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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet.

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo card!

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork.

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face.

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross.

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it.

Well, you love him for a lot of things.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.”

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.”

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.”

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around.

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.”

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice.

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young.

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter.

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away.

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either.

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles.

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option.

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart.

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer.

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —”

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.”

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face.

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness.

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish.

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.”

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully.

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?”

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.

“Except they’re babies,” you add.

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You swallow hard. “For what?”

“Being honest.”

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

He’s quiet again.

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this.

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here.

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real.

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe.

You’re asleep before the next commercial break.

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why.

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.”

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.”

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.”

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now.

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up.

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence.

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black.

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it.

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator.

This is crossing a line, and you both know it.

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

Maybe you’re both trembling.

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel.

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.”

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#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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basicjetsetter · 3 years

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The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.”

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men.

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace.

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself.

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better.

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet.

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see.

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him.

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone.

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual.

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.”

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.”

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again.

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips.

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy.

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily.

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you.

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you.

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

#peter parker #peter parker au #mob!peter parker #mob!peter #peter parker x black!reader #black!reader #tom holland #peter parker smut #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #the fall and rise of deus #the rise of deus #peter parker x black reader #peter parker x reader #black reader

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someguynamedstevewrites · 4 years

Text

My Roommate is an Apparition: An Apparition A-Pink-ciation of Culture

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

From the diary of Lily:

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

When I was little, I used to talk to my stuffed animals all the time. They were my soft, cuddly friends who were always there for me, and even though they never spoke a word, I always imagined I could hear what they wanted to say. Even as an adult, I still treat inanimate objects like they’re people too. In fact, everyone does at some point or another in their adult life. Anyone who has ever argued with their car that refused to start knows what I mean.

But recently, I realized that sometimes people can do... well the opposite. That sometimes we don’t treat people (who are actual, real people) like they’re people. It’s not something we consciously think about, but it’s more like we forget that, well, people are people. I know this sounds really dumb, but I felt like I needed to write about this after a... well after an “argument” I had with my roommate.

I’ve lived with my roommate for a few months now, and I thought I had gotten to know them pretty well. They like to watch cartoons (like, seriously LOVES them) and we had worked out a TV viewing schedule to make sure that we got along together. But the other day, I realized that I wasn’t necessarily treating them like they were their own person. I didn’t mean to do that, but it just kind of happened, and...

...well it gets really complicated because, technically, they aren’t a person.

I mean, they aren’t human; they’re an apparition.

It made me think about all those stories about monsters and ghosts. Like a ghost used to be human, but then they died, and their spirit became a ghost. Do we still treat the ghost like the person they were when they were alive? Outside of a few exceptions, the answer’s a definite yes.

But what about an apparition? It’s kind of like a ghost, but it’s not. I mean, it’s not the soul of someone who died or anything. They just sort of exist. (Would Slimer from Ghostbusters be an apparition or a ghost?).

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

So anyway, reason I’m bringing this all up is because of what happened last weekend. I was channel surfing through the Cable Guide and as I’m flipping through, I pass by Boomerang (you know, the cable channel that spun-off Cartoon Network to hold all the older cartoons?) and all of a sudden, my roommate appears out of nowhere (literally) and practically grabs the remote out from my hands.

“Hey! What gives!?” I say to them.

They immediately change over to Boomerang and my TV screen is suddenly filled up with the color pink. At the same time, my roommate starts “doot-ing” along with the song and goes, “Doo-Doot! Doo-Doot! Do-Doot-Do-Doot-Do-Doot Do-Doot-De-Dooooooooo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doooot”. I have no idea what they’re doing, but then the cartoon starts up and it’s the Pink Panther.

Rhetorically, I go, “What’s this?”

“Pink... Panther...” my roomie says.

And then I make my first mistake by saying, “Huh. Never seen it before.”

Now if I had been paying attention to them, I probably would have seen the face of shock they were making. “You... NEVER... saw it!?” They gasped.

“Nope. Must have been before my time,” which was totally true. I mean, I later found out my Dad used to watch it when he was a kid. It wasn’t on TV when I was growing up. (Why am I defending myself for not watching a specific cartoon?)

Anyway, roomie asks, “Watch... with me?”

And then I, being a total dumbass, say, “Nah. Think I’ll get some dishes in,” before getting up and walking away.

If I had stayed put for just a few seconds longer, I would have heard them asking, “...please?” (In case you’re wondering, they told me about that later.)

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

Yes, I hurt its feelings. Yes, it was insensitive. Yes, I am sorry. But like I said, the thought didn’t even cross my mind back then. As far as I knew, as long as my roommate had their cartoons, they were happy. It didn’t occur to me that they cared about anything other than the cartoons themselves.

For the next week, my roommate made sure I knew, now and forever, that this was not true.

My first clue that they were mad at me was later that evening when I went to the living room to watch my usual shows. It was my turn on the TV, and usually I have to pry my roommate away so I can watch what I want to watch. But that night, the instant I walked into the room, they changed the channel to what I wanted, put the remote down on the couch, and left the room without saying a word. I thanked them, plopped myself down, and went straight into couch potato mode.

This should have thrown so many red flags in my head, but for some reason, it didn’t. Maybe I was being too self-absorbed at the time? Maybe I was just tired and thinking, “Aww man, I gotta work tomorrow!”? No matter the excuse, mistakes were made, and I started paying for them the very next morning.

