stood from Jacob’s lap. That might of been a terrible idea because she was still way too weak to support herself. Both of her knees were shaking. “...why..why did HE kill Andrew. That was supposed to be..this motherfucker!” Carolina hissed, tears rolling down her cheeks. The one thing that had been promised to her was stolen. Andrew had only tortured her for almost her entire life. She always had to stay one step ahead, sleep with one eye open, and he still managed to catch her. Not once, but twice he almost succeeded in killing her. Because of him her whole family had been murdered. “...and I couldn’t even see the look on his face as he took his last breath..” Her knees gave way as she collapsed to sit on the floor, pulling her legs up under herself a bit. “...I’m going to have to go home, Jacob..” There was an emptiness to her voice, she couldn’t even look at her Husband. (D)

Jacob had frowned at the whole mistress bit. "Pfft. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. That man is an asshole." Said another man who was also an asshole. Now, when Carolina stood up, on instinct, Jacob reached out and put a hand on her waist, trying to keep her steady, but also, it would give him a chance to catch her if she stumbled. Jacob had a deep frown on his face. "If there's anything I know about your brother, it's that he acts before he fucking thinks. He also thinks he knows whats best." Which is a quality he shared with the shit brother he had just finished talking about. He began to rub her back, to comfort her, but then, he stopped. "Carolina, first of all, this is your home now. I thought we had talked about this," Jacob began, already beginning to feel that anger begin to boil, "You don't have to go home, and you don't have to fix his fuckin' mess. Didn't you just see what happens when you run and fix a shit brother's mess?! We just had a dinner with a set of sisters who did just that, and look how well that turned out!" Jacob was shaking his head. He didn't like this one bit. [d](

Carolina winced hearing Jacob’s tone, but she still never rose her gaze to look at him. Again her eyes scanned the letter as if somehow it would change. “...I cannot allow my Brother to be punished for killing a man that should have been hung in the Palace Square for his crimes. My parents are dead because of him, he’s tried to kill me multiple times. This is bullshit..” And in a small struggle she stood on bare feet, standing as strong as she could for the moment. “...family is always the most important thing, Jacob, even if they don’t deserve it.” Finally she looked at him, her long chestnut tresses spilling over just one shoulder. “If Caspian made these arrangements then there’s a serious problem brewing, and even if I wanted to ignore this..I cannot, nor will I.” Even if he was furious with her, she didn’t care. (D)

Jacob just stared, his face blank for a moment, but soon, he was breathing a little more heavily than usual -- an indicator of his growing exasperation. "He chose to kill the man, and even the right choices have consequences." He first state firmly. Oh, but the family bit? That made Jacob stand up and step away, his back towards Carolina for a moment. He tapped his foot, trying to not let his growing anger get the best of him. "What about our family?" He said slowly, strain in his voice as he turned around to glance at her, "Let's say something happens to you while you're out saving your idiot brother. What of our children? Shall they go motherless because you wanted to help the one family member who failed you time and time again? You just fuckin' came back to us, Carolina." He turned his face away, balled his hand into a fist and began to tap his fist into his other hand. "Just when I thought I was rid of all these cocksuckers." Yep, he was mad. His entire body was tensed up, but he was trying his hardest to keep it all from just lashing out. [d]

Irises narrowed slightly as she listened to her Husband. Oi, YES, my Brother is a fuckin’ douche...and then she sighed. Slowly the distance between herself and Jacob was closed as she stood in front of him. Both hands rose so that she could gently take his face and pull him closer to her level. “...Jacob, I will n e v e r leave you, nor our children. I love you more than I have ever loved anything else, and that is the o n l y reason I am standing before you today...” For a long moment she searched his face, her eyes starting to well up with tears. “...maybe I can bring a group with me. Harper needs to get her ass home instead of playing house with Ben..” Heh, trying to lighten the mood. “...we have peace for a moment, and I swear that this will be the one and only time that I return to Snow. If you allow it, I will never go back after this..” And she meant it. (D)

He crossed his arms tightly, and when she put her hands on his face, she would feel that his jaw was clenched. He studied her face silently, and when he saw the tears? He began frown, and looked away for a moment. He was trying to remain mad, but it was difficult to do so when his wife was being vulnerable. It made him feel like a dick. "... Tears won't work on me, Carolina." He said, but by the way he slightly pursed his lips? Yeah, it worked, much to his dismay. He let out a groan and aggressively rubbed the nape of his neck. The prospect of never having to worry about her going off to Snow Mystic was incredibly tempting. "Fine! Fine." He grumbled, extending his arms and letting them fall to his sides in defeat. "Yes, I want you to go with a group -- with at least one person I Trust." He crossed his arms again because he meant business! Clearly. [d]

“Really?!” Whoa! Mark this shit down in history, MARK IT DOWN. This was the same man that used to fight hard to push her away from him, y e a r s of being a dick. Carolina couldn’t help but to smile wide, wrapping her arms around his neck, basically climbing him so that she could wrap her bare legs around his waist. The Jarl’s wife may have attended a family meeting with nothing but Jac’s tunic on, heh. She was recovering! “...you can pick whom ever you want to, Mr. Jarl...Sir Jarl? Jarl Studmuffin..” Oooo, Daddy! Slowly she used her nose to turn his face back towards her so that the softest most sweetest kiss was offered to his lips. “....thank you, Jac..” Heh. Carolina’s cheeks may have been a little pink, but she was so...content. (D)

Naturally she started to climb him, he unfolded his arms and held her against him, with his hands in place beneath her. "Hah, now you're just patronizing me." He started with narrowing eyes, "If anything happens to you, I'm killing your brother. That's a promise." More like, the entire of Snow Mystic would burn to the ground if anything happened to his wifey, dammit. He'd have the army there in seconds, somehow. And like the softy that he begrudgingly was, he smiled slightly and gave her a peck back. And then another. And then a third for good measure. What a sap. "...I love you too. I only get angry because I'm tired of bad shit happening to you and the rest of our family. But, if you doing this means I don't have to hear Caspian Fucking Maxson's name ever again, then I suppose it's a reasonable risk." Imagine?! He smiled at the thought. "I'll pick, but you'd have to agree. I wouldn't want you to be in company you don't like either." [d]

Carolina giggled after the third kiss, but made sure to return every damn one. Honestly if she could ride around like this on Jacob, everyday, she would do it! If she had to move Heaven or Hell for him, well, y’all get it. “...I know you were scared, Jacob, I felt it..that’s how I stayed connected to you. And you’ll still be connected to me when I leave. Plus I know you’ll have a pair of beady little eyes watching for you. If anything happens I know you’ll come for me..” This War had done a number on the both of them, and she knew this wasn’t the best time to be going to a whole other country on some fuckshit, but it had to be done. “...and I will be okay with anyone from here. I know and love all o u r people..” Daw, she was so proud of Jacob, and now he’d know. She hadn’t really had the chance to tell him anything, ya know, comas and stuff. (D)

The war had basically almost wiped out the family he gained, through marriage and discovery. So, he was terrified deep down for sure! One bad brother had caused a shitstorm, and now another was causing another. it never ended! He didn't have to say it, it was all over his face how much it had all affected him. "A certain crow would be wise to watch over my wife lest he wants to be a stuffed animal!" He said in a raised voice, knowing the black feathered friend had heard it somehow. "I have someone in mind, but I gotta convince 'em first." He was worried about that part. But! That was a worry he'd deal with in the morning. "We should get some rest. If you want to go on this journey, I want your fully recovered, and ready. I want you to be ready to give them all hell."

#Jacob #Carolina #Jac's tired of his girls cleaning up after their dumb brothers y'all

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fmdxsujiarchive · 4 years

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summary: suji gets too engrossed with a fictional story that she needs to write about it date: june ~ july, 2020 word count: 951 words (without the lyrics) notes: creative claims (full lyrics) verification self-para for passing by! honestly, it’s totally like suji to go write a fucking song because she’s emotional over the characters in a webtoon so : ) here y’all go

suji can only imagine what it’d be like to be completely in love with a person one second and then have to wake up the next morning knowing that they won’t remember you or everything they ever shared with you. if the disappearance of memories was mutual, it wouldn’t be as painful. each individual could simply go on living life as they did before meeting one another. however, being stuck in a position where you’re the only one to reminisce everything is ungodly.

fortunately? unfortunately? suji’s never been in such a relationship—fuck, she can’t remember the last time she even was in a relationship—but then again, she’s not the main character of some fantasy romance where she turns into a dog if she kisses someone because her ancestors were cursed. she’d become completely dedicated to this webtoon that was recommended to her by a co-star that it’s all she ever spent reading during her breaks in between filming. her breaks are longer than the average since she’s not in many scenes to begin with so that gives her plenty of time to become too involved with a fictional story and empathize with the female lead.

she knows that she’s finally reached what’s probably the climax of the whole plot. after going on one last vacation with her lover, the lead is forced to wake up and accept that she’s the only one holding onto all the months that she’s shared with the male lead. he doesn’t remember her. he doesn’t remember anything they did together. he doesn’t remember the way his heart used to beat abnormally faster around her. he doesn’t remember it all. she turns away quickly because he complains of headaches around her, and the last thing she wants is to cause him anymore pain.

there’s no more episodes left for her to read as the author has yet to update with the next episode, and she’s pondering on what she should do with her free time when a staff member comes knocking on her window. that’s her sign, and she’s back to shooting, pushing back the story of the broken lovers and replacing it with the one she’s going to have to act out. a story of a third year medical student who’s stuck narrating the terminology and situations.

filming wraps up a little earlier than suji expected, and she’s home by 8pm. there’s nothing for her early in the morning tomorrow though she does have practice for the upcoming comeback later in the day. that’s sign that perhaps she can stay up and write.

the story of the unfortunate lovers had been stuck in her head all day as she couldn’t stop imagining how she would feel if she were in the situation. there were moments with her sister where she thinks she could have felt a similar emotion of being stuck alone, stuck with the happy thoughts rather than the sad ones. it’d actually been a lot more miserable.

up to where she’s read so far, it seems that the female lead is adamant on trying to trigger the male lead’s memory back. she believes that it can happen, and he practically asked her during their last moments together to approach him like she did before. to be the one to make the first move because he was always too afraid to.

props to the illustrator because every single time the two pass by one another, the female lead is shown with such a disappointed and heartbroken expression that suji can’t help but empathize with her.

as if i’m being cut by a sharp knife you just pass me by how many more tears do i have to shed to get used to being alone?

it’s kind of silly how engrossed she’s become with the story. with these characters because it’s all a story. it’s what she gets for being so soft when it comes to anything romantic. people have told her that she needs to wake up because nobody’s going to sweep her off her feet nor will she get some dramatic love proposal. but she can still dream, right?

as if nothing happened you just pass me by as the time and seasons pass my heart keeps on getting cold but why can’t i become cold myself

the place where suji differs from the female character is that she’s not sure if she’d be able to keep trying to get her ex-lover to remember her. maybe at first, yes, but to keep trying because he asked her to? because he knows that he’d be too much of a coward like the first time to approach her first? would it really be worth it the second time as well? wouldn’t it be simply easier to give up? perhaps she can only say this because she doesn’t think she’s ever been in such a passionate relationship. she’s never been so truly in love that she would go over the moon to try to trigger someone’s memory back.

suji continues to wonder what will eventually happen. a sad ending? a happy one? what would be right? what would the readers want? what does she want? being the hopeless romantic she is, she’d probably root for a miracle where the male lead does remember the female, and they get back together. or maybe even just get him to fall in love with her once more. that’d be kind of romantic in its own way. a story of fate, destiny, two lovers that were almost meant to be despite the horrific curse and obstacles.

before she knows it, she’s pretty much come up with a story of her own based on the point of view of the female lead. if it weren’t to be known that it was based on some ongoing webtoon then maybe it’ll be viewed positively. she doesn’t have much confidence in it though.

she scribbles a quick passing by on the top of the page before closing the notebook and deciding that she needs to move on from these fictional characters.

#fmdverification #( ♡ * // self para: happiness. )

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

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Eight Tries //Obey Me Yandere! Asmodeus x reader //

Thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt @feedmestraycats. Icon made by the lovly @bbelphie!

TW: attempted suicide, mention of rape/noncon, gore, murder, cheating

This was getting old, he still wasn't home and there was no point in pretending that he was just running late. No, you knew that your husband was not coming back home tonight, maybe if you were lucky you would find him passed out on the couch sometime in the late afternoon once you returned from the marketplace.

There was no reason to spend the dreary and dull night alone. If that spoiled hero you called a husband could be spending such a gorgeous night, out with some prostitute from the slums then you could also be having some naughty fun~

--To call your current like a nightmare was an understatement. People awake from nightmares, they could open their eyes and be back in the safety of their warm beds, next to the person they loved. But the second your eyes opened you entered a hell on earth, there wasn't any escape, no freedom...and the worst part was that there was not a single soul to comfort you--

Five red candles set in a circle each one a blase with a tiny passionate flame. Two twigs inserted parallel to one another, caging in the dried corpse of a scorpion. Next is the demon's sacred seal written in the summoner's blood, elegantly and delicately. Sprinkle it with salt and state the ungodly words. "Oh, great Asmodeus lord of love, aviator of lust, I become thee come forth to me, I offer you my body and soul"

--You had been born to a noble family in a small and rather poor town. Despite the town economical standpoint, the natives were tremendously kind and neighborly. Everyone shared whatever little of anything they may have had. Your family, in particular, was the most charitable. Giving and giving as much as humanly possible. When it came time for you to chose a husband, your father requested you marry someone from the town, someone you truly loved disregarding how poor or wealthy they may be. Marry for love he insisted but keep it in the family. Regardless to say that's what you did. You found a man and fell in love, married a month later in a joyous celebration in which the whole town had been invited to....but then HE came along--

The circle in front of you puffed with a cloud of thick pink smoke. It invaded your sense, plunging into your mind and sending waves of ecstasy. It was a rush pure lust was infected into your entire body...

but then it stopped, neglecting your corpse and leaving you you confused and sweaty. It was in that eerie moment that the demon decided to manifest himself. He stood tall in all his glory, petite bat wings spread out. If it weren't for the dark shadow and uncharacteristic bitter frown spread thinly across his face, he would have looked as beautiful and perfect as the first miserable night you played eyes on him.

--In the dead of night Asmodeus had murdered your husband in clod blood. He had made you watch as he shredded your lover's corps leaving only a messy pile of blood and organs on the bed. But that had not been enough for the lord of lust. On that same blood-soaked bed he had defiled you, raped you and stolen what was meant for the man who's blood you now laid in, a weeping mess reeking of that demon's stench. Your parents had found you the following day. They were sent into an accentuated frenzy. How could such a horrifying thing happen? By the following year, you'd been wed again, only for Asmodeus to return on the night of your marriage and decimate your new husband. By the fourth accurations, the townsfolk had deemed you cursed, at first they tried all that they could to save you from this dreadful beast. But all too soon it had turned into a competition. "Who could marry the nobleman's daughter and survive the next day." Desperate to wed you off your parents accepted any challenger who arrived....and each was dead by the morning of your marriage. By the sixth time, the townsfolk had already tried to kill you on multiple occasions. The sweet and caring town you knew had been annihilated replaced by this bitter, angry village of unkind and untrusting residents. And Asmodeus? Well, he'd made a game out of this, each time he'd find a new grisly way to slaughter your new husband and a new repugnant way to rape you. By the seventh husband, you'd already attempted four suicides. All resulting in fallierur, by some black miracle that dreadful demon was always able to save you and keep you alive. All hope was lost or so it seemed.--

"He's out again..." Was there any need to explain why you'd summons him. Over the last two years since your wedding to the "hero", these summonings had been almost routine.

"Of course he is darling~ did you really think you were enough to satisfy him? hm?"

The words stabbed your heart like a million needles at once, the reality was all too fragile and could come crumbling down at any given time. You had never been enough, this was a well-known fact at this point. You had never been enough for your lovers, parents or town's people and now you weren't even enough for your own husband, the man that had saved you from all your miseries.

"Love, he's a hero. Hero's don't settle down and live domestic lives with their loved ones and children. They need the torture of missions and anguish of journeys to feel alive. When they leave it all behind they wind up as hollow husks filling out the rest of their existence with alcohol and street women."

--After having prayed to God for too many days and nights to count, he's finally sent you a hero. Tobias was sent to vanquish the demon Asmodeus and merry you as a reward. At the time you'd all thought he had succeeded, that the avatar of lust was really dead. The thought had brought you joyous days and depressing nights. A part of you was beyond thankful that he was finally gone. The other half missed and longed for his lips on yours, for his hands brushing against your skin, the feel of his honey-colored lock tangled in between your fingers. You missed your tormentor...

At first, you and Tobias had been like any young couple so in love to notice the conflict of the world around you, so in love to disregard each other's sharp edges. So in love, until you were no longer. The first year had been sweet and peacful, every day was a harmonious dream...but then Tobias started coming home late, neglecting your presence. Some nights he wouldn't return at all and you'd run into town finding him in some pub drunk and with some random woman clinging to him. You spent those nights crying yourself into fitful revolting dreams of happiness and death. The old pre-suicidal habits had returned. One night the blade slipped and slashed a vain to deep, mentally exhausted you simply laid there waiting for the blood to run out. That's when you saw him again. Over the years he hadn't changed one bit, flirty smile and reddish-yellow eyes still playful and dark. He'd brought you back again and stayed with you until morning. The occurrence repeated it's self like clockwork until one night it was no longer dying and talking but summoning and...more. It felt right to feel him all over you again. His toxic presence made you feel complete, filling up holes in your soul.--

Asmodeus stalked closer, arms slinging in that all too causal way. You didn't dare take a step back, having played this game enough times to know every result before it even sprouted.