My “haunting” kicked off with waking up to find most of my rock collection missing. I have a particular affinity for pretty rocks and gems (I’m kind of a rock nerd) and have my favorites out on display. But that morning, the only rocks that I could see were the pink ones. Someone had pilfered almost every pebble from every pedestal to perturb me. (I saw a chance for alliteration and took it! So sue me!) I was still waking up and too tired to care about it at the time (me making excuses again) and had work, so I got ready to go and left.

Now I’m not sure how they did it, but my roommate did something to my car radio. I turn it on and all I get are tunes by Henry Mancini. Fifty percent of the time, it was the Pink Panther theme, twenty-five percent was the theme from A Shot In The Dark (I had to use Soundhound to figure out that one), and the rest was a mix of some of his other work. It didn’t matter what station I tried changing it to! Although I did learn that Mancini composed Baby Elephant Walk, so that’s something.

By now, I’d already figured out what was going on (roommate did it), but couldn’t really do anything about it because I still had work to go to. As if the daily grind working at an art supply store wasn’t hard enough, I had to work while having the dang Pink Panther theme stuck in my head all day. Not even the music that played over the store radio could get rid of it. (Given the quote un-quote “music” they play over the speaker system, I eventually considered it a good thing.)

Then I came home, and that’s when things REALLY escalated. First words out of my mouth after I walked in was, “Hey, I’m hoooOOOOOLY~!” Every single wall in the apartment, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bedroom, and even the bathroom...

PINK!

All of them were painted PINK!

Like strawberry frosted doughnut pink!

As I’m gawking at the interior design sugar rush nightmare, out walks my roommate from around the corner. Immediately, the first thing I noticed was that they had feet. (Normally, they don’t have feet; they just kind of “hover” or “emerge from the ground” or something.) They had their eyes closed, head held up, and made a point of showing off these noodle legs they had constructed by skipping every other three steps.

They were doing the Pink Panther shuffle.

They walk out of my line of sight and I run over to have a word with them, but by then they disappeared. I look around and all I see is more and more pink. From behind me, I hear a mix of snickering slash wheezing. Like you ever hear of this cartoon dog named Muttley? They were laughing like him. And of course, I turn around, and the only thing I see is more pink!

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

I knew that my roommate could be ornery at times, like that time I tried to get an idea of their daily routine by setting up a webcam, but this...

I mean, where did she even get the paint? (Upon reading back here, I realized I referred to them as a ‘she’ even though I’m not sure if they are a ‘she’ or not. Yeah, I can edit it to a more neutral pronoun, but something tells me I ought to point this out instead of editing it, for some reason.)

I was half tempted to get back at them by painting the walls back to their original color (they do sell paint by the gallon where I work, and I get the employee discount), but realized they’d just paint(?) the walls pink again. Like I’d turn around after thinking I finished only to find the work I did completely undone. I could just picture my roommate doing that and finding it hysterical.

Anyway, tacky as the pink walls were, I didn’t get too angry about them. For starters, my lease agreement said that I couldn’t paint the walls without landlord approval. But my lease agreement also acknowledges that my apartment may be haunted. If the landlord ever brought it up, I’d just tell them the “ghost” did it. Second, these pranks my roommate was pulling were kind of amusing and didn’t really bother me that much. (I mean sure, I wanted my rock collection back but I doubted my roommate would have thrown them away. They know how much they mean to me.)

The one thing I was putting my foot down on was that I wasn’t going to ask my roommate what was wrong. I got the hint, sure, but I wanted them to know that if something is bothering them, they need to, y’know, actually say something instead of leaving spooky pink clues. They were being a butt, and my hope was that when they saw how much the pink wasn’t bothering me, then they’d finally open up. This went on for about a week with me going about my daily routine only to be surprised by the occasional pink interruption.

Like on Wednesday, I go to the fridge to get something to drink, and all I find in there is Pink Lemonade. It actually wasn’t that bad, but I have no idea how my roommate actually got it given that they never leave the apartment. Thursday, I get a notification saying a package arrived, and find my roommate used my debit card to order the entire Pink Panther cartoon series on DVD. And earlier on Tuesday, I got a call from my landlord asking if I knew why someone had called in an order, in their name, to have Owens Corning insulation installed. In case you weren’t aware, that’s the pink insulation who has “you can guess who” as their mascot.

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

So, Friday rolls around, and by now, the entire apartment is pink. Like EVERYTHING. The furniture, the electronics, the toilet, the sink, the appliances, the TV, and everything in between has been made pink somehow. I’m not sure who out there still makes pink toilet paper, but apparently my roommate has either some special powers I don’t know about yet, or they got connections.

At this point, since my roommate had yet to approach me about “The Pink-ening”, I began playing the reverse-psychology card. I came home and got to making dinner. While some of this was a bit more expensive than what I usually spend on food, I figured it was worth it if it meant getting my roommate to talk to me. My menu included delicious smoked pink salmon, some crab linguine with a nice amount of pink to it for a side dish, and some mashed red potatoes that turn out nice and pink if you got the right recipe. To wash it down, I picked up a glass of pink lemonade from the fridge, and in the freezer, some strawberry sorbet.

I get down to eating at my pink table, with a pink wooden chair, pink napkins, pink silverware, pink glass of pink lemonade. It took a little more effort to put this together, but I made an exaggerated point of showing off how good this pink meal was and how much I was just enjoying all this pink.

About halfway into my meal, I get a feeling that someone’s standing behind me. It’s hard to put into words how you know someone’s there especially since my roommate doesn’t really eat or breath. It’s like the hairs on the back of your neck become sensitive like cat whiskers and can just... feel that someone’s there. Usually sends a chill down my spine when that happens, but this time, I was ready and waiting for it.

“Care to join me for dinner?” I say without turning around. If I had, they probably would have vanished on me again like they had been doing all week.

“Looks... good...” they say in their ever so familiar by now raspy voice.

“Got something you want to talk about?” I ask between bites. There’s a brief pause as my roommate thinks to themselves.

“...yes,” they finally answer.

“Okay. Pull up a chair! It’s been a while since we just, y’know, talked and stuff,” which was true.

The instant I said that, I realized that even before the “week of pink” began, we hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together outside of our usual TV time. I had long since figured out that my roommate wanted me to watch Pink Panther with them, but I just thought they wanted to show it to me to show off how (subjectively) good the cartoon was. Only then did it hit me that they wanted me to watch it with them because they wanted to watch it together with me. It was like they were hoping for some roommate bonding time or something like that.

Now, it wasn’t like we weren’t talking to each other before this. I greeted them whenever I saw them, and let them know whenever I came home or was leaving. but we hadn’t actually talked, like... “talk-talk” in a few weeks. Instead, the conversations over the last few weeks were like the kind of conversations a person would have with their pet cat or pet dog. Like you’d talk to them, but not really expect an answer from them.

I had been treating her like a pet more than a person. (Did it again! I’m thinking I’ll ask them later what kind of pronouns they’d like me to use, or if they’ve even given any thought towards gender or anything).

My guess is that my roommate picked up on this themselves, and just like a disobedient pet who is bored, lonely, or other, they made a mess of the place. Maybe they were thinking that if I was going to treat them like a pet, they would act like one too?

Of course, I didn’t mean to treat them like that. I don’t think anyone really does mean it when they do. It just kind of happens without thinking about it. The whole reason I’m writing this down here in you, diary, is so that I can make a mental note slash reminder to be careful of doing that kind of thing. It’s especially important to remember when interacting with other people, like my co-workers or the store customers. (Unlike my roommate, they can’t get on my case by making my entire apartment pink.)

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

Now where was I? Oh yeah, our talk. I think I remember the most important bits of it. It went something like:

“So, whaddya wanna talk about?” I ask between bites of food.

“Pink...” they say to me. I wait a moment, expecting them to say “panther” after that, but it when it doesn’t arrive, I step in.

“Yeah! Pretty amazing what you did with the place! I didn’t know things could even get this pink!” which was one-hundred percent true.

“...Thank...you...” they say with a smile. I can tell that was not the answer they were expecting as I could have swore they turned and blushed. Although I couldn’t tell because of how pink everything else was.

“Although,” I add, “I don’t think the landlord is going to like the apartment being this pink. If it stays like this, they might kick me out. And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

Now my roommate, the apparition, actually looks shocked for a moment. The thought hadn’t entered their head, and for a moment, they looked a little scared. “N-n-n-no...” they stuttered.

“Well, I’m sure together, we can get this place back to the way it was before the next time they have an apartment inspection. Whenever that is,” I reassure them.

“Yeah...” my roommate nods.

“Say I got some time off this upcoming weekend. Want to watch some Pink Panther with me?” (Oh my God, you should have seen the smile on my roommate’s face when I asked this.) “I see I have the DVD collection now, apparently,” I say with a wink, “and we can even watch the movies together too.”

“...movies?” they ask.

“Yeah, the Pink Panther was a movie first before it became a cartoon. It was a live-action movie, but... well some of it’s like a cartoon here and there. Lots of slapstick comedy that I think you might like.” They were practically beaming and agreed immediately.

After Friday’s dinner, we watched some of the cartoons (which are actually pretty funny) and for the upcoming weekend, we’re doing a Pink Panther movie marathon with cartoons mixed in to spice it up. I also found out that my roommate doesn’t just watch the cartoons, but actually knows a thing or two about them. Like how Friz Freleng, one of the directors and creative minds behind the original Looney Tunes cartoons, was involved in the Pink Panther’s creation along with a new studio after he left Warner Brothers. I don’t know how my roommate came to know so much, but it’s pretty cool.

Anyway, I got me some sweet, pink treats to snack on during the movie marathon. The apartment is still pink as can be, but my roommate said they’ll take care of it once the marathon’s over. Exactly HOW they plan to take care of it, I have no idea. Oh well. No use pinking too hard about it.

(HA!)

#my roommate is an apparition #Tulpa #fanfiction #reddpenn #Pink Panther

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patricia-von-arundel · 4 years

Text

The Happiest Place in Fódlan

@lysissisyl and I decided to try writing something together - kind of. We decided to take the same prompt, and see what each of us would do with it. Almost immediately after, @frozenartscapes wrote about her AU where Silver Snow!Edelgard unexpectedly appears in modern Fódlan (where Byleth is still alive), and I realized it would work perfectly for the prompt (which was randomly generated):

Edelgard and Byleth go to a fair/amusement park and Edelgard wants to go on the roller coaster and Byleth agrees. Later, Byleth regrets their decision and ends up clinging onto Edelgard for dear life. (Or reversed. Either would be funny!)

So… here’s my take on it! (I reversed it, for the record.) Let’s just assume that Walt Disney lived in Fódlan…

Rating: G (this is fluff on top of fluff)

A befuddling world. They called it “Fódlan,” but it might as well have been a different planet. She felt horribly unmoored, all control lost - and there were few things Edelgard despised more than losing control. Months had passed, and still the feeling lingered. More than lingered: at times, it seemed to throb like an infected tooth.

But worse still - not a throb, but a deep, constant ache - was that she had no understanding now, it seemed, of Byleth. Byleth was the same person, but also somehow, radically, painfully not. She had become another alien, part of this alien world. For her, enough time had passed that the wounds of battle - both physical and emotional - had been able to heal, and even the scars they left had faded. But for Edelgard… Physically, she had healed. But no healer could repair the turmoil within her skull.