"(Y/N) why won't you listen to me! How dense do you have to be to repeat the same mistake eight times! Eight freaking times before it dawns on you that you are wrong! You will always be wrong! No worthless human or "holy hero" can ever love you as I do. I'm the only one. I'll always be the only one!"

Your brain screamed that he was wrong, that you could have had a prouspoures, dazzling life had he not killed your first husband or second or even third. Ir was his fault that your beloved town had been plagued with riots and corruption. He taught your people to sin, to ignore the words of God and his angels! Yet your cracked heart knew that he was right, no man would ever love you again... hey all married you for some selfish obligation or another. And Tobias....Tobias was the worst of all. He was forced to marry you by the holy on. Thrust into a loveless marriage with the suicidal "beauty" he was forced to save. Why couldn't God have just killed you all those years ago? Given the poor "Miss wanna die" her sole wish. He was right, this MONSTER was had always been right! No one loved you. You were less than the rubble under people's feet. Even noble god had turned his back on you...but he, this evil demon...Asmodeus had always come back for you. Hw stole your innocence, your purity, your life! your destiny was forever ruled by him. Maybe that's what you were so constantly in pain and isolation. You were trying to outrun your furutre. Why? What was the point of escaping your inevitable faith? Let it go, submit, your miserable life would finally become less of a burden. Give up, hand over the crumpled misery you called life to Asmodeus, let him take over. It would all finally be over. No more pain, loneliness, the misery would come to a sweet end!

In a daring, insanity driven moment you lunged yourself forward gripping Asmodeus' toned shoulders with all your strenghth. Fingernails digging deeper and deeper into his creamy skin. Crashing your lips onto his, trying to let the kiss speak for you. Begging he would comprehend your actions, praying he would accept your submission. In no time he took over, dominating the kiss, slipping his wet muscle into your mouth. Running his larger hands to your lower back. Dipping lower and lower, squeezing anything he could get his hand on. He was the one to (shockinly) break the kiss. He slowly pulled away leaving behind a thin string of saliva. His lush lips were pulled into a smug smirk, his eyes were lightening up with the most joy you'd ever seen. Forcefully he pulled you closer to his chest. Holding your head where his heart would have been.

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xenoredux · 4 years

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The Legend of Silver Fang - Episode 5: The Beasts

If you haven’t read episode 4 yet, you can do so here.

As mentioned before, the major story beats and overarching plot are the same. This is written under the supposition that, in fantasy land, this is a mini series with episodes that run about 2 hours in length each.

Some things to be aware of going in:

This story is violent as shit!!! CONTENT WARNING FOR: Animal injuries, animal death, sickness via poisoning, eye trauma, weaponry, cannibalism, fire damage to property and animals, wacky cult antics, child abuse and endangerment, suicide, starvation, dogfighting, bullying, and idk probably something else terrible. Seriously don’t read if you don’t like this kind fuckery

I was trying to achieve a decent adaptation that combines the strongest elements of the anime and manga. It will not be precisely like either and will occasionally totally deviate from both

This isn’t meant to be “better” then the canon. It’s just the way I’d go about rewriting the Akakabuto arc if I had that level of ungodly power lol

Character designs made to represent several mentioned characters can be found here, here, here, here, and here. Others will be left up to the reader’s interpretation. A link to the next episode will also be provided at the end. If a link isn’t available, the next episode just hasn’t been posted yet!

I KEEP POSTING THESE SO LATE IN THE DAY AAAAAHHH

The Igas and Gin are frozen where they float. Kurojaki's teeth clack against the scythe's handle as he sadistically taunts them. This day marks the end of the Iga clan he says (though it sounds more like "Ish ey marsh he and ufh eh Uhguh clun.") Akame barks back someone along the lines of "OH YEAH?" before turning to the others.

The albino levels with them: four against, what, 40? Not good odds. But maybe if there was a diversion some of them could get away. Akame passes his share of herbs to Jinnai and says that no matter what happens the Ohu soldiers must receive these herbs. Even if it costs the remaining Igas their lives and their legacy, no innocents will die just because some mottled dickhead bamboozled them all.

With a final command for them to get moving, Akame vertical leaps outta the lake and busts Koga heads the minute he lands. The other three good guys exit stage right while the gettin's still good. Gin looks back, almost certain someone's gonna come after them, but the Kogas are all too concerned with chasing Akame in circles to care about anything else.

Shinobi slaying is easier said then done, turns out. Akame didn't become Chief Ninja Daddy without some skills to back the title up. He is eventually pinned down by several heftier dogs, but it takes a few minutes of him humiliating his opponents first. As payback one of the cannibals chomps down hard on Akame's hind leg and jerks it back at a nasty angle. Akame lets out a manly scream of pain.

Jinnai, Kirikaze, and that silver guy are still running back home unimpeded when they hear Akame's hollering. Kirikaze is especially affected by his old man's tortured yowls and he begins crying big fat tears of sorrow.

So overwhelmed is he by his progenitor's wails that he tries to double back, but Jinnai tackles him and tries to smack some sense into him. Kirikaze's gotta nut up for Akame's sake. This scolding almost works, but another scream from the chief threatens to break the rest of Kirikaze's resolve.

They have reason to be concerned. Kurojaki's started wiping the forest floor with Akame's pale ass, bruising the Kishu heavily and giving him a nice big slash across the throat. The cut on his neck isn't enough to kill Akame, but combined with his other injuries it's enough to sap his remaining strength from him. As Akame tries to gather his bearings and defend himself the scythe comes down across his neck a second time.

Another scream of agony reaches the trio. Jinnai and Kirikaze are still fighting over whether to save the army of strangers or their dad when Gin decides he can't stand moral dilemas involving family. He spits out his share of herbs and shoves them towards Kirikaze.

Gin tells the bros that he's willing to double back and help Akame so long as they can pull themselves together long enough to cure the Ohu dogs. As the Akita moves towards the marsh, Jinnai asks him if he's so insolent as to disobey the chief's orders.

"Akame isn't my chief," Gin states matter of factly, "so I can do whatever I want." And so he turns and leaves the two Kishus to collect their herbs and continue their journey. Before they go the two decide to come back and help the moment they deliver the plants.

Akame coughs up blood and falls limply to the ground. He's hurting something fierce. He tries to go all Mind Over Matter with his body, but he's having too much trouble standing up to fight anymore. Kurojaki cackles triumphantly. Maya is grinning in a nasty way while their son yips excitedly, too young to understand that Daddy's committing an atrocity.

Emboldened by the support, Kurojaki decides it's time to deliver the killing blow. He leaps towards the incapacitated albino all ready to shreddy, too busy to notice the other Kogas trying to stop a silver striped blur from slamming into him. Gin lunges through the air, grabs Kurojaki by the hind leg, and does an anti-gravity version of the worm that sends both of them flying to the ground. Gin lands elegantly on all fours, but Kurojaki is slammed face first into the dirt. The moment he makes contact with Mother Earth, the cannibal lets out an unholy screech.

Everyone is taken aback - even Akame is frightened by the noise - as Kurojaki continues vicerally screaming for a moment more. It's at this moment that Gin realizes he hadn't seen where the scythe's blade had landed. Kurojaki lifts his trembling head and turns to face Gin.

The blade has been buried deep into the black devil's right eye. Icky red squidge oozes from the wound and down his cheek as he heaves a shallow, rattled breath.

"You little motherfucker," he pants, his remaining eye bulging and rolling around wildly in his head.

The other Kogas are now a terrifying mix of horrified and pissed the fuck off, and Kurojaki's ready to take advantage of that. As Gin gapes in horror at the live demonstration of why running with sharp things is a bad idea Kurojaki commands his crew to tear the invaders limb from limb. He especially wants that little stripey shit's head on a pike.

Obedient as ever, Kurojaki's mohawked mooks spring into action. Gin leaps to Akame's side to protect him. A couple of especially speedy Kogas advance on them before the others, but Gin's entire bloodstream is full of adrenaline right now and he manages to pick them off easily.

Before the rest of the hoard can descend upon them, Gin snags Akame up by the scruff and leaps into the trees with him. The Kogas watch as the two make their getaway. This only serves to frustrate Kurojaki. As Maya is fussing over his sliced up face he screams for the cult to follow the two.

Unaware of what's gone down, Jinnai and Kirikaze continue their jog home. They've been making good time but are stopped suddenly when another dog they've yet to meet jumps out of the bushes before them. He's just as surprised to see them as they are to see him, and they all trip over each other.

The dog, a tempermental German Shepherd, barks that the two dipshits need to watch where they're going next time. The Kishus apologize before scampering off with their herbs.

To the surprise of no one this rude dog is John. The upstart has finally left the village to pursue more heroic avenues. This is nice, but he realizes it's not quite going according to plan when he notices several dogs of intederminate breed running up to him.

These three dogs have the decency to stop and ask if John's seen a couple of white guys with plants in their gobs passing by. John pulls an "I know something that you don't know" face and tells them to fuck off because he's not going to enable them to chase down a couple of geeks with weeds.

This pisses the mohawked mutts off, as does the fact that John stinks of human civilization. They go to give him a taste of Whoopass Stew (1992) before John recites the navy seal copypasta from memory and teaches them some humility via a few well aimed bites and mean names regarding their haircuts. As soon as they realize he's a capable fighter the trio runs off with their tails tucked both metaphorically and literally between their legs.

This is getting bizzare. John's just arrived in this forest and already he's seen two groups of oddballs he can't begin to understand.

Back at the Iga House Gin has brought Akame home. He sets the ninja chief down gently as the other Kishus come to greet them. The Ohu soldiers, most of who are feeling much better now, are also glad to see Gin is still kicking.

Gin's happy to see them as well. He runs over to where they're gathered to more properly say hello. Most dogs are back on their feet, but he can't see the tallest one of them all. He asks where Ben is before realizing by the look on everyone's faces that this isn't a question they want to answer.

The crowd parts to reveal Jinnai has finally gotten Ben to eat his share of antidote. Ben's a hotass mess, though; his eyes are bloodshot, his mouth is foamy with excess saliva, and his muscles are all twitching involuntarily. He looks miserable as he stares aimlessly into the woods.

Akatora comes over to him and offers a friendly nudge and a whispered, "Hey, you okay?" Ben simply responds by snapping at him. Akatora tumbles backwards, stunned that his old friend and mentor would react to him so aggresively.

Akame pads over to Akatora and tells him not to take Ben's bizarre behavior to heart. Ben's had bad shit in his blood longer then everyone else. It's gonna take him a second to come out of this haze.

Luckily the dane seems to be regaining his composure, for he has managed to stand up and steady his limbs. The soldiers seem mostly relieved at the sight, but Gin notices Akame is still staring at Ben in concern. Is there something he's not telling them?

While alla this was going down, Hyena had wandered off by himself and ended up being taken prisoner by the Kogas. Worse still, he's been trafficking the corpses of dead Igas into their slapshod fridge (i.e. a dank, chilly cave).

As he drags the icky, ewwy canine cadavers along, his captures taunt and jeer at him for being both a wuss and their munchie packmule. One particularly nasty looking sucker with no tail tells him to move his ass before they decide to add him to the every-growing pile of carcasses. Hyena just whines miserably and goes back into the body storage. He's just flopped down another lifeless Kishu when he hears a sudden commotion outside. He cowers far back in the cave.

"MORE of these assholes?" says a newcomer. "Jesus, these woods are full of lunatics."

The Kogas have turned to look at their visitor. Three of them point him out as being a direct threat. They'd run into this dickhead in the woods, and though he stinks of men he's more powerful then any housepet they've chomped on before. While the cannibals encircle John, Hyena pokes his head out of the cave just long enough to recognize the GSD as one of the dogs he'd seen at Ohu. What on Earth is HE doing here?

Back at the Iga house the Kishus have organized to face off with the Kogas. Enough is enough. They can't allow any more innocents to get swept up in this stupid war.

Ben is feeling more lucid now and he insists that the Ohu dogs aid the raid against the Kogas. They outnumber the mohawked mongrels together and lbr this has become personal for the troops. Akame worriedly tries to convince Ben not to subject himself or his bros to this, but the dane refuses to leave it alone. Akame reluctantly agrees to let them help and begins leading the way back to the marsh.

Ben is just behind the shinobi, but he's doing a shit job at keeping with the pack. Despite having scolded Gin for running off course, Ben keeps drifting farther and farther off trail. In fact, he's essentially in the treeline now, and a concerned Gin and Cross follow to ask him where he's going.

Ben freezes up. He takes a deep sniff and realizes he's not with the others. Everyone stops running, concerned. Akame attempts to be stoic, but his brow twitches intently.

Ben tells everyone it's nbd bruh, he's just gotta take a piss, it's fine it's fine it's cool it's fine. Akame grunts and tells Kirikaze to continue leading the pack while he checks up on the big guy. Kirikaze nods and directs the others to follow him.

The only stragglers are Gin and Cross. They're both too concerned about Ben to follow orders. The two of them sneak closer to where Akame and Ben are huddled and strain to listen to what they're saying.

Akame looks sadly at Ben as the dane stares blankly ahead.

"Ben," Akame says in a low voice, "look at me."

Ben pauses for a second as if focusing hard, then turns his head. He's not looking at Akame. He's not even close to meeting eyes with him.

"Akame?" he says with a tinge of fear in his voice. "What's happening to me? I can barely see."

Akame sighs and apologizes to Ben for all this. It's a side effect of the poisoning. Ben was doped up on the bad shit long enough that there was potential for it to do some damage to his senses. The eyes and ears are most suseptible to the poison's effects, and it seems like Ben's eyes are feeling the hurt.

Ben's shoulders slump as he softly shakes his head. He figured his sudden astigmatism and fading peripheral vision had been brought on by Akame's bioweapon. He just hadn't wanted to admit it.

Gin is shaken to hear this, but he's not as upset as Cross. The Saluki is trying and failing to contain her tears.

"He'll never see--" she says before running off, unable to stand it anymore. Gin only lets her go when he hears the conversation continue.

Ben asks if he'll become totally blind. Akame says yes. Ben asks if he'll be blind forever. Akame says yes again. Ben asks if he'll be able to keep up his duties as commander. Akame doesn't respond directly but instead tries to soothe the dane by saying that he owes Ben a great debt and will pay it forward by being his eyes.

Ben takes a moment to think before thanking the Kishu, but he has a request. Cross is ready to take his place as commander when he becomes totally incapacitated, but as she was his successor she'll need a right hand dog of her own. Akame figures that all Ben's soldiers are so jacked that any of them would do nicely, but Ben has his eyes (no pun intended) set on one guy in particular.

That kid Gin... he's a good fighter, sure, but he's also young and eager and empathetic. He's got a good head on his shoulders, boundless potential, and clearly has had some training before. Within a few months he'll be fully grown, and by then he'll make a great lieutenant. Gin only now realizes he's been holding his breath.

Meanwhile, John has made quick work of the lingering Kogas, adding those who didn't flee to the abnormally high count of dog bodies in the area. When he's sure it's safe to come out of hiding, Hyena slinks out of the cave to meet John.

John recognizes the little twerp from Ohu mountain, but he's still in Fight or Fight mode so instead of saying hi he just gears up to cream him. Hyena whimpers and begs for mercy, insisting that the Kogas took him as a POW and that he's still loyal to the Ohu army. John rolls his eyes and takes Hyena's word for it before turning to leave.

Hyena dares not be alone in this above-ground graveyard, so he follows John. The shepherd either doesn't realize or doesn't care that Hyena's his new little tagalong. They wander for a bit, Hyena taking every chance he can to suck up to John, before John tells him to shut the fuck up and listen.

The dogs fall quiet. The sound is faint, but they can distinctly hear a low mumbling, or, more accurately, the muffled sound of a crowd speaking amongst themselves. Someone literally barks a command and all the voices fall silent. John nudges Hyena to follow his lead and the two sneak closer to find out what's going on.

As they advance on the group they realize that it's more of the Kogas. The cannibals are having a meeting.

Kurojaki's eye socket has stopped bleeding and instead has collapsed in on itself, the tattered lids laying concave in his skull. He's sitting atop a boulder looking down at his cult as he gently strokes the babyhawk atop his infant heir's head.

As his son mouths absentmindedly at his father's paws, Kurojaki informs his people that now is the time to strike. They've killed several of the remaining Igas and they still have enough people to take on both the ninjas and any allies they bring with them. It's time to take the Iga homestead as their own and secure a glorious future for their breed. And as an added bonus, he thinks to himself, we can fuck up that guy who took my eye.

Hyena and John take a moment to spy on the hoard from afar. Hyena points out the big guy on the rock as Kurojaki, and it's clear as day that he's the leader of this band of hoodlums. John nods and, having learned nothing from his previous ass whooping at the hands of a pack leader, puffs out his chest and readies himself to attack.

John says he's gonna tear the whole lot to smitherines and singlehandedly lower the cannibal population in the area to 0%. Hyena tries to convince him that attacking a warlord in front of his entire legion of followers is a bad idea, but John's ego demands stroking. He's already taken off in a sprint.

The shepherd tears through several of the Kogas before they even realize what's happening. He rips the throat out of one particularly unfortunate bystander who proceeds to tumble to the ground. The miserable cur seizes wildly as he dies.

Everyone is caught so off guard by this development that they don't stop John when he walks up to the bottom of Kurojaki's perch and tells the merle cyclops that his reign of terror is over. Kurojaki has literally no idea what the fuck is going on, but he rolls with the punches and tells John that he'll be crushed like a bug before the group departs on their actual mission. Before any crushing can commence, a rumbling can be heard coming closer.

It's (predictably) the Iga and Ohu dogs. The Kogas have an Oh Shit moment before scrambling into battle position. They're a little wary of the fight given there's an absolute shittonne of dogs running towards them, but Kurojaki tells them not to be a buncha bedwetting babies and fight anyway. He passes his literal bedwetter baby son off to the boy's mother so he can join the brawl. John just shrugs and goes to attack the guy nearest to him.

As army meets army, the blood begins to flow. Despite how much larger the Ohu pack is, it's really anyone's game, for the cannibals' desperation to keep their cause alive pushes them forward. Still, the Ohu dogs are holding their own. Even Ben is managing to fight off his enemies. Unfortunately for Smith, the dane's poor vision throws a spanner in the works, and the Spaniel gets a couple of chomps on the ass. Don't worry about it, Ben, he's young. He'll heal.

As the battle grows more and more out of control, Kurojaki slinks past his men and into the woods in the hopes of baiting one particular target into following him. To his delight, that target falls into his trap; Gin notices him leaving and gives chase.

Gin's too caught up in the task at hand to notice Kurojaki's leading him on purpose, but lucky for him Kurojaki is too caught up in his own plan to notice he himself is being ambushed. Akame saw Gin following the cultist, and he's bolted out of the woods to save Gin's silver hide.

Akame smacks Kurojaki face first into the dirt and is about to give him an atomic noogie when Gin's all like WAIT. Gin lets the cat out of the bag and tells Akame he knows that Ben wants to scootch Gin up the platoon's pecking order. Gin wants to use this chance to wipe the forest floor with Kurojaki to prove that Ben's right to think that.

Akame is a touch offended that Gin's a filthy eavesdropper, but he understands his motivation. He just sorta shrugs and lets Gin face off with the warlord. Gin puts up his doggy dukes and gets the ball rolling with some fighting words.

Meanwhile, everyone else is fighting a Koga of their own and they're doing a good job of it. Even Hyena is making an honest, if hopeless, attempt at mauling one of the smaller guys. He's failing miserably when he's aided by Smith, who follows up his generously saving Hyena's life by mocking him for being a wussypants and asking him why he hasn't fucked off yet.

Hyena wants Smith and the others to appeal the No Hyenas Allowed rule of their club because he's decided to be a good guy now. Smith isn't sure if he believes him, but whatever, the traitor can serve as a canine shield if nothing else. The two continue snapping at their enemies.

As the fight rages on, John makes his presence known to the platoon by leaping beside a bloodied Ben. John manages to choke out a sincere word of praise for the other dogs' fighting abilities before more graciously humbling himself to Ben by proclaiming he's ready to fall in line with his commander's orders. Ben's newly-beshitted eyes are having a hard time recognizing John, but he'd know that stuck-up, twatty voice anywhere. He instantly welcomes the shepherd back into the fold.

Gin and Kurojaki are standing off in earnest now, but they're still not really getting anywhere. They're surprisingly well matched, Gin always managing to strike and Kurojaki always managing to either dodge or deflect. They've only faced off for a few minutes more when the rumble of a bazillion dog feet advances towards them.

The Ohu and Iga dogs have managed to subdue the Kogas and now they're bumbling towards the fighters. To make matters more dramatic, a storm has been brewing. As if called in as reinforcements a bolt of lightening strikes a nearby tree and catches it on fire. With a terrified, "Shit!" Kurojaki turns tail and runs, a frustrated Gin following behind.

But before Kurojaki can run very far, someone calls down to him from above. He breaks stride and looks up. It's Wilson, finally appearing onscreen again for the first time in a while. His long, white muzzle is rippled in a snarl, and he calls Kurojaki a gutless coward for abandoning his men. And it's not just his men he's abandoned. Has he really forgotten about...

...his own son? Wilson suddenly lifts a small, mottled bundle of fur into view. It's Kurojaki's infant child, and he's crying with fright. Though Kurojaki cannot see it, Maya's body is lying beside Wilson as well, her neck broken and twisted at an ugly angle.

Gin freezes and looks on in horror, as do the other soldiers who come to a stop beside him. Everyone wants to stop this but they're too stunned to speak. The sky rumbles as if angry, lightening flashing and illuminating Wilson's spiteful white face.

"T-tesshin!" Kurojaki cries in recognition. "My boy! What are you doing with my boy?!"

"Can a fucking demon like you truly feel love for a child?" Wilson wonders aloud. "You certainly didn't show any mercy towards mine. You've never understood the horror of what you did, but now you will. I'll make you see. I'll make you pay."

Wilson begins to shake Tesshin back and forth by his tiny grey scruff. A sickening chorus of wails and squeals comes from the baby. The other soldiers are appaled by Wilson's vengeance, as is a now very desperate Kurojaki. The Koga master begins climbing uphill after Wilson, his paws splayed far out in front of him as if trying to grasp for his son.

"Stop!" Kurojaki wails desperately. "Please, please stop!"

For the first (and last) time ever both the Ohu and Iga soldiers are in agreement with Kurojaki. They also call out for Wilson to put the child down. Gin feels helpless to stop this injustice. It's cut him to the quick more then any adult dog's endangerment has yet to. Ben tries to reason with Wilson to stop, but he's distracted by Cross. She's quaking with some overpowering emotion that's not exactly anger and not exactly fear.

Kurojaki nears the hilltop as Wilson's swinging quickens and he jostles Tesshin around like a ragdoll. The Koga leaps with an enraged roar at the Collie when suddenly the two of them are joined by Cross. Before any of them can acknowledge her, Kurojaki collides with Wilson without thinking to stop and sends both the collie and his son tumbling off the hill's edge.

Kuroj screams in horror as he sees both Wilson and the baby descend into the dark gorge below, and the army dogs join his yelling as Cross mounts the hill and descends down into the dark behind them.

The wind blows mournfully as Kurojaki stands mouth agape on the hill, staring into the black pit with his remaining eye. So busy was he with his child that he has only now noticed his wife's bloody corpse sprawled beside him. His eye fills with tears.

But the tears evaporate quickly as he's taken by an overpowering fury. He turns to the stunned soliders and swears at them, damns each and every one of them for bringing his wife and child into this. He will singlehandedly kill them all.

In a (half) blind rage, Kurojaki flings himself headlong into the gaping crowd. First he tears into the massive Moss. Then he slashes Akatora up the shoulder, gives John a concussion, brings Ben to his knees, bam, bam, bam.

So powerful is his rage that one would think he's about to make good on his promise of Ohu decimation, and for the first time the soldiers and their newfound allies start backing away from their foe. All except Gin, ofc, whose protagonist moral code is preventing him from faltering.

Kurojaki's all too willing to beat Gin's ass for causing just about every bad thing in his life lately, so he runs at Gin with reckless abandon. Both he and the Akita leap at each other. A shooting star's comet trail follows Gin's arch in the sky.

The symbolism of it is enough to trigger a convenient, empowering flashback in Gin's mind of his maybe-probably-mostly-confirmed-not-dead father defending baby Gin from Akakabuto. He remembers Riki's signature bear-hunting move, a hard bite to the top of the animal's muzzle. Thinking fast, Gin performs this move on the murderous merle mongrel flying towards him.

This catches Kurojaki by surprise just long enough for Gin to rabbit kick the shinobi bastard into the dirt, bloodying both it and his foe's face in the process. Gin lands back on Earth with an equally small amount of grace by spraining every ankle he's got upon landing. He plops down onto his stomach and quivers as his muscles relax, and Kurojaki has been knocked down hard enough that he's not yet making an effort to get up.

The other dogs run forward, panting congrats to Gin for being so awesome and stuff before they move to descend on their enemy.

John makes himself known to Gin a second later when he's like whoa hold up everyone lmao chill, this is Gin's battle and he should be allowed to finish the dude off himself. Gin's just now realized John's returned, but before he can say HUH WHAT John tells him to handle business before he's offered an explanation. Already feeling a bit overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, Gin turns at a familiar female voice telling everyone to hold their horses.

It's Cross! She's holding a fussy but living Tesshin in her jaws. Beside her is a battered, humiliated looking Wilson. The Collie sways unsurely, totally unwilling to hold anyone's gaze.

While Wilson wallows in his post-attempted infanticide guilt, Cross sets the child down. Kurojaki is a total sack of shit, she says, but he's still this little guy's dad and only remaining parent. This decision can't be made lightly because it will always come back around to affect the kid.

Gin takes this as a chance to stall on his decision and runs over to Cross, overjoyed to see she's still alive. Cross, looking even more tired then you'd expect, gives him a coy wink. She's told him before she has a soft spot for kids, yeah? After all, she's always believed they have the potential to be better then their parents. As she says this she allows Tesshin to toddle up to his daddy and lick his bloody nose.

But it's still ultimately up to Gin whether or not Kurojaki lives or dies. The decision weighs heavily on the kid. Yeah, Kuro is a violent murderer, a cult leader, an advocate of genocide, and an all around assclown, but watching Tesshin lick his deadly dad's face with unconditional affection awakens something in Gin.

He can't shake the memories of his own puppyhood. He was taken too early from his mother and only ever got to be held by his father once before he was forever stripped of the chance to have a peaceful childhood. He's steadfast in his decision to be with these soldiers, but can he truly say he's comfortable subjecting another child to the loss of their innocence?

"Kurojaki," Gin starts. The cannibal king meets Gin's gaze with his single eye. "Get out of here. Take your people with you. Don't ever come back."

Kurojaki understands this is the only chance he's got to leave, so he picks his sorry ass up and leaps with a noticable decrease in elegance into the trees. All he leaves behind him is a puddle of nose blood... and his infant son. Tesshin simply sits beside his papa's nose goo and yips pitifully, too small to understand he's been ditched but having enough cognition to know neither mommy or daddy are with him and he's frightened.

"Miserable piece of shit didn't want the kid as bad as we though," Kurotora grumbles.

The others in the crowd can't help but agree. Some of them believe it's time to kill Kurojaki after all, but Gin tells them to lay off. This whole debacle has been a real fuck of a shit and more unnecessary casualties are only going to make things worse. So long as Kurojaki actually fucks off once and for all, that's all that needs to happen.

A new discussion begins about what's to be done with the baby when the Kai Bros finally take notice of Hyena. Akame thoughtfully dashes off elsewhere as the tiger-striped trio start telling the grey-haired square to get the hell outta here. John breaks up the bloodthirsty posse by explaining that Hyena's lowkey alright actually. John's elaboration on his experience in these woods and his opinion about the Weimaraner doesn't mean much to the Kais given they've never met him before, but Gin helpfully explains that John's an old friend of his who's come to join their ranks.

He gives John a warm, appreciative smile. For a moment he looks very much like the boss smiling proudly at all his troops. John's brow is furrowed as per ush, but he can't help but smile softly back.

But John quickly wipes the smile off his face and gets back to business. Yeah, sorry about leaving the pack initially and all, but he had a bit of self discovery to do. Ya see, John went and battled with the boss. Surprised at his insolence, he's now got the attention of everybody there.

Anyway, John tried to beat the leader into submission, but he failed spectacularly and for the first time he can remember. The experience taught him something he's still too proud to state clearly, but the important thing is that it motivated him to come back. Oh, btw, the big guy himself has a message to share, generously saving the audience from further elaboration on events they've seen take place:

Akakabuto's stronghold is expanding further, and, though on a forgivingly smaller scale then the Ohu dogs, he is also attempting to grow an army of followers. The sonuvabitch may be a horrifying monster, but he ain't fuckin' stupid. He is aware that a massive hoard of dogs are coming to get him, so he's setting up counter measures to stay one step ahead of them. The troops have to hurry and expand their numbers fast, for the battle is rapidly approaching. It's only a matter of time before Akakabuto and his bears begin overtaking human settlements.

This is all well and good, like thanks for the update and all, but everyone becomes distracted by the unmistakable smell of shit burnin' down. Cross is the first to notice the orange-gold light and incredible heat illuminating the woods beyond. The dogs rush over to see what exactly is happening.

It's the Iga manor. The ancient house is quickly going up in flames, much to everyone's surprise. Even more Nani? inducing is the culprit of the mansion toasting himself, Akame.

The Kishu is standing unwavering in front of the burning building. He's grasping a burning tree branch in his mouth, no doubt having gotten it from the tree that had previously been smoldering. The night sky is alight with storm and flame alike as Akame's children run up to him and ask him what the fuck he's done.

Turns out Akame's just tired of the bullshit. He's tired of constantly having to hold off the violent cannibals they have as neighbors. He's tired of living separate from those who could serve as close allies and true friends. He's tired of leading his sons and daughters into battles they cannot win.

Fuck the house, Akame's turning a new leaf. From now on he'll be dedicating his power to the Ohu army's cause and he encourages the remaining Igas to come with. At least then their ability to whoop ass will be useful beyond gang wars.

"Akame!" a ragged voice hollers from somewhere in the woods. "You little coward!"

Everyone looks. It's Kurojaki, his mottled fur caked in dry blood, his single eye bulging. He runs over to the Igas but he doesn't make as if to attack them. Instead, he just keeps yelling, his thoughts spilling like vomit from his mouth.

Akame just HAS to be this extra, doesn't he? First Kurojaki loses his wife. Then his own child is used to humiliate him. And now Akame is burning down the one solace he had left, swiftly destroying his life's mission of overtaking the manor. With one last gibbered out swear Kurojaki leaps into the burning house.

The smell of roasted kindling is quickly laced with, then overpowered by, the stench of burning hair and melting flesh. Kurojaki screams bloody murder as the flames engulf him. Gin gazes into the abyss of Kurojaki's one eye before it pops, bubbles, and oozes down his cheek, its gooey remains soon joined by his eyebrows and the last fringes of his white mohawk. Despite his agony the mongrel makes no effort to escape the flames, instead collapsing without struggle on the immolated wooden floor.

If this whole sight wasn't fucked enough, a whole chorus of desperate cries also approach the house. It's several of the remaining Kogas all hollering out to their leader. Loyalty may be a virtue, but the outpouring of devotion from the cult leads each and every one of the mohawked dogs to leap into the flames alongside their master.

Upon realizing the hoard won't stop making like they're campfire marshmallows, Gin tries to stop them. He's just shoved out of the way. The only Koga who neither leaps into the flames or runs away is baby Tesshin. Instead the child begins nestling into, oddly enough, Wilson's ankle as he watches his family burn to death.

Akame squints into the flames as the Kogas' agonized screams fade away. The cloudy night sky finally starts drip dropping rain down on the scene and working quickly to extinguish the house. Once the flames have subsided everyone gathers to stare into the wreckage.

Gin takes the first step into the charred remains of the manor. The blackened, crumbling corpses of so many canines litter the floor. Gin hasn't felt like crying this much since his first beating from Gohei, but something physically holds him back. He lip trembles as he looks from the bodies to Akame.

Despite everything the shithead put him through, Akame, with poise unmatched by anyone on Earth, respectfully wishes that Kurojaki and his people could have dedicated themselves to a cause that wasn't so heinous. He also wishes that they may now rest in peace. Many years of anguish and war have lead up to this point, but if nothing else it served to prove that Kurojaki had a lotta resolve.

Now that nobody's gonna come in the middle of the night and kill them dead the group allows themselves to settle in and get some shut eye. Everyone is curling up beside each other when Wilson awkwardly walks up to the hoard. Tiny little Tesshin follows behind him.

Wilson seems especially interested in speaking with Gin, who is nestled in between Ben and Cross. While the Collie coyly bows respectfully to Gin, Tesshin recognizes Cross and runs to her so he can tug on her ears.

Wilson apologizes for the whole almost-committing-infantacide thing. He's deeply ashamed of how low he stooped to strike back against his Kurojaki. Now that he's gotten to see him die in literally the most painful way possible, Wilson hasn't got any ill will towards any Kogas anymore, least of all the only truly innocent one. He accepts that what he did was super shitty even if he'd been blinded by immense grief. He wants to do right and contribute to something that matters, so he'd like to know if everyone - Ben, Cross, Gin - would allow him to stay with the pack.

Nobody responds for a moment, though Gin makes as if he wants to say something. Instead the first to speak is Cross. She tells Wilson that despite the immorality of his behavior she understands his pain. She takes a deep breath and places her paw over Ben's, which seems to have signaled him to lean soothingly against her. Cross begins explaining to Wilson - and Gin, just cause he's there - what her life was like before she joined the Ohu army.

Cross was, as most of the folks here were, a hunting dog. She met Akakabuto once or twice out in the wild, but it took her a while to stand off against him in earnest. Before then she had been bred to another Saluki (Ben politely doesn't say anything to this) and had a litter of puppies. She was blessed with the chance to raise and live with her children into their early adult years, but this is Ginga so her backstory wouldn't have been brought up if it'd stayed idyllic forever.

Her master brought her and her 2 year old children along on a hunt one day when the group was met with the pants-shittingly horrifying sight that is Akakabuto. The bear struck one of Cross's sons across the face, snapping his neck and killing him instantly. Cross and her other children tried to defend themselves and their owner, but one by one her kids were brutally murdered.

The only reason Cross herself survived was because when Akakabuto struck her across the back - the thing that left the scars she bears to this day - she took a fall so hard that she couldn't get up and he believed her to be dead.

All throughout this battle Cross and her kids had been looking desperately to their master for help, but he never given it. While they'd tried to defend the man with their lives, he had been running away and leaving them for dead.

Akakabuto eventually grew bored of the dead dogs and left them behind. When she felt some degree of safe, Cross had crawled over to each of her children's corpses and wept into them.

For a while Cross had nothing much to live for. She didn't care about her owner anymore - in fact, she hated just about the whole of humanity at this point sans one human child who had once fed her while she was wandering aimlessly - and her children were all dead. The only thing that kept her going was her hatred for Akakabuto, her burning desire to see him pay for what he'd done to her.