Though Byleth claimed there were people now who could. “Therapists,” she said they were called - “like healers, but for your brain.” She had even offered to take Edelgard to one. But Edelgard had balked at the idea, quickly insisting there was no need.

Need, however, was ultimately irrelevant. The shameful truth - one which she tried to keep carefully hidden - was that in this new Fódlan, she found herself more and more terrified of leaving the confines of Byleth’s small apartment in Enbarr. Even it was filled with strange, frightening things, but at least there was a feeling there of a semblance of control. No cars barreling unexpectedly around a corner - and better still, no vans or trucks. No crash of boxes of cans being unloaded at a grocery store. No card-only payments signs, or men’s restroom versus women’s restroom, or a thousand different variants of coffee with strange, confusing names like latte and espresso.

But even the apartment could be strange and confusing. Beds and chairs seemed too soft, but tables - covered in lacquer, apparently - and other wooden things seemed much too hard, their surfaces unnaturally slick. The lights, at night, were far too bright and uniform: no dancing shadows cast by candle or fireplace. There was no fireplace at all!

The worse times, especially at the start, were when Byleth was not there. Edelgard said nothing of her fears, but she certainly had them. Then, she was left alone with a microwave, which could safely cook in some things, but not others. (As Edelgard had found out the first time she worked up the courage to try to use it, and was caught by Byleth just before putting one of those infernal cans inside - why wasn’t the point of them to also have a ready-to-use dish? It was the most obviously-practical thing about them!) She was left with a million strange buttons on a remote control that could turn on a television (which had fascinated her in concept, but not, in the end, in practice). She was left with a thermostat, which controlled the air conditioner. (Byleth insisted it was not magic, though it certainly still seemed like magic. Much appreciated magic; Enbarr had seemed hot to her as a child, but somehow was even more so now. Byleth had words for that, too: climate change.)

Edelgard had known great sorrows - most of her life had been filled with them. What she felt now, though, after all of the initial confusion, was sad. Sad in the obvious ways she would always have expected to be, after so many years of war and loss, but also, perhaps even more so, in a confusing, complicated, overwhelming kind of way. Everything about this world, and about herself in it… it all just felt wrong. She was the true alien, here. An alien in a land she had once ruled…

There was no empire now, and thus no emperor. There was only Edelgard.

A person she no longer remembered how to be.

Living with someone she no longer knew.

She who so prided herself on her ability to control her mind and body, so careful of all that she said, had caught herself frequently almost letting slip the words “my teacher” when speaking to Byleth. But Byleth was not - she never would be again. And it was ridiculous to wish it could be otherwise, ridiculous and selfish, and yet, knowing also she would likely never be as happy again a she had been at that time… it was hard.

Because she had been happy, as curious as it was to consider it. The strain of all she was forced to balance, the burden of secrets and lies: yes, all those things had been a part of her life then. But for the first time in a very long time, she had felt as if she was wresting back control of her own life - taking it from those who had destroyed so many, and so much, and claimed it had all been for her benefit. Her life would be hers again - and all of Fódlan a more peaceful, egalitarian land.

Then Byleth came.

There had been times, then, when she had not only been happy - she had been absolutely, utterly euphoric. Something about Byleth simply called to her heart, in some deep, beautiful, timeless way: whatever connected them had always been there, she had simply not yet been able to feel it. She could almost allow herself to believe Byleth, too, could feel it -

- Until it snapped.

She still had not asked Byleth about her decision, that day in the Holy Tomb. She knew it could not be avoided forever - and Byleth had already hinted at discussing it - but Edelgard was not yet ready for some truths. Again, she had to remind herself this was not unexpected: it had not been 850 years for her, as it had been for Byleth. It had not even been six months.

All of this turmoil and uncertainty and sadness swirled constantly within her, like some endless storm, but she kept it to herself, locked once more behind a mask - an invisible one, perhaps, but a mask of a sort nonetheless.

Except she had never been good at keeping her mask in place around Byleth.

“You’re sad, El.” She said it abruptly, over a shared breakfast of toasted scones and jam. Byleth was not as blunt as she had once been - nor as outwardly difficult to read - but traces of her old self still appeared. “Why?”

Normally, such moments were almost reassuring - echoes of a world Edelgard would never see again, proof that that world had existed, that she had not always been just an unmoored alien - but this one left her heart beating more quickly and her appetite abruptly vanished. Still, she spoke steadily: “I’m afraid I don’t know of what you speak. I feel no unusual sadness, my - Byleth.” Not an outright lie: this sadness was no longer unusual. It had hung over her for a very long time.

She wasn’t the only one aware of that, either: “I know. Because you’re sad all the time.”

Edelgard looked down, at her half-finished plate. “You’ve not lost the talent for looking right through people, have you?”

“Maybe not. But it’s important. Especially with you.”

“Especially with - ?” She couldn’t stop the surprise in her voice, nor the sudden, almost painful leap in her chest - even as she immediately fought it. It was because of her strange situation, not because Byleth shared the feelings Edelgard had fought for so long. The feelings she was fighting again now, when five years ago - centuries ago - she had believed she had finally bested them…

“I really want you to see a therapist when we get back, El. I’ll ask Flayn who she’d recommend. Please, El. Things are different now. They can help you.”

“Did you say… Flayn?”

“She’s a pediatric psychologist specializing in childhood trauma and PTSD. Uh - that’s post-traumatic stress disorder. Which you also almost certainly have…”

More new words, though these Edelgard rather doubted she would remember. “That is… not something that I had considered. Perhaps because I had also not considered that Flayn is now an adult…”

“She’s not so different, for all the time that’s passed. Still very kind. Still has to stop Seteth hovering. Still loves fish - I wish you’d been here to see her when the first sushi restaurant opened in Enbarr!”

“…Sushi?”

“I’ll take you for it sometime - it’s a little hard to describe.”

Edelgard nodded - most of the food of this new age was quite good. She liked pizza in particular, with the little round meats whose name she could never recall, and also veggie wraps and tacos. Her opinion on chicken nuggets was still indeterminate, but most of what Byleth had offered had been quite palatable.

Moving away from food - and Flayn - she said, “My tea- Byleth - you said… when we get back?”

Byleth grinned - still such a strange thing to see her do! “El,” she said, “we’re going on a little trip.”

“A… trip?”

“A trip. To the happiest place in Fódlan.”

The “happiest place in Fódlan” was also, happiest or not, somehow even more confusing than all the very confusing things Edelgard had had to face for the last few equally-confusing months.

She blinked. And blinked again - trying to process all that was before her now that they had finally gotten past the mob at the gates. (And past Byleth gently correcting her when she called the people in uniform “gatekeepers.” They were called ticket takers, except here, where they were cast members. Why had the name changed, Edelgard wondered, when they performed exactly the same function?)

“That’s a castle,” she finally said.

Byleth laughed. “Yes. It is a castle.”

“But I thought you said castle are no longer built? There certainly was not a castle like that here… before. I would remember a castle as curious as that one.”

“This is an exception. It’s not a real castle. Well - it is and it isn’t. It’s called Cinderella Castle. We’re having lunch there later, but we can go see it now, if you like.”

“What's a Cinderella?”

For a moment, Byleth looked pained. “Okay, that’s on me. I really should have thought to watch a whole lot of movies before booking this trip…”

Movies was a word Edelgard knew. She liked some of them, too. “Cinderella is a movie?”

“Several movies. It’s based on a fairytale - that’s, uh, a story that pops up again and again all over the world. Kind of like all the different versions of what happened with Nemesis and Seiros, only not about anything that actually happened. Does that make sense?”

Edelgard considered this, then nodded. “Is the Cinderella movie anything like Star Wars?” She had enjoyed Star Wars enough to watch it several times, though she understood very little of it. Ships simply could not fly in space, even if Byleeth said they actually could, albeit not in that manner. They also did not look anything like ships. And Byleth said lightsabers didn’t truly exist either, which was a disappointment. Still, though, Edelgard did like those movies. She disliked comedies. Comedies confused her.

“Uh… not very much, no,” Byleth said. “There’s a ton of Star Wars stuff here, though. We’ll see it later this week. If you want space, though…” Suddenly - unexpectedly - her face lit up. “You’ve never been on a rollercoaster!”

“A roller… what?”

“Hurry, before the line gets long! We’ll see the castle later. Come on!”

To Edelgard’s surprise - and embarrassment - and heart-pounding shock - Byleth grabbed her hand, hauling her off down what seemed to be a street of shops (you could shop here?), towards the castle from a movie, not the ancient past. Such casual intimacy was very common now, as Edelgard had noticed very quickly, surprised at first by handshakes, hugs, people only kissing one another, but that didn’t mean it was any less of a shock to have it from Byleth. From a woman that, in her mind, had been preparing to execute her only months before. From a woman whose hand she once had longed more than any other to hold…

They turned before the castle - and the whole world once more transformed. There was no time to process it, but no matter - she was still struggling with trying to process Byleth’s hand, the warm softness of her skin. To process any of this.

“Only a 20 minute line - I’m glad we got here early!”

“20 minute line…?”

“For Space Mountain!”

“Space…. Mountain? I don’t - “

“Of course you don’t. You will soon! Hurry!”

What could she do but as told? She wouldn’t survive an hour in this curious place without Byleth. She could barely handle the street outside Byleth’s apartment in Enbarr without Byleth… And she wanted Byleth to keep holding her hand.

Life generally was now overwhelming. “I confess,” she said - voice raised and shaky from the gait of their jog - “I feel rather foolishly like a child right now, like this.”

“That’s the point, El. And look - we’re here!”

It did not resemble a mountain. It did not resemble… anything Edelgard had ever seen. Though this was approximately the hundredth time she might have claimed the same simply in the last hour. Something about it almost reminded her of the technology - the weapons - employed by the evil beings Byleth said history now called Agarthans, rather than the more-cumbersome name by which she had known them. But Byleth would surely never take her somewhere like that? Still, it was the first thing that came to mind, looking up at this strangely-shaped, spiky, silvery… something.

The sign certainly said “Space Mountain.” Maybe the definition of “mountain” had changed? Some words had, like kid and - as she had thought earlier - ship, like the spaceships. She would ask later, when she could properly concentrate on the answer.

Byleth, meanwhile, had a very strange smile on her face. “Your first time going into space,” she said. “Just like in Star Wars.”

“Going into space?” Edelgard looked at the strange-something again, then back at Byleth. “I’m confused again, I’m afraid, my teach- Byleth.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Though the smug look on your face leads me to believe you are continuing to be deliberately obtuse. Is this going to exasperate me the entire week that we are here?”

That earned her a shrug, but no less of that very self-satisfied smirk. “You’re not allowed to be exasperated at Disney World, El. It’s against the rules.”

“Then perhaps don’t go out of your way to be exasperating?”

“We’ll see. Are you ready to go in?”