But she had never been a stray before, and despite her strength it was hard to make ends meet. She barely ate enough to fill a cavity most days and she was quickly growing weak, emaciated, and depressed. She'd felt like giving up.

It was around this point when a red and white Akita Inu had found her. At first she had been afraid of him given he was a wild-looking, battlescarred character with an unreadable face, but he'd shown her a kindness she hadn't felt for a long time. He'd lead her back to his pack, an impressively large collective of other former hunting dogs, and told them that she was their guest. They were to treat her with kindness and feed her back to health before letting her go.

The soldiers were mostly nice to her, if a bit awkward regarding her emotional state. Most of them were dudes and the chicks in the bunch were more about biting and killing then offering any TLC. There was one dog who was especially kind to her, though. His name was Ben (Ben smiles and twitches his ears at the mention of his name), and he was an extremely noble, involved dog who lead the first platoon. She and him instantly clicked, and so they became fast friends.

Cross quickly regained her lost weight and, with Ben's help, regained her lost muscle mass... and then some! So grateful was she for both Ben's kindness and the boss's generosity that she insisted she stay with the pack. She humbly requested membership to the first platoon, promising that she could keep up with the others. She even offered to train under Ben's supervision if need be.

The leader had smiled at her and responded with a gentle nod and a twinkle in his eye. The rest, as they say, is history.

So engrossed in Cross's story was Gin that he'd barely noticed when Wilson laid down beside them. He also didn't really notice when Ben told Wilson that he was welcome so long as he used violence as a means of achieving peace, not as a means of releasing his anger. Nor did he notice when Tesshin wobbled over to Moss and his son and was happily invited to spend the night tucked between the pudgy Mastiff's enormous paws.

But he does notice when Cross winks at him and tucks herself tightly against her doghusband, and he takes this as a sign that storytime is over.

Gin settles in beside his friends to sleep, now better understanding the depth of their devotion. As he dozes he imagines Riki (or, at least, the dog who looks a shittonne like Riki) offering shelter to a boney Cross, training up gentle giant Ben, and lovingly smiling down from his perch at his ever-growing pack.

He imagines the Riki Dog smiling down at him, too, and reaching out a paw to him. Before he can imagine himself touching paws with the boss he fades into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At the buttcrack of dawn the troops head out. They're now joined by John, Wilson, the remaining Igas, and even Kurojaki's little son (who Moss has begun happily carrying around in between the folds on his back). The mission to find more soldiers continues on, and all the dogs begin the journey southward to scope out more canine meatheads for their cause.

Bust out the water wings, folks, because the troops are headed to the seaside. Gin's never seen the ocean before, so he's super weirded out by so much water in one place. John considerably refrains from mocking him for not knowing what the sea is and explains that crossing the ocean is necessary to reach different countries. Given that John once lived in some mysterious land called Your Up, Gin takes his word for it.

The gang boards an abandoned ship half submerged in the ocean. Gin takes a chance to gaze over the edge and into the water below. His eyes sparkle with curiosity as the waves wash to and fro before the boat.

His gaze follow the waves as they go out and out and out further and further away, the expanse of water stretching out miles ahead. Also miles ahead is a mass of land that looks no larger then a grain of rice. Gin excitedly calls out that he's found a foreign country.

Wilson politely tells Gin that he's got a good eye, but that's not a foreign country. It's just Shikoku. Ole Willy used to travel there frequently during his circus days, and it's also where he met nomadic Mortal Enemy #2.

Before Wilson has a chance to elaborate, Ben interrupts. He closes his foggy eyes and takes in the sounds of the waves before saying that yeah, Shikoku's pretty lit. Lotsa bodybuilder types over there, dogs specifically bred and raised for battle. This fills Gin with the sort of glee that'd seem excessive in a hyperactive schoolgirl. Gin begs the dane to let him go on a field trip to Battle Dog Island.

Everything is a blurry mass of God-knows-what in Ben's eyes, but even he can tell Shikoku is a long ways away. He asks how exactly Gin plans on getting there, to which Gin responds with, "Swimming, of course." This is foolish, obviously, as doggy paddling that far through these waters would be impossible. Ben kindly but firmly tells Gin that he'll be just as much help in gathering troops here.

Ben turns with a degree of finality back into the captain's quarters, his face turning redder then normal as he bonks his muzzle into the doorframe. Despite his upset at being denied permission to abandon ship Gin follows after him in concern when Wilson calls him back.

He tells Gin that he's sorry the kid can't come, but Ben knows best. Gin disagrees - he HAS to go. It's his duty to take Ben's place on the trip, for the newly disabled dog won't make it very far in these conditions.

Several of the dogs seem confused about what this means before Gin passes around volume 3 of the manga and catches them up to speed on how Ben's poisoning has started sapping away his sight. As some of them "ohhhhhhhh" in realization, Smith chimes in with a haven't you people ever heard of not leaving the commander of a platoon behind.

John insists that Gin's a tough cookie, perfect to take Ben's place. So long as he has his immaculate bestie beside him, ofc. He'll be going with Gin, too. Not wanting to be left out, Smith also insists on going. So do the Kai Bros. So does Wilson.

Cross looks as if she wants to say something, but she restrains herself. Gin notices and asks her if she'd like to Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake. She unconvincingly says she'd love to but she can't leave Ben alone in his condition. It's pretty obvious she's keeping something from everyone, but before they can pry she trots off to join Ben in his quarters.

Smith mutters about how he thinks Cross has been looking a little differently lately but he can't quite put his paw on how. Gin doesn't say anything. Instead he just watches her leave.

Nighttime comes right on schedule. The Ohu dogs are sprawled across the poopdeck, pooped from their travels. Most of them are asleep, but some are only pretending to snooze.

Gin is one of those fakers. He slowly and quietly gathers the other pretenders to join him towards the front of the ship. He has a moment of hesitation before leaping into the water when he sees how aggressive the waves are tonight, but he tries not to show any doubt. This has to be done.

Just before he's about to go, the ever-so-gentle scrapping of claws on wood directs his attention behind him. The gathered gang looks back and sees the Igas are also awake and eager to join them.

Akame feels it's his responsibility to lighten Ben's load in this regard. He'll be leaving the near-sighted dog in the care of Papa Moss. Besides, God only knows what the dogs in Shikoku are like, so why not bring a ninja along just in case? Finally satisfied with the group's size, everyone gathers their courage and jumps into the ocean.

Huge black and blue waves toss the dogs around as they struggle to stay afloat. Smith hesitates at the boat's edge upon realizing what sorta Jackass stunt they're pulling here, but he can't back out now. He gives a loud squeak as he cannonballs into the water.

John's rolling his eyes and mocking Smith's masculinity from the boat when he realizes that he can see a pair of eyes glimmer from nearby. Someone is awake and moving towards them! "Oh shit," John manages as he leaps gracefully in after the others.

Turns out that the nosy parker was just Cross. Upon seeing everyone abandon ship she comes trotting, then running, to the deck's edge. She can just make out the shining wet fur of the dogs in the ocean. She hopes aloud that they'll make it.

A confused, groggy voice from behind her catches her attention. She turns to see that Ben has woken up. Moss is trailing behind, a still snoozing Tesshin draped across his broad forehead. Ben asks Cross what she's doing awake. All is still. The silence speaks volumes, and Ben realizes that Gin has taken off in one of his hare-brained schemes again. Cross is about to defend the kid's decision when Ben sorta just shrugs and sighs.

Ben figures that when someone like Gin gets an idea in his head, he won't abandon it. He'll either learn his lesson the hard way or live to do them all a great service, and Gin's proven time and time again he's not likely to up and die on them. Besides, the dane admits, he kinda wanted to ask Gin to ride (swim?) shotgun anyway, but he couldn't justify asking the youngest troop to do it. Though Ben can't see the dogs swim away he still looks out towards the sea.

The dogs swim for a longass time, paddling in their namesakeway as the waves threaten to toss them into space. Shikoku both is and isn't as far away as they imagined, and this eats away at their patience while they grow more and more tired. Gin is capable of leading the charge given his childhood waterboardings but he's also losing steam.

The only thing keeping him moving is the sliver of moonlight above. When the partial moon is intercepted by the clouds, the shape it forms bears resemblance to Riki's silhouette atop his Throne Hill. Gin can't let the big man down.

After a while the dogs come across a reprieve from their struggle: a tiny island, little more then a small hunk of muddy, sandy land sticking up out the water. Shikoku isn't much further now, but the whole lot is swung out. There's just enough room on the puny isle to allow everyone refuge for the night.

The dogs all adorably snuggle up beside each other to keep warm against the cold ocean winds. As Gin rests his head across John's shoulders he takes one last peek at the moon. The Riki Clouds have vanished. He just sighs and closes his eyes.

Night turns to day and things are getting interesting in Shikoku. A nationwide dog fighting tournament is in full swing, making everyone reading this instantly a little less comfortable. In this particular fight, two Tosa dogs named Niouryu ("Nio dragon") and Musashi ("master warrior") are duking it out to a screaming crowd of weirdos who like watching dogs sumo wrestle.

Musashi's gotten the drop on Niouryu and is clearly winning via attempted strangulation. For the sake of saving Niouryu's life and so as I never have to write that name again, the fight is broken up and Musashi is declared winner.

This is very exciting news for the Musashi fans in the crowd because it means that the dude has won the Dog Wrastling championship for the 2nd year in a row. True, he's working his way up from middleweight to heavyweight, but this ain't no small potatoes. Musashi's unmatched prowess is celebrated as he is donned in traditional championship garb. The dog proudly holds his scarred head high as he gazes wistfully into the distance. His nose twitches as he detects something strange on the wind.

Musashi's trainer takes him back to his kennel alongside several other competitors. All of the dogs, Mushie Boy included, begin barking, seemingly alerted to something nearby. Musashi's trainer doesn't know what to make of this so he leaves the kennel to go snooping around in the hopes of finding the source of the dogs' intruige.

Unseen to all but the fighters' noses, the Ohu dogs reveal that they've made it to Shikoku by posing mysteriously atop the high stone wall surrounding the kennels. Gin gazes down at Musashi. They GOTTA get this guy to join the army.

The Ohu dogs climb down from the wall and disappear into the nearby woods until the sun begins to set and all the humans are gone. The kennel dogs have just settled in when the same smell from before recaptures their interest. Musashi growls but refrains from barking when he sees three synchronized silhouettes approach his cage.

"Who is it? Who's there?" Musashi says with all the confidence of a lion who's punched God to death.

The shadows whisper in low voices that that's not important right now. What is important is that Musashi agrees to come with.

Musashi doesn't feel like missing bedtime so he tells them to fuck off. One of the silhouettes, the one missing an ear, tells him that if he doesn't willingly join their canine convoy they're gonna force him to. Musashi demonstrates that this is an incredibly stupid thing to say to a fighting champion in a way that surprises the trio. He knows how to open his kennel and he's feeling cranky. He grabs the one eared dog as the stripey group tries to scatter.

Luckily for the Kai Kens the other kennel dogs are barking up a storm, all jerring and yelling FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT. This noise would serve only as an irritant if it didn't cause someone, a human, to call out in confusion. A light inside a nearby building turns on.

Moments later the circular beam of a flashlight can be seen from the other side of the yard. Musashi has an Oh Shit moment and releases the dog he's holding. He tells the three that he's impressed by their ballsiness, but if they wanna live to see another day they need to pound pavement.

The dogs seem less afraid of Musashi's threats then they do of the man with the light. As the man calls out to the dogs the three brindles scramble out of the yard, each making a beeline for the treeline. Once he's certain they've left, Musashi meekly sits down and waits for his master to come find him. The man joins him within a moment and scoffs, scolds Musashi for breaking out again, and finally leads the dog back to his kennel.

The Kai Bros (btw it was so obviously the Kai Bros who came aknocking on Musashi's door) start heading back into the forest, kicking pebbles in their path and muttering about how it sucks ass that they didn't successfully kidnap someone to fight a war with them. As Chutora and Kurotora begin detailing just how much ass the situation sucks, Akatora tells them to shut their yapholes and hide. Someone - a LOT of someones, it smells like - are following them. The brothers dive into the bushes.

An asstonne of quadrapedal silhouettes dot the hills nearby. The strangers smell unfamiliar and are poised as if they mean business so Akatora tells everyone to head back to Gin. His littermates start whining about how running away isn't very cash money of them but Akatora nips them on the backsides to move them along. By this point he wouldn't have needed to put tooth to butt. The pack has descended from their vantage point and is headed straight for them.

The trio takes off in a gallop as tens of angry looking dogs, all barking and yelling for the intruders to stop, give chase. Kurotora's got a terrible Napoleon complex going on so he gives up running and instead tries to fight some of the dogs away. This backfires phenominally badly because the pack swiftly overpowers him, then overpowers his bros when they come running to his defense. Manly, agonized screams ring out in the night.

Somewhere insultingly close by Gin and his coterie have noticed the commotion. John proposes that sending the most overzealous and tactless of them to convince a champion fighter to leave his home wasn't a great decision. Though Gin realizes he fucked up by doing this, he's too proud to show the embarassment he feels for his idea. Instead he just tells everyone they oughta go see what the screaming's for so as to make sure they're not down three soldiers.

The troops head deeper into the forest, each keeping their eyes peeled and ears open to see if they can find the disappeared brothers. The Igas try to contribute to the search by leaping through the trees and ahead of the pack. The thick smell of an unfamiliar group lingers in the air, but no one can be seen.

No, wait, there is someone there. A sliver of moon shine casts a dim spotlight over a muscular dog carrying something red and black and striped all over. It's Musashi! He's got a concerned look on his face and a busted up Akatora stretched across his back.

"I'm guessing the Kai brothers didn't convince you to come peacefully?" Smith asks, the urge to alleviate the situational tension clouding his manners.

Musashi shrugs and allows Akatora to slip from his shoulders and onto the ground. Gin quickly looks over the Kai Ken as John snaps at Musashi for doing this to their friend. Musashi's eyes grow wide and spiteful. He tells the dogs to lay off for chrissakes. Believe it or don't, he's here to help. Akatora agrees in a choked voice; Musashi rescued him when he was too injured to save his brothers.

Gin asks Musashi to explain what the shit's happening so the Fite Club veteran lays it all out. The triplets were attacked by a pack that lives in these here parts, a pack that's lead by a dastardly bastard whos exploits encourage gossip even among the most seasoned of fighting dogs. This aforementioned bastard goes by Bandit Bill, and he's a notoriously brutal brown doberman who lives in an abandoned Buddhist shrine. He's a territorial sort and was probably upset that a buncha insolent strays came piddlefarting around his domain.

Before Musashi goes on about Billy the Kid he gives a broken smile and says he'd gone to follow the obnoxious brothers upon realizing that they might have ties to the giant army of dogs that's been growing and moving across Japan. Gin gapes, somehowhaving been oblivious to how a nomadic collective of dedicated troops might catch the populace's attention.

Musashi states that he's glad the army seems real because it means he can be flattered at how they've come to recruit him. Bee tee dubbya, he's totally down to join them. He's been a fighting dog long enough for it to get dull. The old man is ready to live out the rest of his life as one big adventure.

A second later a white dog drops down from the trees. It's Akame here to say that he and the other fair furred folk have managed to locate Chutora and Kurotora. The good news is that they're still alive. The bad news is that they're in front of a weird, ancient looking monument swarming with buff-looking dogs. Musashi confirms that that's Bill's pad, though he doesn't understand why Bill would keep trespassers around instead of just killing them.

Gin immediately announces a rescue mission. Musashi tells everyone to hold their horses. He's gonna go home and bring back his posse to help sort this out. Bill isn't a bloodthirsty idiot - standing in front of him isn't a death sentence - but he needs to know these guys have backup. It'd also be easier for locals to get information outta him as opposed to new guys from across the sea. Better to talk then fight, yeah?

Musashi departs while warning the troops that it'll be a hot minute before he busts open all the kennels at home, but he swears he'll be back by morning. Given there's not much they can do til Musashi gets back, the dogs set up camp for the night. The night seemingly passes without incident, and the crowing of a rooster can be heard as the sun rises.

Wait, did I say rooster? Oopsie! I meant Smith starts shrieking to the other soldiers that OH SHIT, GIN IS MISSING. John wakes with a start at his friend's name, and as soon as he's truly concious there's no doubt in his mind as to where Gin is.

Predictably Gin has run off to solve this problem by himself. Only this time he has a moment of self reflection. He realizes aloud that he very often ends up helping, yes, but he also has the habit of tying situations in big, complicated knots by making decisions on the fly... just like he's doing right now.

And yet he can't say he feels remorse for it. He doesn't have the time to. He needs to save his friends. He needs to prove himself to Ben. He needs to do this to protect the village, the people, his family, his Daisuke.

The ancient monument, Bill's Bandit Bed-n-Breakfast, is lookin' pretty eerie in the shady woods. The only thing that makes the dark, imposing forest more intimidating is the two dog heads sticking out of the dirt smack dab in the middle of the monument's front yard. It's Chutora and Kurotora, and both are exhausted from struggling to escape their halfassed graves. A deep, slimy voice cackles triumphantly as something lithe, black, and endlessly shitty exits the building.

It's General Sniper! The bastard merrily licks his lips as he watches the Kais struggle to free themselves from the Earth's unwelcome hug. Mr. S is just about to go on about how great he is or some shit when a dog from Bill's pack, one who had totalled the Kai Bros, runs into view and tells him there's an issue. They have a visitor, someone none of Bill's crew has ever seen before. Sniper runs to the arch out front.

Gin's parked his little silver ass just in front of the arch and is refusing to explain to any of Bill's soldiers why he's here until he has council with Billiam The Bad Guy himself.

"I am a representative of the leader of Ohu," he says in the deepest voice he can muster, "and I shall tell you no more. Please allow me to speak to your boss."