Edelgard took a third glance at the strange-something. “This might be an absurd question, but… does it truly somehow go into space?”

Her breath caught - briefly, thankfully - when Byleth’s hand squeezed around hers. But while that she could hope Byleth didn’t notice, there was no possibility the flush in her cheeks would be missed. She looked down, to concentrate on Byleths’s words rather than whatever expression might be on her face. There were things she was still not ready to see.

“Not really into space. It just uses speed and lights - or rather, lack thereof - to make it feel as if you’re in space. It’s a simulation.”

“…Simulation?”

“Using senses to make you feel like you’re seeing or feeling something you’re not.”

Another strange new word. That was the true mountain, whatever the current definition might be: the mountain of words and meanings and lost words she truly felt she might spend the rest of her life attempting to scale. She couldn’t escape it even here, in the “happiest place in Fódlan.”

“Like television?” She felt even more absurd at this question, even knowing perfectly well Byleth was - and had assured Edelgard repeatedly she always would be - happy to answer questions as long as it took for Edelgard to understand. She might deliberately exasperate at times, but was still, truly, as patient with Edelgard’s questions as she had been when they were teacher and student at the Officers Academy. And that was appreciated - no matter how ridiculous Edeglard felt, at times.

“A… little like television,” Byleth said now. “But… like you’re actually in the scene with the actors. When there are actors. There aren’t any here. Just movement and lights and sound. And usually screaming. Lots of screaming.”

“You sound curiously cheerful about the prospect.”

The strange smile was back when Edelgard forced her eyes up once more. Byleth’s hand tugged hers. “I don’t want to spoil it too much. But I think you’ll like it. Ready to go?”

“As… ready as as I’ll likely ever be. I suppose.”

They were going inside the strange-something. The mountain-that-wasn’t-a-mountain. It was cooler inside - air conditioner again - and there was a line of people that moved in fits and starts, seeming to go gradually upward. They were climbing the mountain - in a sense? But it didn’t feel like being in space. Not that Edelgard had been in space. But it was not how she imagined it would be like to be in space. Maybe it was a simulation of climbing into space? But there was no speed, none of the lights and sounds Byleth had made sound like they were unusual in some way. Unusual by the standards of a world with lightbulbs and radios. If this was a radio. Sometimes, Edelgard still was confused by how far to extend a new concept - she had confused movie and television for weeks, after learning of them for the first time together.

After some time had passed - Byleth had said the line would take 20 minutes, but Edelgard had yet to master measuring time in such a manner - there were peculiar sounds, but they did not seem like those that would come from a radio, or a spaceship. Odd, mechanical sounds, like movement - and, very faintly, those screams she had half-wondered if Byleth might be joking about. She leaned a little, in case she could catch a glimpse of anything, but all she saw was an impenetrable wall of people in t-shirts and sunglasses and the curiious hats Byleth had told her about, the ones with balls on them intended to make people look like enormous mice. (Byleth had briefly attempted to explain why. It still made no sense to Edelgard.)

The screaming got louder - but there was an echo-y, muffled quality to it. As if it were coming from inside a cave, or the other side of a closed door. And mixed with it was what sounded like cheering, and… laughter?

Byleth’s hand once more squeezed.

(Why was Byleth still holding her hand?)

“You look concerned, El.”

She managed a smile, if only a tight one. “Perhaps a bit. It’s more that I am… now very, very curious. On a day when everything I see seems more curious than the last.”

Byleth laughed. “Even by modern standards, El, no one would ever call Disney World ‘normal’.”

The smile felt a little more natural, now. “I’m relieved to hear that. Though… I do think I’ll leave rather fond of this place.”

Another hand squeeze.

(Another caught breath.)

“Let’s see how you feel after this, okay?”

The end of the line - and more of the not-gatekeepers. But there were no tickets here, so what were they called? She would have to ask Byleth.

But later - one more hand squeeze (a… slightly longer one? It felt so…), then they had to part. The not-gatekeepers were moving everyone to separate, smaller lines. She leaned again at the strange mechanical sound she had heard earlier, now much closer and clearer. Everyone ahead was still taller than she was - Byleth said she wasn’t just imagining it, people really were taller now - but she could still see: rows of cars. Or were they called cars? This morning they had ridden -

She leaned closer to Byleth. “Is that a car or a monorail?”

“Neither. It’s a cart.”

Edelgard looked again, not bothering to hide in her expression the disdain she now felt. That thing was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a “cart” of any kind. It didn’t even have wheels!

Regardless, she was about to get in one. She glanced at Byleth, who met her gaze and grinned. She looked excited.

The screams suddenly felt much more urgent.

Then she was being ushered into her seat on the “cart,” a mysterious metal bar coming down over her lap. She knew seatbelts - was this just some variant, or did it serve a different purpose?

She supposed she was about to find out.

There truly was an alarming amount of screaming, somewhere ahead of them…

“Hang on!” Byleth said.

There was a startling little jerk as the cart began to move, but it smoothed out quickly. They were going slowly - into darkness. Complete darkness.

They stopped.

Lights - a sign? But while Edelgard could tell there were letters on it, she still struggled with the strange way things were written now, and the cart was moving again before she could make out what it said.

More lights - bright ones. Almost painfully bright. And peculiar, discordant sounds. Radio? It didn’t sound like radio. Or like any other sound she had ever heard, in this world or in her own. They were going up. surrounded by the too-bright lights and strange sounds, and Edelgard felt a curious, indeterminate dread building within her gut.

She leaned forward, to be heard over the sound. “My teacher, what - “

“Hang on, El.”

“Hang…?”

“The bar, El! Grab the bar!”

There was no more warning than that. There was no time for it.

The cart went hurtling into darkness.

Edelgard shrieked and grabbed before she was thrown off. The closest thing.

Not the bar.

Byleth.

Byleth’s arms wrapped around her own, holding her there. Was she laughing…?

There was no chance to wonder. They were still being thrown around in that pitch-black darkness, up and down and around. Edelgard might have continued to scream - as so many others were doing - but the first drop had knocked the breath out of her, and she had yet to manage to get it back.

It lasted for a small infinity - and almost no time at all. Then, they were abruptly back into a world of sunlight, of voices instead of screams, and of Edelgard quickly pulling back from her hold on Byleth.

Much as some part of her desperately fought as she did so…

Byleth had wrapped her arms around Edelgard’s. Byleth had held her hand - and for far longer than was necessary.

But this was not the time to dwell on it. She stood on shaky legs when the bar raised to allow it - and found a hand, reaching to offer help stepping out of the cart.

And again, Byleth did not let go. Instead, as they walked, she swung their hands casually, and smiled, and said, “What did you think?”

Edelgard considered this, trying hard to focus, despite the curious hand-swinging. “I… do rather wish you had warned me.”

Byleth laughed. “I told you three times to hold onto something.”

She felt the flush rise in her cheeks. “That is not what I meant, as you well know. But I…” She looked to Byleth, and allowed herself a rare open smile. “I quite liked it! Could we… perhaps go again?”

Byleth smiled back - filling Edelgard with a rush of warmth both strange and very pleasant. “Sure we can. We can go right now, if you like. You can even hold onto me again, if you want to.”

Edelgard looked quickly away. “Yes. Well. The… offer is appreciated.”

Another laugh - and another squeeze of her hand. “Do you want to go now?”

“If you’re sure that you don’t mind… then yes. I would quite like to go again. But my tea- Byleth, I’m… rather confused?”

“About what?”

“Why are we… How did we get inside a shop?”

#fire emblem three houses #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #byleth #byleth eisner #edeleth #modern au #tales of the tiny emperor #stories with lys #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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silence-burns · 4 years

Text

Please Hate Me //part 25

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine

The smell hit you square in the face before you marched in. The delicious combination of roasted meat, seasonings, spices, and old man's sweat combined with the hunger rolling in your stomach made you drool.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Loki frowned, inspecting the crowded interior, which would be easy if there were enough working light bulbs.

"Of course! Can't you smell it?"

Loki, in fact, could smell a lot, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

You grabbed his arm and dragged him to the old man leaning over the counter. The magazine in front of him looked ancient and stained, the pages dogeared as if it was passed from one generation to another. The man didn't raise his eyes.

You pointed to the equally stained menu hanging next to him. "So, what do you want?" you asked, as if the names told Loki anything.

"What is that?"

"Meat."

"And that?"

"Spicy meat."

"And those?"

"Absolutely devastatingly delicious meat with a bit of—"

"I think I’ve got the hang of it. I'll take this one."

"And I'll take the usual for me and the kid!" you added to the man behind the counter. The heavy scent of cheap cigarettes and cheaper manners parted for a moment when he nodded without a word and moved to the back.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Is that normal?"

You maneuvered him through the thicket of plastic tables and chairs. "Of course, he's a real sweetheart! He always gives me some extra toppings for free. We've known each other for like 5 years, and I think he can read my thoughts by now."

"And what's his name?"

"I have no idea, I've never heard him speak."

You chose the booth by the windows. There were only a few people in the room, and no one gave you a second glance when you passed them. Loki had no idea what had made him think he'd for once eat some quality food.

At least the seats seemed to be clean, and the booth gave you the faintest illusion of some privacy, which Loki was thankful for. He looked at his reflection in the glass and ran his hand over his features again. The wet, sticky feeling of foreign magic didn't leave him. The window showed him his own familiar features, staring with defiance and anger in his eyes. The spell must've been working, though, for no one on the streets recognized him so far.

"Still angry?" you asked with your elbows on the table.

"Once I get my powers back, I'll show that pathetic excuse of a sorcerer what true magic looks like—"

His promises were cut short by a boy rushing into the bar, his hair in disarray, and was clearly looking for someone. You waved and gestured for him to take the order that was just finished.

"Hey, guys, sorry I'm late." Peter slid into the seat on the other side of the table, still out of breath. "My class had to take care of organization of the projects for the science fair and I volunteered to—”

The boy continued to spit words breathlessly, and Loki listened to him only partly. The tray the boy brought with him absorbed most of his focus. Two of the three dishes on it were quickly distributed between Peter and you, which left Loki no choice but to suspect the third was meant for him.

"If I die," he said, reaching for the plate. "I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your miserable lives and then make your afterlives hell."

Peter sighed with pure love in his eyes. "I'd love to be haunted by you, Mr Mischief sir!"

"Don't speak with your mouth full."

"I'm sorry, Mr Mischief sir!"

Loki sighed. Stabbing the dish with his fork did not ease his frustration, which was very disappointing.

The first few bites he took, encouraged with a suspicious amount of support, were not the worst. It was difficult to feel the original flavor because of the amount of seasoning, but overall Loki had to admit the nameless chef knew what he was doing.

"He likes it," you cheered to an equally happy Peter. The boy's plate was almost empty already. "So, now that we've secured ourselves a peaceful afterlives, tell me about that science fair. Have you finally finished your project?"

"I have a lot on my shoulders right now," Peter said. "Especially since I agreed to help with the organization of it all, and the logistics create one problem after another. I spent last night working on—"

A knowing smile raised your lips. You nudged Loki. "I bet he only agreed to help because MJ asked him to."