"Oh, no, I don't think that's going to happen," Sniper says snidely.

Gin is surprised to see the hoodlum here, but Sniper doesn't explain himself. Instead, his brow crinkles cruelly as he repeats what Gin said: so, he's here to rep for Ohu, huh? Got himself a promotion, ey? How charming.

Sniper turns to Bill's men and explains that this stupid kid's boss is a tyrant trying to take over Shikoku's prime real estate, ignoring Gin's protests and cries of What The Hell Dude. Bill's men approach Gin to tackle him, but Gin leaps past them before they can.

Gin continues to frog-hop his way onto the front lawn where he's shocked to find two of his compadres buried alive. Little Chu and Kuro, Too yell at him to get out, it's a trap! But Gin's too stubborn to listen. He ignores their pleading begins trying to dig them out instead.

While Gin is distracted, Sniper launches himself into the Akita and sends him flying. Gin quickly rights himself, his nose bleeding, and swears aloud while telling Sniper it's unsportsmanlike to strike from behind. The little German chickenshit better be ready to fight because his treason will not go unpunished.

Sniper yells a barrage of death threats at Gin as if all of Twitter is rushing through his veins when he hears one of Bill's men call for everyone to retreat. Sniper looks up and dumbly utters a confused "Huh?". The Ohu dogs have caught up to Gin, and they're here to stop this madness!

Sniper tells Bill's troops not to puss out of a fight. They've got enough dogs to rival these suckers. The troops comply and the fur starts to fly. For a moment it seems like the Ohu dogs will be able to swiftly end this battle. Unfortunately, they lose the upper hand just as swiftly.

Sniper has made his way over to Kurotora and he's got his fangs pressed up against the black brindle's jugular. He mumbles through a mouthful of dog neck that the Ohu folks must surrender to The Bill Brigade or else he'll start killing the helpless hostages. Gin blurts out for the Ohu dogs to stop fighting without a second thought. Sniper responds by telling his ex-army not to move or else the stripey guy gets it.

Bill's fighters take this as a chance to start beating the shit outta the now motionlss soldiers. Gin's eyes fill with tears of frustration and realization at the severity of the impossible situation before them. Before anyone can die, however, someone else comes in and smacks Sniper so hard he flies back a few feet.

It's another Doberman, a brown and tan one with sunken eyes. This other pinscher says in a deep, silken voice that Sniper can kindly fuck off with this sadism. Bandit Bill can handle his own intruders, thank you very much. Besides, he doesn't believe in killing for the fun of it. If Sniper wants to be his right-hand man he needs to respect the rules of Bill's domain.

Sniper half-snarls, half-whines to Bill about how all is fair in love and war. Gin tells his cliche ass to shut up because the Ohu lads aren't here to fight. They're here to ask for help.

Before any more nonsense can go down someone calls ahoy from the arch. It's Musashi! The big man has kept true to his word and has brought tens of his fighting buds with him, many more dogs then the Ohu guys knew lived in his kennel. Indeed a small army of Tosas trail behind Musashi-sama as he steps up to greet Bill.

Mushmush asks in the voice of a gossiping old biddy if Billy has heard of these guys. They're bear hunters with good intentions, ya know. Bill says that yeah, he's heard about the bear stuff, but their former general here has a different story to tell.

Gin insists Sniper is a big fat stupid ugly liar. They're not here to steal land or dominate Shikoku or whatever, they deadass just need soldiers for their cause. Musashi interjects by saying he's not one to get involved in work place drama. To him it seems the real issue is that Gin and Sniper need to settle a beef they've been fostering. Bill appreciates the sentiment (as well as any chance he gets to watch a good fight), so he agrees. Let these two handle this shit the old fashioned way: with tooth and nail.

Gin licks the tacky, drying blood from his nose and dives at Sniper so as to get this party started. Sniper catches him off guard and sends him flying into a tree's trunk. Gin starts scrambling to his feet but he's not quick enough to dodge Sniper snagging him by the scruff of the neck. John almost rushes forward to intervene when Akame restrains him and assures him that they can save Gin if it comes to it, but they'd better hang back in case they upset Bill.

Sniper wildly moves his jaw around and leaves big bloody slashes across Gin's neck, his teeth fumbling around the kid's collar. Realizing he can't tear Gin's throat out with the big leather slab in the way, Sniper has another idea. He tells everyone to watch what happens when you fuck with Mr. S as he gives Gin's neck a hard squeeze and an even harder twist. All the dogs gape in horror as they hear a bizarre, powerful snap. Sniper releases his grip on Gin's neck and the Akita tumbles to the dirt.

John swears loudly. He wastes no time in detailing how he's gonna shove Sniper's ass down his throat when a weak cough makes everyone aware that Gin is still moving. Even Sniper is surprised as the dogs watch Gin hobble to his feet.

Blood is oozing from Gin's clearly not-broken neck. Just before one can say "wait so like what happened", Gin's leather collar slips off his shoulders and hits the ground with a small thump. A white tear in the leather ring explains the strange breaking noise.

For just a second Gin is lost in the memory of when he was given the collar. It wasn't Gohei who'd bestowed it upon him. It had been Diasuke. The boy had said that it had once been worn by Gin's dad, which may or may not have just been a cover for a convenient purchase from Pet Smart. Regardless, Gin silently thanks Daisuke for giving him protection he didn't even know he had, and he thanks God himself for giving him the massive muscles he needs to tear Sniper a new one.

And tear he does, for he begins giving this asslancing all he's got. He runs rings around Sniper, leaps down upon him from the trees, and finishes off his display of hypermasculinity by swinging the Doberman from a hind leg until the pitiful would-be dictator cries out for him to stop.

Gin does indeed stop, but not without placing a humilation cherry on this assbeating sundae. He swings the pinscher into a branch of a tree. When he lets go all can see that Sniper's dangling from the branch by his spiked collar.

"Shit! Damnit!" Sniper howls, defeated. "Let me down! Someone let me down!" But nobody comes to his aid. Either they're too stunned or, like Smith, are laughing at the ridiculous sight. Bill takes Sniper's dangling very seriously, though, and he calls up to Sniper that he's ashamed to be the same breed as him. Then he turns to Musashi with a smile. He would be giving a slow, polite clap if he had hands.

Gin relishes the moment by boldly telling Sniper to never show his ugly mug again because he's the one dog alive, the one dog in the whole world, who Gin will never forgive. The youngin gives the stuck up commander one last chance to fuck off and live peacefully elsewhere. Sniper only responds with more swearing and even more desperate pleas for help.

Gin thanks Musashi for his backup. He's about to thank Bill too when the Doberman takes a step back. Oh no, he's not getting buddy-buddy with anyone yet.

Musashi looks like he's about to roll up his non-existant sleeves and convince Bill otherwise when the dobie explains: Bill would like to meet this Ohu Boss guy himself before deciding if he's gonna join anyone else's army. He's willing to go with, but no promises on whether or not he'll be killing any bears.

Gin figures this is as good as it's gonna get, so he nods and welcomes Bill into the fold. John playfully elbows Gin in the side. This is all well and good, but it's about time to get back to Ben, yeah?

Before everyone can start planning the cruise back, Musashi stops them and gives them a tip. There's an even stronger dog who lives out here, some dude who's rumored to be the strongest in the world. The Ohu troops look intrigued. Some of them excitedly ask Gin if he'd like to meet this superdog. Of course Gin's like HELL YEAH. The dogs all depart, leaving Sniper cursing and swaying from the tree.

And so all three of the packs (the Ohu soldiers, Musashi's crew, and Bill's cronies) join together and start their trek to meet the world's strongest dog. Next stop: the city of Uwajima. Gin allows Musashi to show them the way, but he can tell by how his men fall in behind him that they're really taking his lead.

Gin can't help but feel a warm sense of pride well up inside him. He hopes he can be as good a commander as Ben. He hopes he can do right by the Ohu leader.

After another day long road trip the dogs emerge panting from the forest onto a cliff overhanging a seaside city. Seemingly having remembered all the times Ben refused to speak up about his own prospective recruits, everyone quickly asks Musashi to describe the dog they're after. Musashi's less reserved then Benny is so he settles on his haunches and launches into a story for the ages.

Benizakura ("crimson cherry blossom") is his name, and dog fighting is his game. The dude is an astoundingly tall and muscular Tosa Inu mix as well as an honored veteran in the fighting world. Legend has it he was born 10 years ago in Japan's snowiest mountain region. He was born to two village mutts of unknown ancestory and for a while he was a simple housepet. That was before he turned 2, at which point his master realized there was money to be made off of him after having seen him tear a cheeky village dog he hated he limb from limb.

By the age of 3 Benizakura had effectively dominated the dog fighting championships. He'd body slamming his way through medium, then large, then heavyweight dogs one by one. He traveled all over Japan and had made his mark on history by never losing a single fight. It came as a surprise to nobody when he finally entered the running for the nation's top canine yokozuna (highest rank in sumo wrestling.)

When he'd clawed his way to the big leagues, his greatest opponent was Japan's then-current champion yokozuna. This dog was an equally imposing purebred Tosa named Tsuna Arashi ("rope storm"). Tsuna was no spring chicken - by this point he'd been about 8 or 9 years old - but he'd spent the last 6 years of his life claiming and reclaiming his championship title. Though it was apparent upon their first meeting that Tsuna respected Benizakura's perserverance, the champ had no intention of letting the younger dog take his glory.

Musashi says that this fight was one for the books which I guess makes it highly unfortunate that dogs can't read. Hell, even the wet-behind-the-biceps kids Musashi used to train would recount it with awe.

See, the two dogs' gameness had been admirably strong. They'd never once relented in their assault of each other. Not when their muscles began to quake, not when they drooling bloody spittle, not when Benizakura's ears had been torn to ribbons. Kick, bite, snarl, tear, claw, throw, strike.

Their faces wet with blood and their muscles failing, neither dog refused to give in. And because of that the match's thirty minute time limit came to an end. No decided victor could be decided between them.

Tsuna Arashi was carted away by his master and Benizakura was left in an exhausted rage. He hadn't won. He hadn't even lost. He'd gotten nothing. Nothing at all but a face full of scars and two ragged stumps where his ears used to be.

Time passed without much incident for Benizakura as he continued his training at home. He still had the respect of his peers, and the dude was as strong as ever. His ears couldn't be saved, but they could be cropped, and so his master gave him a battle crop so low his stumpy little ear nubs were almost flush with his skull.

After a few more months of training Benizakura's owner suggested a rematch against Tsuna, but the dog's owner declined. Tsuna was an old fart by now. His eyes were riddled with cataracts, he had developed diabetes, and he was ready to retire. And so Benizakura was blue balled cruelly by fate, never managing to win himself that championship from his greatest foe.

Musashi pauses for a moment before Gin asks what happened after that. Musashi continues his tale of whoopass woe by detailing that, being a dog and not having the context to these conversations, Benizakura never stopped itching for a chance to beat Tsuna Arashi for real. He'd continued his training, continued his hoping.

Three years later just before his 6th birthday, Benizakura finally felt ready to try again. When he came to realize Tsuna would never return on his own accord, Benizakura had busted out of his kennel and gone to find Tsuna himself.

Benizakura crossed water and shore and forest to find Tsuna Arashi, and eventually he did. What he found horrified him. The blind, elderly dog was locked in a pen and being chewed up and spat out piece by piece by the next generation of fighting dogs.

Tsuna Arashi had become a miserable bait animal biding his time til one of his master's newest pupils got too overzealous and handled him just a little too roughly. The sight stopped Benizakura's blood cold. It was then that he'd realized that if he stayed in the fighting game this would be his future, too.

Enraged at the injustice of it all, Benizakura leapt into Tsuna's pen and killed the other dogs, their humans looking while the beast of an animal ripped their livelihoods apart. And this is what they would call him from now on: The Beast. A fitting name given his mauled appearance and massive stature.

But Benizakura either didn't notice the humans screaming or he didn't care. Covered in blood, he'd merely leapt out of the pen just as swiftly as he'd leapt into it, this time leaving a dazed and confused Tsuna Arashi behind.

Since then Benizakura hasn't returned to his OG master. Hell, the only evidence that he may still be alive at all is the fact that Uwajima locals catch a glimpse at him now and again. The Beast has become a sort of Japanese Bigfoot. Though the muscleman lives as a cryptid nowadays, Musashi swears by his belief that The World's Strongest Dog is still alive. The hard part will be finding him.

Meanwhile, back at the ship the Ohu dogs have claimed as a temporary home base, Cross has been left in charge because both Moss and Ben have had to take off due to pressing circumstances. Cross is pretty miffed at being left behind, but Ben had just assured her that her service is appreciated and he'd be back in a jiffy.

Problem is that several jiffies end up passing by as Cross waits and she's getting tired of leading troops on simple hunting missions. These dogs can take care of themselves without someone telling them how to hold down the fort. But what about Gin?

Gin's nearing 2 years now, but he's still so young and has so little experience. Dogs don't have cell phones or group chats so there's really no way to tell how he's doing. And so Cross nudges a subordinate named Luke, a speckled pointer mix, and tells him to take care of business while she gets the scoop on the wayward pooches.

Luke seems bashful in accepting, trying to murmur out something about how Cross might not be in the best way to brave the sea, but Cross won't be having it. She says her goodbyes and then dives into the waves. The tide has settled exponentially but the ocean still does a good job at knocking her around.

While Cross is boogie boarding, Wilson and Gin are poking around the peaceful streets of Uwajima. Most of what they see is quiet, amiable people going about their business, but there is one especially loud something happening nearby. Gin says it sounds like a lotta hooplah for boring city stuff, but Wilson disagrees.

Willy had once traveled here when his circus made its rounds in Shikoku and, if memory serves correctly, bull baiting is a common sport in the region. That's probably what they're hearing now. He assures Gin it's not worth getting involved - bulls don't fight bears - but Gin ignores him and goes to see anyway.

The two make like everyone in this damn story does and stand atop a hill overlooking the bullfight. It's a big runny-aroundy event taking place inside a wooden pen surrounded by hooting, hollering humans. Several of them are cheering for someone called "Don", and in the pen with a very pissed-off bovine stands an absolute unit of a dog.

Gin's eyes widen as he examines the pooch: massive Ginga pecs, Tosa Inu mix, ears cropped almost flat against his head. It's him. It must be him. Benizakura. Wilson tries to explain that Musashi said Benizakura is more like a sasquatch then a regular sports enthusiast, but Gin just excitedly grasps at Wilson's fluffy white chest and tells him to look, look! As the two watch, the dog, presumably the aforementioned Don, uses all his chunk to snag the immature bull by the neck and flip it over using its center of gravity against it. The crowd goes fucking nuts, and too Gin is beside himself with delight. Wilson concedes that maybe, just maybe, this dog IS the strongest in the world.

Someone in the pin comes and separates Don from the bull. As he does so a young boy comes running up to grab Don by the neck and shower him with praise. The old dog seems pretty pleased with himself, holding his head high as the onlookers cheer.

Wilson's not entirely convinced this dude is Benizakura, but he does believe that the army could use this veritable canine tank in their ranks. He asks Gin how he proposes they get the Hulk Hogan of animals to come with. Gin deadass just takes off in a run.

Wilson calls out to Gin to slow his roll, but this roll ain't stoppin' anytime soon. Gin leaps over several gawking onlookers, each one alarmed and confused. Then the Akita aims right for Don while yelling, "Forgive my rudeness, Benizakura!"

The old dog falters, confused. He poses as if ready to take a blow from Gin, but no blow comes. Instead Gin pulls the canine equivilent of a pantsing and yoinks Don's collar from around his neck.

Don's boychild seems insulted that Gin dare makey his dog nakey and demands he drop it, bad dog, spit it out. Don stands growling at the Akita and Gin stands growling back in return. Gin's worried for a split second that this dude might really just be some random guy, but his fears fade when the old dog snarls through a face full of scars, "Who are you? How do you know my real name?"

Gin smiles around the collar in his mouth as he's overcome with relief. But he doesn't get more then a moment to enjoy having found the living legend because the big guy is running towards him, scolding him for his unorthidox greeting and offering him a similar one in kind. A huge white paw lashes out at Gin's face, smacks him silly, and throws him off his feet.

Wilson watches in a panic on the hill. He wishes he had either backup or a unicycle so he could fix this mess. Benizakura Confirmed lashes a paw out at Gin's face once more, only this time Gin has the foresight to brace himself against it.

The crowd seems stunned that a dog only 2/3rds "Don's" size could stop his strike. Wilson is equally surprised. So is Benizakura.

Upon remembering that they paid to be here, several people in the crowd encourage the new Little Guy to give his all against "Don" while others encourage the sumo vet to snap the youngster over his knee. But Benizakura doesn't do anything escept look intently into Gin's eyes, staring like he means to find something.

Gin smiles his soft, goofy smile once more and tells Benizakura this is what the lawbooks call a case of Pinch, Poke, You Owe Me A Coke. He only struck Benizakura once. Benizakura has struck him twice. Big Man owes him a free hit, and he'll be coming back for it later.

Benizakura seems first confused, then insulted, then confused again by Gin's forwardness. And with nothing more then a wink and a duck, Gin leaves Benizakura behind, foot raised and jaw slack.

Gin leaps back out of the pen and joins Wilson. The crowd goes nuts once again, this time because they're all wondering what the shit they just saw. Wilson and Gin quickly depart.

The Collie scolds Gin for putting so many human eyes on them. Gin says he'll explain why he did what he did later, but for now they need to let everyone know that The Beast lives. Not only that, but he'll be expecting to see Gin again.

On a familiar shoreline, a white mass of hair is lawling miserably around the sand. The fuzzy mop turns out to be a dog, and the dog turns out to be Cross. She didn't stop and take a break like the other dogs but instead swam until she'd reached Shikoku. Her unusually wide sides heave as she coughs up sea water. She tries to settles down for a second, but her ears don't follow her lead. They perk up when she hears a commotion nearby.

Her legs are killing her, but she hobbles to her feet and sways tiredly as she follows the sound of someone - no, several someones - speaking. One of the voices is high and desperate while the other two are deeper and more threatening. As Cross slinks into a hunting crouch, she sees who's doing all the yapping.

A long dog of very small stature is being encircled by two much, much larger dogs. The short king is a Dachshund. It seems like he's trying to look tough while being harassed by the two taller bullies. The big dogs are peeved that weenie boy wandered into their territory, and now they're making like they're going to eat him.

Though she's tired enough to sleep for a week straight, Cross's unyeilding sense of justice refuses to let her rest. She leaps towards one of the dogs and cracks him upside the head. She stands over the living hotdog and snarls at the two, telling them to beat it, beat it. But neither of them wants to be defeated, so they ready themselves to fight.

That is, they ready themselves to fight until realizing that Cross is a bedraggled woman. They pause to laugh at the absurdity of what they believe is some homeless chick saving a manlet from assault before Cross sinks her teeth into one's neck and begins shaking.

These dogs are little more then overgrown puppies, maybe 2 years old at most, and though they're nasty little things they're not very good in a fight. "Hey, lady, stop! Let Beth go!" says the one Cross isn't ripping holes in. The dog in her grasp, presumably Beth, begins whining and crying, obviously not used to real fights.

"Okay, okay! We'll go, we'll go! Please stop!" Beth whimpers submissvely. Cross lets him go with a loud grunt and swears at the unruly teenagers as they make a break for it.

Cross pants as she watches them go, and suddenly she's back to feeling weak. The adrenaline has all but left her system and her righteous power has been turned to a mushy lightheaded feeling. She turns to the little dog to see he's smiling gratefully at her.

He thanks her for her help, though he assures her he definitely could've handled the delinquents himself. She smiles back at him. She asks him what he's doing out here and he responds in a way that surprises her.

The Dachshund explains that he's heard about a roaming pack of dogs playing military, running their own corps and organizing men to battle a man-eating bear. He hopes to join those dogs and prove himself just as capable as any warrior, but his training hasn't been going so well.

He sighs dreamily as he imagines aloud how wicked it'd be to be one of the cool kids. All the cool kids, they seem to get it. It being fame and glory, of course.

Cross's smile grows encouragingly as she tells the little dude to keep at it, for he's bound to contribute to a good cause someday if he keeps that attitude up. He thanks her, then tells her that it's time for him to get back to training. Maybe this time he'll stick to killing squirrels instead of chasing down bigger dogs.

She asks him for his name, and he grins a broken smile. Oliver is his name, and he's pleased to make her aquaintence. After Cross shares her own name Oliver enthusiastically lets her know that if there's ever anything he can do to repay her for her good deed, all she needs to do is give a howl.

As Oliver waddles off, Cross's smile quickly fades. She's not feeling too hot. She's been put under an unusually large amount of strain lately and hasn't allowed herself a moment of rest. Something in her stomach cramps up. She's been puking a lot lately and it looks like what little she has in her gut is coming back up. She tosses her cookies all over the forest floor as the lightheadedness comes back.

She tries to stumble away but her head is too foggy. Her legs give out under her and she rolls to her side upon realizing just how long she'd been at sea. She allows her eyes to close as she breathes in deeply. So distracted by her tiredness is she that she doesn't notice when a long, dark shadow falls over her.

Back in Ohu, the boss is facing off with not one but two oversized red-backed bears. The unusually beefy animals don't intimidate the boss, but their origin does cause some concern. These two are beary obviously assassins sent - and fathered - by Akakabuto himself, the types of visitors the Akita has gotten very used to in the past couple of months. Clearly Redhead isn't happy with an especially jacked dog keeping his troops from more human BBQs. Whatever dude, it'll take more then a couple of homicidal teddies to down this masterful bear killer.

Actually, check that: it takes a couple teddies doing something unexpected to down him. The two big-boned barbarians combine their powers to knock a goddamn tree over and roll it the boss's way. Captain Canine is able to dodge the attack, but he can't do so without leaping over a lump of debris that's blocking his path. Turns out that bear ninjas and dog ninjas have something in common, as the poor dog learns first hand that bears understand the concept of pit traps.

There's no skewers this time, but as the leader tumbles into pit the uprooted tree trunk comes rolling in after him. He gasps and tries to get out of its way, but it's too late. The trunk hits the bottom of the pit with a loud WHAM. The sound of splintering wood and a yelping dog meets the twin terrors' ears.

The assassins grin between themselves. Yes. Finally. The Ohu leader has been defeated. The army will soon crumble, and Akakabuto's reign will be unstoppable.

But enough of alla that, I know what you people really came here to see: John yelling at Gin for making a rash decision! Yes, ole Johnny Boy is annoyed that Gin plans on not only finding Benizakura alone, but wants to leave the rest of the troops hanging back while he does so. Like, Gin, dude, you have an army of walking powerhouses and you don't want their backup against The Strongest Dog In The World Trademark All Rights Reserved?? Especially after the bastard hit you in the face twice???

Various dogs begin barking their suggestions. Gin should beat the shit out of the old fart for disrespecting him (so says the Kai Bros), and Benizakura would be outnumbered and thus forced to comply if everyone ganged up on him (so says Bill.) Gin politely speaks up with a deliberate, "Be quiet," which gets everyone to settle down. Akame clears his throat and nods to Gin, clearly having something he's gotta say. Gin bows and gives the Kishu the floor.

Akame explains that given neither Ben or Cross are here, the next commander in line is Gin. He admits that Gin is young and his decisions are brash, but he can't recall any time Gin's pigheaded determination didn't end with the Ohu dogs getting what they wanted. Besides, it's probably for best that the kid doesn't wanna face this with violence. You don't convince people like Benizakura to join you through ass kicking alone, and if there's one thing Gin's proven he can do it's convince people to be cool.

Gin's face is flush with relief as he quietly thanks Akame for his support. Musashi also agrees with the white guy's elaboration. He tries explaining things from a fighting dog's perspective.

If they all go in to kick Benizakura's ass, he'll just fight them off til he can't fight anymore. They'd just be another challenger, nothing more. But no matter how good a dog is at fighting, he's still just a dog. There is always a side to him that's soft and doughy and vulnerable to what he feels is important. Suddenly becoming aware of himself, Moss peers up at the top of his head where a tiny Tesshin is curled in a ball.

Gin allows Musashi to finish what he's saying before going on to explain himself: it's childhood rules, guys. He hit Benizakura once, Benizakura hit him twice. Ergo, Gin gets one free punchy. Smith laughs and elbows Gin in the chest, guffawing about how the baby of the team would find a way to skew such simple, immature logistics to work on a hardass like Benizakura. This plan is crazy... so crazy........ that it just might work!!!

A while later Cross finds herself on the wooden floor of an old barn. She rubs her face to clear her eyes of grit. Once her vision is clear she sees that she's not alone in the room. A dark shadow of what seems to be a massive dog is sitting before her, its eyes shining as they catch the room's sparse light. The stranger asks her in a crumpled, kind voice if she's doing alright.

Cross's brain finally reactivates and she's all like OH SHIT. The dog before her is an aged Tosa mix, his jowls greying and his face smattered with scars. But that's not nearly the worst of it, she realizes, because it turns out she's been chained to the wall.

She scrambles to her feet and demands to know who this random senior citizen is and why she's stuck in her own private Hotel California. Oldie barely reacts. He just gently informs her that his owner is willing to care for her. She'll be safe here.

As Cross pries desperately at the metal stake chaining her up - no dice - the mutt explains that she's lucky to have been rescued. She'd been delirious, mumbling strange things in her sleep about bears and wars. She also mentioned something about Shikoku, which, spoiler alert, is where she is right now.

Cross finally stops fidgeting and lets this sink in. So she made it after all. She's so glad at the prospect of finding the others that she stops struggling and smiles to herself, then to the other dog.

She gingerly thanks him for saving her, like really she's super grateful and all, but would he mind letting her off this chain? She's on a mission. The dog does not offer to set her free, but he doesn't not offer it either. Instead, he just says that she needs more rest.

Besides that, he's become very curious about her circumstances. What in God's name is she doing out here? So gentle is the old dog's gaze that she heaves a sigh, sits on her haunches, and begins describing Akakabuto to him in livid detail. And then she continues to tell him about the boss, and Ben, and Gin, and the sea, and then something much more recent.

Everyone who didn't leave with Gin was just chilling out in the woods one day hunting some food and determining where they'd go next when a scout they'd sent off, a black lab named Kurobe, had returned with some pretty shitty news: all of the platoons sent up north had been killed, wiped out in one fell swoop. Speaking of being wiped out, Kurobe was also bleeding heavily from deep lacerations. She'd collapsed in a heap before Ben before her breathing had ceased. Kurobe had died soon after.

Livid over the gruesome sight, Moss told Ben that it was time to get serious about his fucky eyesight and get to either an optomitrist or a veterinarian in a nearby human village. Ben wanted to argue, but Moss pushed that there wasn't much time left before the final full moon. Something had to be done about the slain soldiers.

Besides, how was Ben to lead his platoon if he couldn't see? Cross had looked at Ben, part of her hoping he'd stay, part of her hoping he'd leave and return with his vision intact. Ben had decided to leave.

Moss and Cross had discussed what to do. They'd want a small base camp for Gin and the others to come back to, but someone would need to head north to sort out the whole mass murder thing. They decided that the dogs should be split between the two platoon commanders available, those being Great and the newly promoted Cross.

Cross had then elected to hang around the dock to regroup with Gin and welcome back Ben when he returned. Better yet, she'd take a day or two to lead Ben to a village herself. Moss had buckled at the suggestion, asking warily if she wouldn't prefer to stay with Ben at the doctor's.

Oblivious, Cross had said that'd be excessive. She could stand on her own four feet without her man, and the hubby would want someone watching over his troops. Then her face fell, her cheeks stinging with embarrassment. She'd noticed Moss looking at her distended belly.

"You should resign when you can," Moss had said sympathetically. "Take it easy til then, but resign when you can. For your family's sake."

And with that he had departed, had followed behind Great as the dane had directed half the dogs away. Cross had stood shaking from both frustration and anguish before Ben trotted up and reminded her that he had a hot date with an eye surgeon. She'd just gritted her teeth, licked his face, and led him through the woods.

The old dog had been listening very intently to Cross this whole time, and even now she could tell he was paying her mind despite his focus being outside the shed. The dog remarks that this has all accumulated in her coming to find some scruffy punk kid with tiger stripes, huh? Well, he doesn't believe in guarantees, but he can promise her that she'll be seeing that kid soon. Cross cocks an eyebrow high enough to count as a Dreamworks audition before realizing what he means.

Not 50 feet from the hut is Gin, his nose to the dirt. Cross notices him as he gets closer. She wants to call out to him, but the old dog cuts her off. He says that he understands why Gin's doing this - he'd done similar rash things when he was young - but he won't be going easy on him. If the kid wants a fight, then a fight is what he'll get.

Cross is concerned about a heavyweight champ punching the shit outta a teenager so she tells the dog to fuck off with that idea. But of course he doesn't. Instead he says that if the Akita wants to die for his cause, then he will.

As Cross struggles to free herself Gin pads lackidasically into view. He calls out to Benizakura and lets the old meathead know he's here for that second hit. Cross gives up trying to loosen her chain and tells Gin to make himself scarce before his head gets lumped in.

Gin's surprised to see her and asks what she's doing here, but she just continues to tell him to get away. By it's too late. The old dog, Benizakura, has climbed onto the roof of the shed, and now he's plummeting down towards Gin. He lands inches in front of Gin. Gin boldly tells Benizakura that he wants him to join the Ohu army. Benizakura's like dude, we've had plenty of exposition for the day. He already knows what Gin's here to do.

That said, The Beast isn't going to abandon his cushy life as a bullbaiter because someone asks him nicely. If Gin wants him as an ally, he'll have to convince him. Gin says he agrees to a fight, but on one condition: if Benizakura pummels him into an early grave, he has to promise to take Gin's place in the army.

Benizakura accepts this offer without hesitation. He shows the exact same amount of hesitation when he grabs Gin by the neck and throws him like a football. This surpises Gin so much that he can't do anything but take the L.

Cross tries to escape the shack by pawing at a wall covered in loose boards, but she can't quite seem to make them break. She looks out at the two brawlers in a panic. Benizakura continues his assault on Gin by headbutting, kicking, biting, and finally throwing him into the side of the hut.

Cross doubles back from the wall as Gin smashes through it, splintered wood flying in all directions. When the dust settles Cross can see that Gin might have met his match. He's bleeding from the face and ribcage, and his eyes are rolling around without focus.

Cross commands Gin as his superior to leave immediately. Dying like a showoff isn't going to help anybody. Gin stubbornly picks himself up, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, while Benizakura looks in through the new window he just installed.

"Get back out here!" the Tosa demands. "You think you're tough? You call yourself a man while you're in there cowering behind a pregnant woman?"

Gin never received a birds and the bees talk during his younger days so it never occured to him that Cross's rapidly growing ponch was the result of her and Ben's alone time instead of her taking seconds during meals. Cross pulls away from him as if ashamed. She says she didn't tell anyone because she was worried they'd think lesser of her for being with child. None of the other chicks in Ohu's ranks have let this happen.

Feeling awkward but sympathetic, Gin tells her that she managed to get here fulla babies so clearly she's not as weak as she's worried everyone would think she is. Before he can further reassure her, though, he remembers what he's here to do.

Gin climbs out of the wall his spine obliterated and tells Benizakura that he refuses to leave until The Beast joins him. As he nears Benizakura, Cross climbs out of the wallhole and chases after him before she's clotheslined by the chain. As Cross flops around in desperate rage, Benizakura takes a moment to look at Gin's bloodied forehead.

One of several massive scars he hadn't noticed before has split open on the kid's forehead. And yet Gin's still here, still standing before a muscleman who has broken dogs' legs like toothpicks. The kid snarls in determination as his forehead blood runs into his face.

Benizakura is distracted for only a moment before snapping out of his stupor and lunging at Gin again, but that pause was all Gin needed to plan his next attack. It should be familiar to Benizakura given he invented it. Making like he's Benizakura and Benny is a bull, Gin snags the Tosa by the flabby skin of his neck and uses his massive weight against him to fling him off his center of gravity.

The two leave the Earth behind for a nanosecond before Gin slams the dog, a monster 3 times his own size, face first into the Earth. Blood gushes from Benizakura's nose as he falls into a heap.

Cross has ceased using her words and is barking like a maniac, but nobody but the three of them is listening. Benizakura wriggles on the ground as Gin looks over his shoulder at Cross. His face says "hell yeah" but then his body goes "oh no" as Benizakura rights himself and slams as hard as he can into Gin's side. The Beast pins Gin to the ground with one massive paw on his neck and the other on his rib cage. Gin squirms violently and Benizakura stands over him panting and swaying. He seems to be... smiling?

Yes indeed, the bull of a dog is smiling ear to ear. And then he begins to laugh. His laugh grows into a bellyfull of guffaws and snorts, his eyes squeezed shut in hysterics. His laugh is as coarse as the rest of his voice, but there's no malice in it. He genuinely sounds like he's heard the funniest joke of his life.

Beizakura sits back on his haunches, still laughing, and allows Gin to get up. Gin doesn't understand if this is an insult or a mental break. Cross is so confused she quits yapping. Benizakura finally stops his chortling and wipes his eyes dry of tears.

The old dog proclaims that this was great. It's been a long time since he'd felt so alive. To think he'd almost forgotten what fighting other dogs was like! He thanks Gin for the fun and says that he'd intitially thought Gin was just some punkass kid who'd grown too big for his britches. But he understands that Gin's got real dedication.

And if he's the youngest in his army's ranks - woof! The other troops must be just as amazing. So sure, he'd be happy to live out his winter years fighting alongside the Ohu dogs. Why not?

Gin's jaw falls open in a dopey looking smile of its own. He's kinda amazed that this whole thing actually worked. While he catches his breath, Benizakura pads over to Cross.

"Benizakura, thank--" she begins, but he politely cuts her off.

"So formal, you people," he says. "Just call me Zak." And with that, he uses his powerful jaws to yank the chain from Cross's collar. The thin but sturdy metal loops snap in half.

The three are just about to head out when the door of the nearby house opens. Everyone stands surprised as the boy who was with Benizakura at the ring steps out with a large bowl of dog kibble. He seems confused and asks his dog Don what's going on. He watches as the Akita and Saluki run away, and then panickedly follows when the Tosa joins them.

"Don!" the child cries out. "Where are you going? Don't leave!"

Gin notices this mildly underwhelming goodbye become a melodramatic one as the boy trips and spills the food he was carrying. Benizakura pauses and looks back for one last time. His gaze meets the boy's, and the child begins to cry tears of confusion and hurt.

Gin's own eyes glaze over as the sight fills him with a sense of familiarity. The child's desperate face reminds him so much of Daisuke's. Is this how Diasuke felt when Gin left? Was it worse given Gin took off without saying goodbye? Gin doesn't know. All he knows is that it hurts to watch the dog give the boy a solemn smile before turning away forever.

Cross lopes up beside Gin and they wait as Zak catches up to them. The boy is still calling out and blubbers desperately. Gin's wet cheeks match Zak's. The old dog isn't so proud that he hides his pain, and he simply chokes out his desire to leave. The others nod and lead him away.

Gin lags a few feet behind as his thoughts jumble with memories of Daisuke. Gin had forgotten how much he missed his boy. He'd forgotten the last time he'd felt like a dog instead of a soldier.

The dogs slow their pace. This allows them some time to share their thoughts with each other. Zak is pretty broken up about leaving his boy. He's not so steadfast in his decision to fly the coop anymore.

Gin pauses thoughtfully before sharing his own experience with the Tosa. Gin had to leave his boy behind when he joined the army too, and it was one of the toughest decisions he'd ever had to make. Even though it hurt him in a way he's never been hurt before, he did it because...

Gin pauses as his eyes well up. The other dogs wait for him to finish his thought. Gin chokes on his words as he says them, but he still manages to spit them out.

"But I had to leave him because I knew it was the only way I could keep him safe. Because if we succeed, he'll never have to face that kind of danger again."

Everyone falls silent. Cross's eyes are wide as she takes in Gin's words, and Zak's face is stony before he nudges Gin's side encouragingly.

"Okay," is all the big guy manages to say. "I understand."

But the waterworks gradually subside and Gin's focus shifts back to the mission at hand. After running for a shorter time then you'd expect, the trio meet up with the Ohu dogs in the area.

Everyone is very impressed to see The Beast in The Flesh. He's impressed by them, too, and he quickly takes on the role of everyone's surrogate grandpa by telling them stories from the good ole days and calling them variations of "whippersnapper." The strongest dog in the world easily finds comraderie among his fellow punchy people. While he worms his way into everyone's hearts, Cross meets up with Musashi, Bill, and their comrades.

This vacay has come to an end, so everyone goes to cross the sea once more. Benizakura chauvinistically offers to help Cross carry her pregnant self across the waves, but she blows a raspberry at him and jumps in before she has to answer any questions about what he old dude said regarding pregnancy.

This will be the last bit of goofing before the journey back because oh my god there's a lot to do when they get to shore. Ben has to be retrieved, John is set to lead some of this gang to find more soldiers, Moss's crew up North needs to be checked on, and, most importantly, everything must be organized before the end of the month. That's when the war will truly begin, and everyone will have to contribute.

----------

AND SO THE SERIES CONTINUES. Just two more episodes after this one, get ready for ‘em. They should both be up before the end of the month. Also keep your eyes peeled for something else, visual stuff this time, that’ll be coming shortly too.

Episode 6: The Battle

#ginga #ginga nagareboshi gin #silver fang #hopeanuoli #yoshihiro takahashi #ginga words #rewrite #fanfic

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blancheludis · 4 years

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Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 27/?, Words: 152.012

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

—

It smells fantastic in the kitchen, throwing Tony back immediately to their college days, Back then, Rhodey’s cooking skills had still been unrefined, but they spent a number of holidays and summer breaks at the Rhodes’ home and it had seemed to be Rhodey’s mother’s single mission in life to fatten her two boys up. And to teach Tony that he is loved. She has had partial success in both those things, but since then Rhodey has taken seamlessly over.

Tony walks up to the counter to glean at what Rhodey is making. A pan is sizzling on the stove with an ungodly amount of garlic, just as they like it. Next to that sits a plate with neatly cut vegetables that Tony is sure cannot have come out of his kitchen.

Before he can say anything, Rhodey turns to look at him, eyes travelling over Tony’s form as if he thinks Tony managed to get himself injured again in the few hours they were apart this morning. Tony knows how he looks. The suit jacket he put on to appear at least somewhat collected for his meeting with Coulson does not hide the bags under his eyes or the fact that he walks with his shoulders slumped, almost bowed as if something is pulling him down to the ground.

That something is Obadiah, of course, and has been for weeks. Ironically enough, Tony thinks he might have preferred dealing with the mental toll of the betrayal alone, instead of adding its inglorious end to the mix. He cannot get the way Obadiah crumpled to the ground out of his head. How he kept sneering until the pain took over. How that last look in his eyes resembled hatred more than anything else.

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Rhodey’s voice interrupts his thoughts, cutting right through them and catapulting Tony back to the present.

He is in his kitchen with his best friend. Food is on the stove. Nobody is out to kill him anymore. He is safe. It is over. Obadiah is dead.

Tony killed Obadiah.

“About?” Tony asks, not bothering to make his tone innocent. This is straight-up denial and they both know it.

Rhodey’s expression does not change much, but Tony is practised in seeing the small signs of disappointment.

“Don’t do that, Tones,” Rhodey says, his voice unbearably calm. “Tell me if you need time, but don’t pretend nothing happened.”

Tony could run. That is what he usually does when things become uncomfortable, when he does not want to answer questions. JARVIS could put the workshop on lockdown and keep everybody out until Tony feels more collected – or until they stop trying.

Instead, Tony sits down on the counter, feet dangling, and stares at the pan. Rhodey must take that as sign enough that Tony is willing to talk because he turns back to the food, cutting with precise strokes, completely in control.

“It’s –” Tony shrugs. Fine. Over. Complicated. A myriad of entirely inaccurate words. “I’m not sure what to say.”

That, at least, is the truth. He is barely able to think about it in an even remotely coherent fashion without landing back in that warehouse, his mind running away from him but the gun steady in his hands.

“Stane is dead,” Rhodey says, echoing the constant choir in the back of Tony’s head. “How about you start with that?”

Heartrate picking up, Tony does not meet Rhodey’s eyes. “I already told you –”

He stops talking when Rhodey huffs. “I don’t exactly consider your feverish rambling from last night telling me anything.” Despite the words, Rhodey’s voice is gentle, as if he could ease Tony into this conversation. “Do you even remember what you said?”

Tony remembers surprisingly much of the night before, mostly in flashes but it is there. Steve brought him home, helped him lie down, and kept his distance while making sure Tony felt protected. He stayed when Tony asked him to. He made sure someone called Rhodey.

After that, things get more blurred. Rhodey had put him into the bathtub when he could not stand long enough for a shower. There was tea, and a mostly one-sided conversation full of mindless, soothing things.

Tony has talked too, in random bursts of information that can probably all be boiled down to two facts: He does not understand why this has happened. And it hurts.

Even now, it is hard to put into words. Years of Tony’s life turned into a lie that he happily believed as long as he was handed what he considered freedom to do as he pleased.

“Obie killed my parents and now he wanted the company for himself,” Tony says, not reacting when Rhodey winces.

Since he does not look very surprised, this is one of the things he must have let slip the night before. It is the most pressing thing, too, because they already knew that Obadiah wanted Tony dead. They just were not aware that this was not the first time he decided to remove his problems in a permanent manner.

“He told me – everything was a lie, you know.” Tony’s lips turn into a bitter caricature of a smile. “Encouraging me to build, helping me out when Dad got mad, letting me grieve after they died. It was all part of some scheme to make more money. He did not care about me one bit. He – Dad said they were best friends and it was all a lie.”

Rhodey stops cutting for a moment to look at him, a sigh on his lips that Tony does not want to hear.

“It’s just impossible to wrap my head around,” he continues quickly, unwilling to linger on this. “I mean, you and Pep always tell me I’m terrible with people. That I always choose to trust the wrong ones and push away the ones who are good. But how could I have been so blind?”

A multitude of examples come to mind. Ty Stone and Sunset Bain being the most prominent of them. Rhodey had warned him away from them. If he had trusted his best friend more, he might have avoided those heartbreaks. Nobody knew to suspect Obadiah, although that does not help him at all to cope with the aftermath.

“We never meant it that way, Tones,” Rhodey says quietly, his eyes turning sad. “We all fell for it. Stane – he did not fool you because you are naïve. He’s –”

Tony knows what Rhodey is going to say and he does not want to hear it, so he cuts Rhodey off, his voice a wounded monotone.

“I killed him.”

The knife clatters loudly on the counter as Rhodey stares at him. “What?” He looks like he has understood perfectly well what Tony said but wishes he did not.

Last night, Rhodey had reacted with unconcealed satisfaction at hearing about Obadiah’s death. Now, his expression is dampened by shock.

Unable to stand the scrutiny, Tony looks down at his lap. Rhodey will not judge him, but he still feels the recoil almost ripping the gun out of his hands after the first shot. That would have been enough to keep Obadiah down, and yet he steadied the gun and fired again.

All of the reasons and justifications have fallen away since then, leaving him to feel like nothing more than a murderer.

“He tried to run and we had to decide what to do with him,” Tony explains in a flat tone, flailing to keep calm. “Rhodey, I – I could see it in his eyes that he would never leave me alone. It does not matter that they would have locked him up. He would have somehow managed to make me miserable even from prison.”

He wanted to be left alone, but now he is not so sure anymore it was worth the price. Tired and hurting, with a mind eager to replay all the bad memories from the night before, it is like he has lost a part of his soul without any hope of making up for it.

“So you,” Rhodey beings but trails off. It is not clear whether he does not know what to ask or is simply not sure whether he should. He has by now completely abandoned the food.

The silence between them is, for a moment, only interrupted by the sizzling of the pan.

“I took a gun and shot him. Twice. I –” Tony takes a deep breath, surprised that his lungs allow it despite the weight on his chest. “I watched him die.”

Every long second of it. Every shuddering gasp, every new drop of blood, every twitch, every glare. Tony watched and did nothing. He merely waited until it was over and wished he was anywhere but there.

Obadiah might have betrayed him, but this was a betrayal in return. Not so much the bullets themselves because that night demanded that only one of them would leave the warehouse alive. But Tony pulled the trigger. He asked to do it himself and he did it. Coming back from that is impossible.

Rhodey is saying something, although Tony cannot hear a single word over the rushing in his ears. He sees Rhodey’s mouth moving, his lips turned down in sympathy. It must be something soothing, some kind of promise that Tony will be all right, that he only did what had to be done.

“How do you do it?” Tony asks, talking right over Rhodey. “Kill people?”

He has been wondering that since he was first kidnapped by the Avengers, really. That ready violence between people does not make sense to him. Where does the thrill of hurting or killing strangers come from? They are all human. They are all the same. And yet something primeval allows them to draw each other’s blood.

“It’s not –” Rhodey starts, but Tony knows his best friend’s expression when he wants to shower him in platitudes.

“I swear I’ll throw you out if you’ll tell me it’s not easy,” Tony counters, rousing himself a bit from his stupor. “Obie deserved it but I can’t get his face out of my head.”

That is what he tells himself, that Obadiah deserved to die. He cannot even believe that, however, much less that he should be allowed to regain some inner peace.

Rhodey picks the knife back up and, without any semblance of a plan, throws everything he has cut into the pan at once, too thrown to stick to whatever recipe he chose.

“I am still seeing the face of the first person I ever killed,” he then says, dragging his eyes back to Tony with some reluctance. To Tony’s surprise, there is shame lingering in Rhodey’s face. “I still sometimes wake up from him asking me why in my dreams. I didn’t even know him. He was just some unlucky sod on the other side of a battlefield. You’re not supposed to shrug this off, no matter whether Stane deserved it or not.”

The thing is, Tony remembers Rhodey coming home on leave after that happened. He never told Tony about the nightmares, about how hard it is. It makes him feel like a bad friend. Like an egocentric, selfish man-child who does not like to take responsibility for anything ever. He should have known about Rhodey’s struggle. Perhaps Rhodey knew that there are no good answers to the questions simmering inside Tony now.

“So what?” Tony asks, still thrown but needing to make some sense of this. “I shouldn’t have done it? Is that what you’re telling me?”

The thought of Obadiah being alive hurts more than reality. He could just now be sitting in a holding cell, planning Tony’s further downfall, or talking in excruciating detail about all the things Tony did over the years that were hushed up. Drunken misadventures, bringing dozens of people into his bed, seemingly not caring for anyone but himself. Between that and the dutiful COO of Stark Industries, who would the police believe?

“I wish I could have been there to do it for you,” Rhodey says, and the sincerity in his voice breaks Tony’s heart further. “But I understand why you had to do it yourself.”

Tony thought it would help. That it would be a mercy. Just another pair of lies.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s over,” Tony admits, wishing Rhodey would give him reassurances, no matter how empty they would be.

“No, I can imagine,” Rhodey says instead. Then, however, he reaches out and puts his hand on top of Tony’s where they lie clenched in his lap. “But I’m proud of you.”

Immediate warmth floods through Tony, but he stamps down on the feeling, trying to expel it from his chest.

“What’s there to be proud of?” he asks, tasting bitterness on his tongue.

Somehow, Rhodey finds the strength to smile. “You’re stronger than you think.”

If this is strength, Tony is not sure he wants it. Someone has to take responsibility for his life and, more often than not, he left that job to others, and this is the reason why. He is feeling brittle, like one wrong word or touch will be enough to shatter him.

“Thank you,” Tony says quietly. Nothing is resolved. He is still raw, but Rhodey’s presence always helps.

“One day I’ll manage to make you believe that I’m not going anywhere,” Rhodey replies, his tone too serious to match the lightness of his smile.

Tony knows what he is saying. He is still working on not doubting it.

---

They have just finished their lunch, having turned to easier topics so that they could finish cooking and manage to keep the food down, when JARVIS speaks up.

“Sir, Dr Banner has entered the tower and asks to come up.”

Tony’s mind immediately jumps to new possible problems. Perhaps Thor’s state worsened since they saw each other this morning. Perhaps Coulson lied and brought in the Avengers anyway. Perhaps some more of Obadiah’s men have surfaced to give them more trouble.

“Let him in, J,” Tony says, his mouth dry. He swallows and he tries to convince his shoulders to straighten and his head to stay up to meet whatever is coming head-on.

“Dr Banner?” Rhodey asks. He, too, looks affected, although that might just be because he would prefer to wrap Tony up in a blanket and not let anyone ask something of him for the next seven years.

“He’s a friend,” Tony replies immediately. Whatever else happens, he does not need Rhodey and Bruce to argue. “He’s also the Dr Banner whose papers we’ve been gushing over, so don’t embarrass me.”

Rhodey’s lips twitch, even while his eyes remain serious. He is undoubtedly trying to figure out how Bruce fits into this. How, between all the bad things of the past few weeks, Tony made a new friend.

“Are you telling me you had an actual scientific celebrity in your home before and didn’t invite me?” he asks as he gets up to clear their plates from the table.

Tony takes overly much care as he gathers their cutlery and glasses to avoid looking at Rhodey. He cannot help the small grin, though. “You’re here now, right?”

Huffing, Rhodey replies, “We’re going to talk about that.”

That feels almost normal, the banter between them, the easy way Rhodey lets Tony be himself. If not for Bruce and his likely bad news coming closer, Tony might have even relaxed a little.

They just manage to clean the kitchen enough to let a guest in it before the door opens and Bruce comes in. He looks tired but not like he is in a hurry. His supplies bag is slung over his shoulder.

“Tony,” he greets with a smile that appears unstrained. “And you must be Colonel Rhodes.”

He does not get the change to offer his hand because Rhodey crosses his arms in front of him and asks, “Who are you?”

Tony rolls his eyes, mostly for Bruce’s benefit. Rhodey has a habit of mistrusting everybody Tony meets. He would prefer they skip that here since Bruce has proven himself to be an ally.

“I told you he’s a friend,” Tony says, a warning in his tone that he knows will be ignored. It should be more annoying, but even after years of friendship, Rhodey’s protectiveness soothes him.

“And I’d like to hear it from himself,” Rhodey rebuffs him before turning towards Bruce with a grim expression. “Are you with that mob?”

They have not yet talked about that. Only in fragments the night before.

Bruce takes the glare in stride and nods. “I am, although I’m not here as one of them,” he says as if that could restore Rhodey’s favour. “Now, if you would excuse me. I promise I’ll let you yell at me later.” Completely ignoring Rhodey’s flabbergasted expression, he puts his bag down on the kitchen table and says to Tony. “Did you have anyone look you over?”

“I’m fine,” Tony says before he even fully realizes that Bruce has come here to make sure he is all right. That last night did not leave him with more injuries he refuses to have looked at in a hospital. The thought makes his throat constrict. Although, for once, in a good way.

“We took a while to get to you,” Bruce says. He knows Tony well enough by now to not believe him about his health. “And you were bleeding when we arrived.”

Tony has catalogued his injuries in the shower this morning. Split lip, a cut over his eyebrow, sore ribs, and a multitude of bruises. That is it. It could have been much worse.

“Truly, Bruce,” Tony insists, even though Bruce and Rhodey are now looking at him with obvious doubt. “I’m fine.”

They do not believe him. Tony probably would not either. He has seen his face in the mirror this morning. He knows he takes every movement with exaggerated care, at least when nobody is watching him.

Compared to the weeks before he is fine, however. Nobody is trying to kill him anymore, he can concentrate on the future. If hie ignores the emotional toll of last night, he is doing well. He is free.

“What are your ribs doing?” Bruce asks, skipping the pretence completely.

Tony just barely keeps himself rolling his eyes. “I guess I refractured them again.” That happens when people keep kicking him in the ribcage. By now, he has almost gotten used to being constantly in pain with every breath he takes.

“You guess?” Rhodey pipes in, sharing a look with Bruce as if they have always known each other, always banded together over Tony’s inability to take care of himself.

A small part of Tony feels flattered. Bruce should not be here. He has a soulmate to care for and the Avengers to go back to. Since Obadiah is dead, he does not need to look in on Tony. It would probably be safer for all of them to keep their distance lest Coulson changes his mind about covering up for them. And yet Bruce is here.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been worse,” Tony says. Bruce is too kind to just leave if Tony does not give him an out. “They didn’t torture me. It was just a couple slaps to remind me of who’s in charge. The worst thing was Obie’s monologuing.”

He keeps his tone light but cannot quite hide how the mere memory makes him wince. His mother’s face keeps flashing in front of his eyes, the way she used to smile. how she never gave up on mediating between Tony and his father.

“Take off your shirt.”

Tony is already halfway through nodding his head when the words register. He expected Bruce to accept his rejection of medical care and leave. Or possibly to ask more questions about what transpired between Obadiah and him the night before. People never just stay for his sake, Rhodey being the glorious exception. Even Pepper and Happy had been on his payroll before becoming his friends.

“What?” Tony asks, raising his hands in front of him as if he has to bodily keep Bruce from tearing his shirt off. “No.”

Identical glares meet him from both Rhodey and Bruce. He does not want to show them the new mess of bruises on his chest, even though Rhodey must have noticed them the night before and Bruce has seen him in a worse condition already. This time, it feels more like a personal failure than a violation done to him.

If he keeps the bruises on his skin tucked away and breathes shallowly enough to avoid his ribs hurting, he can almost feel like everything that happened is long behind him. There is no hiding from the scars inside his mind, of course, so perhaps his reluctance is moot anyway.

“I’ll make it quick, but I am going to have a look at you,” Bruce counters, unimpressed by Tony’s refusal. “I can’t believe you’re this stubborn. You were kidnapped.”

Tony knew what he was getting into. Theoretically. Bruce can do nothing for his broken ribs. The bones will heal and so will Tony’s heart. It just needs time.

“And I’m –”

“Lose the shirt, Tones,” Rhodey cuts in, not stern enough to mask the worry on his face. They are all just trying to look out for each other.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Tony mutters and lowers his hands, clenching his fingers around the hem of his shirt without lifting it.

“I am,” Rhodey answers solemnly, not moving even an inch. “And I like this one.”

With great reluctance, Tony takes off his shirt. He does not meet his friends’ eyes as he leans back against the table, preferring to look down at himself. Several big patches of skin are discoloured. Vibrant blues and violet, misshapen or vaguely reminiscent of fists. The pain increases immediately, just from looking at the bruises as if all his brain needed was a confirmation that they are still there.

Next to him, Rhodey stares intently for several long seconds before turning away. He is clenching his hands, muttering curses under his breath. Perhaps he regrets not having been there the night before as Tony is glad that he was not. It would have been impossibly harder to keep himself together with his best friend there.

Bruce’s face does not show what he is thinking, although his jaw twitches with distinct displeasure. He reaches out and palpates each of the bruises. The touch stings but Tony remains where he is, knowing Bruce does this as carefully as possible.

“Despite knowing I’ll be ignored, I’ll tell you now that you should take it easy for the next weeks,” Bruce says as he turns to get the tape out of his bag.

“I’ll make sure he does,” Rhodey says, still sounding like he wants to go out and deal some damage of his own to the people who did this to Tony.

Wisely, Tony keeps his mouth shut. He has no time to rest. Now more than ever, he needs to be present in his company, needs to build and pave the way for the future. If pressed, he can tell them that he will have DUM-E do all the heavy lifting for him in the workshop, but Rhodey knows better than to expect him to stay in bed.

Thankfully, there are no open wounds to clean or stitch up, so Bruce is done very quickly, applying the tape as if he rarely does anything else. It has Tony wondering how often he needs to patch up the Avengers this way. Tony did not register much of the fighting in the warehouse but the entire thing seemed rather headless, swarming in without much of a plan other than attack. That might be Tony’s preferred mode of action, but as professionals, they should surely do things differently.

When Bruce is packing his things back up, he looks up at Tony, lips dipping down for a moment as if he already regrets what is going to say. “I guess you’re not seeking help for your mental health either?”

Tony’s first instinct is to ask What for? He knows. Of course, he knows. He has been kidnapped twice in mere weeks, and has almost been killed three times. His godfather betrayed him. His parents were murdered. He can see how that could warrant seeking help. He is fine, though. Exhausted and still somewhat in shock but fine.

“Don’t tell me you’re offering to do that too,” Tony asks lightly without outright rejecting the idea. He would never hear the end of that. Already, he is afraid that Rhodey will pick it up later.

“Hardly.” Bruce snorts, although he does not sound very amused. His expression is pinched but clears again quickly. “I would just recommend it.”

Bed rest and therapy. Other people might have the luxury of taking care of themselves first, but Tony has found that a few hours – or days – in the workshop do the same job. The art of creation is the most potent medicine he knows.

“It’s over now,” he says dismissively.

Bruce’s eyes linger on Tony’s torso, running over the bruises and the accurate lines of tape. Suddenly self-conscious, Tony reaches for his shirt and pulls it back on.

“Is it?” Bruce asks, no trace of pity in his voice. “Did you sleep tonight?”

“Yes.” Well, he passed out when the exhaustion finally pulled him under. Nobody has to know he woke up mere hours later because he dreamt of Obadiah looming over him. Rhodey might have noticed but did not comment on it.

Bruce does not believe him. To be fair, the bags under Tony’s eyes do not exactly back his answer. With a sigh, Bruce turns towards Rhodey. “Is that something you can talk sense into him about?”

“I will certainly try,” Rhodey promises without missing a beat. It sounds vaguely like a threat.

Straightening, Tony glares at them. “Could you please not conspire against me?”

To himself, he can admit that he is glad for it. Considering the way Rhodey had raged against the Avengers, it is a small miracle that he is now standing in the same room with Bruce and has an entirely amicable conversation with him. Tony has no illusions that the rest of the team would get the same treatment, but this is important to him.

Rhodey smiles at him, something predatory in the line of his lips. “That depends on how well you take care of yourself.”

Which means Rhodey will talk JARVIS into throwing Tony out of the workshop at a sensible time, and they will force him to eat three meals a day and limit his coffee intake – all for his own good, of course.

Already feeling the future lack of coffee, Tony pushes himself away from the table to get himself another cup. They are welcome to stop him – and Bruce does, although not with medical advice.

“Thank you, Tony,” he says suddenly, his voice firm. That stops Tony right in his tracks. He has done nothing that warrants gratitude from Bruce. On the contrary, considering he got Thor shot. “I’m not saying it was smart what you did or that you should ever do it again, but thank you for getting Thor out of there.”

Oh. Bruce is thanking him for giving himself up. Which Rhodey and Pepper yelled at him for. And Thor. And Steve too. Compared to that, Bruce’s words should not weigh more, but Tony’s chest fills with unexpected warmth.

Still, Tony is aware of Rhodey in his back, and of how most people think he should not be so lax with his own safety.

“It’s not as if he went to the hospital as he was supposed to,” Tony says, attempting to wave the entire matter off.

“I already yelled at him for that,” Bruce says, his eyes narrowed. That conversation apparently went very well.

“So it’s my turn now?” Tony quips and starts walking to the coffee machine again. He just knows that Rhodey and Bruce are sharing a glance behind his back, but he does not mind. Things worked out well.

Bruce sighs. The sound is practised, long-suffering. “If I thought for a second that you wouldn’t happily sacrifice yourself the next time the opportunity arises, I might try.

It takes effort not to laugh at that. Howard tried for years to cure Tony of his undesirable character traits and had never any success. His friends will not either, especially not if it is about something that ultimately benefits them.

Once the coffee machine is running, Tony opens the cupboard and turns around, gesturing vaguely in question whether he should get out cups for them too. Rhodey nods with the quiet resignation of someone knowing they will need all the energy they can get to survive Tony’s madness. In turn, Bruce hesitates but declines.

“What are you even doing here, Bruce?” Tony blurts, then immediately scolds himself for it. Bruce looks like he wants to leave but, at the same time, like he is not sure where to go. “I just mean, I thought you wouldn’t leave Thor’s side.”

Tony does not want Bruce to think he is not welcome here. To hide the blood shooting into his cheeks, Tony hides his face in the cupboard as he gets out two cups and arranges them neatly next to the coffee machine.

“He sent me back to the base when Coulson wanted to talk to you two,” Bruce replies, nothing offended in his tone. Quietly, he adds, “He worries.”

Coulson could still be a danger to all of them, especially the Avengers. This story about having worked with Natasha and Barton before sounds too convenient, leaving them with the sudden possibility for a happy ending that none of them could imagine before. There has to be a catch.

“And you didn’t go?” Tony asks instead of opening that can of worms.

He glances over his shoulder and blinks when he finds Bruce’s normally amiable expression twisted into something annoyed. “Oh, I did go,” he bites out, his displeasure tangible in the air. “But my team continues to be full of idiots who take offence to anyone having a private life, so we yelled a bit at each other before I came back here.”

Tony hides a sigh of relief at not being the reason for Bruce’s anger. It also makes him wonder how the Avengers have managed to stay together for years if they are so prone to bickering amongst each other.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says and turns to pour the coffee to escape Bruce’s reaction.

“What for?” Bruce asks, already sounding gentler again. “It’s not your fault.”

In a way, though, it is. He has had no hand in Thor becoming a bodyguard or in Stane deciding to get rid of him in the first place, but Tony is still the axis this entire mess revolves around.

“Without me, they wouldn’t have found out about Thor,” Tony offers. He does not know Bruce’s reasons for keeping his soulmate secret, but it is out now.

He uses the coffee as an excuse to keep his eyes down as he carries the two cups over to the table. Rhodey and Bruce are still standing, making the entire scene look as if they are all ready to run at a moment’s notice.

“I’m not angry about them finding out but about how they handled it,” Bruce says firmly. He does not elaborate, but Tony has an inkling how that conversation went.

“Do you want water, at least?” Tony asks Bruce, unwilling to get deeper into the topic of the Avengers dealing with emotional matters. He could not offer an objective opinion anyway.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Bruce says but trails off, perhaps wondering where else he could go while arguing with his friends.

To Tony, the solution to that is obvious. He does not blurt it out like he almost wants to do, but sits down and pointedly gestures at them to follow suit. There is no reason they cannot have this conversation in a civilized manner.

Rhodey is the first to sit, while Bruce appears conflicted. He must worry about Thor. Finally, he caves and sinks into a chair.

“You’re welcome to stay here, you know?” Tony says. He should perhaps not blurt that out like that, but he is not sure he will get another chance.

This interlude with the Avengers is over. Luckily, of course, because that means he is not in any particular danger anymore to get beaten up again by Barton or Barnes. It means his name is cleared and nobody is attempting to kill him anymore. It means he can distance himself from their little mob and get on with his life.

Regret has no room here. Tony likes Bruce, and he feels safe with Thor. Wanting them to stay close does not mean he is betraying himself or forget his treatment at the hands of the Avengers. He will not allow Steve close without reservations.

Bruce smiles at him, little more than a slight twitch of his lips. “Thor said as much. Thank you, Tony.”

That sounds like a rejection. Not as if Bruce does not want to stay but like he thinks Tony is simply offering him a hiding place for a few days. Tony wants him to stay for good, though. Thor too.

He has learned anew how important it is to surround himself with people he can trust, who are good at heart. If Bruce accepts to stay, Tony could offer him a better life. They could work together. With both their minds applied to a project, they could change the future.

“I mean long-term,” Tony corrects quickly, wondering whether he is out of place. They do not know each other that well, after all. “I don’t presume to tell you what to do with your life, but you’re brilliant and a friend. I could have a lab ready for you in no time. You could – stop running.”

Tony bites his lips and looks down at his coffee. He feels Bruce eyes on him. Worse than that is Rhodey’s staring. All Rhodey knows is that Bruce is part of the Avengers. Whether he patched Tony up or not, he is still the enemy. Bruce might very well think the same about Tony.

“I –” Bruce trails off. He does not look offended but almost embarrassed. “I appreciate the offer, but it’s not as easy as that.”

That is not a no, Tony realizes with relief. Bruce is not refusing outright and his reluctance might not have anything to do with Tony at all. No matter that they have spent little time together, Tony knows that Bruce has no qualms to speak his mind. He would not hesitate to tell Tony no if he really does not want to stay here. Which leaves one more, glaring option.

“Because of Ross,” Tony states calmly, fighting to not sound too excited.

He throws a guilty glance at Rhodey who perks up at that, connecting Tony’s manner to the topic at hand.

“General Ross?” Rhodey asks, always able to read Tony – and Tony would not care about Rhodey’s presence if they were talking about a Ross he does not know. Involving Rhodey could make things much easier but also more complicated.

“Nasty business,” Tony replies with forced cheer. There is no going back now anyway. “I hope you don’t like him because I have half a mind of making sure he’ll never set foot on a military base ever again.”

Rhodey has questions, but Bruce looks positively green around the nose, so Tony twitches his head just so that Rhodey notices. They can talk about this in more detail later – Tony would not go against a general of the US military without Rhodey anyway.

“Nobody likes Ross,” Rhodey says, drawing out the words in a way that tells Tony they will have a long conversation about this and why Tony is talking about taking on another powerful person after just escaping the machinations of Stane.

“Great,” Tony says with a careless grin that has to be grating on his two much more sensible friends. “Do you have some dirt on him?”

Rhodey looks at him, rather unimpressed. “That depends –” he starts but cuts himself off when Bruce clears his throat uncomfortably, looking at them like he regrets ever having sat down.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bruce says, his expression closed off. A note of hope is clearly audible in his tone, however, which is certainly involuntary, considering the way Bruce ducks his head the moment the words are over his lips.

Tony looks at Bruce for a long minute, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the way he is hiding his hands under the table where they are surely clenched. He wants Bruce to know that he sees him, that he knows this will not be easy. Stopping to run never is, especially not when it is all one has done for years.

“I know,” Tony says, aiming to sound confident without being dismissive about it. “But you also helped me when you didn’t have to. And I like you.” He shrugs, trying to take the weight out of the words. “It’s just an idea, but I’d like you to think about it.”

Some of the tension drains out of Bruce’s posture, and while he does not appear surprised, he is not entirely convinced this is a good idea. Which is good, Tony supposes, because he is not either. Liking Bruce is one thing, but going to war against Ross for him is another. They have been through an ordeal together, though, and that is a first good step to trusting each other.

“I’ll need to see where Thor is going,” Bruce says after a moment of silence. As far as answers go, this is neither acceptance nor refusal. Of course, he will have to talk this through with his soulmate.

“I will talk to him too,” Tony says before he knows what he is doing. He does not want to put pressure on Bruce. If they do not accept his offer, that is just proof that he might have been wrong to make it in the first place, so he should not dig himself any deeper than he already is.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rhodey moving as if he has to say something to that, but Tony does not look at him, intent on catching Bruce’s reaction. And Bruce leans back in his seat. Tony is smart enough to not read that as a sign of sudden acquiescence, but it is a start.

“Why?” Bruce asks, carefully neutral.

The why, for once, is comically simple. “Because I’ve just been shown that the number of people I can trust is even smaller than I thought,” Tony says, his mouth turned up in an estimate of a wry smile. “And platypus here tells me that I have a habit of pushing people away the moment I risk being vulnerable with them. I think it’s time to change that.”

He is not really ready to change that, of course, but he is willing to make an exception. Bruce has proven himself trustworthy several times, and Thor is steadfast in ways that stabilise Tony.

Bruce smiles, looking wistful for a moment. “You’re a good person, Tony, you know that?” he says, nothing but honesty in his voice. And Tony barely knows what to do with that.

Being a good person never really featured in the plans other people and he himself had for him. He is supposed to be brilliant and innovative, to generate jobs and a lot of money. He has to be good at things. Building, leading the company, socialising. He has no idea how to be good just for the sake of it.

“Nope,” he replies with fake cheer. “But I’m working on it.”

Bruce opens his mouth as if to argue, and Tony just knows that Rhodey will have to say something about it. They both stay silent, though, until Bruce nods.

“All right,” he says, not showing either way whether he thinks about accepting Tony’s offer. That is all right, they have time as long as Bruce and the Avengers do not disappear without a word. “I’ll go and try to wrangle Thor back into bed. I suggest you get some more rest too. If you’re feeling dizzy or are in pain, call me.”

JARVIS is here to keep an eye on Tony, but he appreciates the offer. Even if he knows he is not going to call for Bruce when he is feeling unwell. Thor needs Bruce more and he has done enough to them.

“You should get some sleep too,” Tony says instead of making any promises. The past weeks have been long for all of them.

“Look at that,” Rhodey drawls to the side. “We’re all being adults and taking care of each other. Miracles do happen.”

He looks at them appraisingly and makes his words sound a bit like a threat. In a way it is. After wrangling the mess Tony was at MIT, he knows exactly how to push Tony into compliance to take care of himself. He has never stopped guiding Tony’s hand when necessary.

“Ignore him,” Tony says, shooting a glare of his own in Rhodey’s direction. “He thinks he’s funny.”

Once again, Tony is beyond glad that Rhodey is here, that he has someone at his side whose motives he never has to doubt anymore.

Bruce looks at them, his expression warm. “Well, I see you’re in good hands,” he says and, without further ado, gets to his feet.

It does not feel like a goodbye, but Tony still fears he will never see Bruce again if he lets him just go now. Still, it is not his place to cling to either Bruce or Thor. Heaping his expectations on others does not end well, as Obadiah has shown.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Tony says, trying to convey everything he feels in these few words.

And Bruce smiles, softening further. “Any time.”

The answer is the same as Steve’s has been and it appears just as honest. Tony has never doubted Bruce, of course, but it makes him feel better about Steve. He hopes there will not be a next time, but it is good to know that he has people around who will have his back.

They watch Bruce go, his back straight and his steps light. He has barely disappeared out the door when Rhodey says, “Just because I like him doesn’t mean the rest of that mob is off the hook.”

Unable to help himself, Tony laughs. It is not particularly funny, and he does not feel either that the situation with the Avengers is resolved, but life goes on. And Tony does not have to walk that road alone.

#stony #marvel #fanfiction #slow burn #angst #hurt comfort #mostly comfort #tony stark #rhodey #bruce banner #soulmates #mob au #leave the gun on the table #ao3 #my writing

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