"Who's MJ?" Loki frowned, slicing the food with surgical precision.

"Peter's girlfriend."

"She's not my—We don't—..."

Loki nodded, assessing the boy with piercing green eyes. Peter slid down his seat, hiding his bright red face under his suddenly sweaty hand.

You leaned over the table and patted his arm while Loki continued with his food. "She seems really cool. And I like her temper."

Peter cleared his throat. "I… really appreciate that, but can we not talk about it for a second?"

"Sure. So, what's been going on, other than you struggling with the project's deadline, making ends meet with the fair, and not thinking about MJ?"

"Well, I…" Peter looked around the place, and made sure no one was close before leaning closer, in a totally not suspicious way. "I have been hanging around the neighborhood, you know, in the suit, like I always do, and I've heard about some very nasty business going on there lately."

"What kind of business? Someone replacing people's potted flowers with other flowers?"

Loki stopped chewing. "What kind of person would do that?"

"I did, when I was nine and on my way to ballet class. I wanted them to see the world, meet new people..."

Loki looked at you without a word for a very long moment. Then he turned his attention back to the boy. "What kind of business?"

"Well, I don't really know yet. But I'm working on it! The thing is, I hang around a lot, and meet a lot of people, and there's this one lovely old Romanian lady that always makes me sandwiches and never asks why I swoop by her balcony in the suit in the middle of the night, and she's really cool, but lonely, and that's why she sits on that balcony all the time. She's old, but she still has a very good sight, which is why she's noticed that there were so many dangerous-looking people around lately, and cars that look exactly like in those movies about organized crime and they haven’t started any trouble yet, but she doesn't feel safe. So, she told me about this and I've been looking into it for the past couple of nights, and I definitely have a lead, but I don't really have time for it at the moment."

You picked food from your teeth. Loki tried not to see it.

"So, you don't know shit," you rephrased Peter's monologue.

"It's not like that, I know sh—stuff! I just… have yet to investigate it properly…"

"And you don't have time for that, which you've already unsubtly hinted more than twice."

A blush creeped back onto his cheeks. Peter avoided your eyes. "There's one more obstacle, actually… "

"What a surprise." Loki fished a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his already spotless mouth. "What's the matter then, boy?"

Peter seemed to shrink in his seat. "I found a suspicious place, but… It's for adults. They didn't let me in, even in the suit..."

You failed to contain your laugh, which made Peter disappear under the table more. Loki only sighed, with something close to resignation.

"That actually explains a lot—Could you please stop cackling like an idiot for a second?" Loki snapped while you fought for breath, laying on the table. Loki decided to ignore the strangled sounds you were making, and turned to Peter, barely visible but still bright red. "I have a feeling that your little investigation hit a dead end, which usually results in asking someone more experienced for help."

"I… Hoped you'd agree to help me. I don't really have anyone else, and the Avengers are already busy with the stuff they don't want to tell me about."

Loki blinked. He fell into his own hole.

You seemed to realise it too, for you mastered yourself at last and looked at him with a devilish grin. "What a coincidence, Peter, sweetie. It looks like we're not busy. Or are we, oh dear god?"

Peter watched through his fingers as blood began boiling in Loki. It probably had something to do with the proximity of your face, shamelessly grinning, to his, with a brow twitching. Peter was by no means an expert, but he had a suspicion that one more reason for Loki's foul mood could be the finger you poked his cheek with. He snapped a photo almost absentmindedly, barely touching his phone.

"So, what do you say, oh dear god, to the pleas of your humble believer? Will you turn a blind eye to the struggles of those who can't help themselves? Will you blatantly refuse to recognize the trust put in you…?"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Loki snapped finally, pushing you away with his elbow. "It's not like I planned to refuse, mind you!"

Peter gasped. "So you're in?"

"Uhh…"

"I knew I could count on you, guys!"

The boy's arms locked over Loki's and your neck, bending you awkwardly over the table for the hug. "We're going to fight crime together!"

You patted his back, wishing you could see Loki's face, currently pressed into Peter's other arm. Loki was silent as the grave.

Peter released you after a moment. A smile was splitting his face in half, and his eyes were suspiciously watery. "I knew I could count on you!"

"Any time, kid. We fight monsters, kidnappers, and now solve crimes. We're a whole package. We should get a business card and start advertising."

Loki was of a different opinion, but he remained silent. Watching the boy's excitement and gratitude filled him with something that, if you tried really hard, almost resembled happiness. Almost was the key word. He was above such simple pleasures as feeling useful.

"Oh, I forgot to ask you something," Peter started, rummaging through his pockets. "I bought something for MJ, because she was talking a lot about Lord of the Rings lately, but I'm not sure if it'd be a good idea to give this to her. It's not the same as the One Ring, but it kinda resembles it, right?"

And then he showed you precisely what your own heart desired.

The golden shimmer, the polished smoothness and the gentle, intertwined design of hair-thin letters that spoke directly to your soul. It was everything you ever needed, if only 'ever' could be restricted to the past hour.

Loki paled and dared a look at you. His own heart shuddered, and rose up his throat. The air was thick and full of possibilities.

You broke into a smile.

"Peter, my dearest boy, do you think that we could borrow it for a few hours?" you chirped sweetly. There was an edge in your voice that made Peter shiver, even though he could not tell why.

He swallowed and nodded. He was unsure what string of events his decision would initiate—he only hoped that the world would be ready for it. At least a team of heroes lived in the same city.

He looked at his watch. "I have to run back now, because my break ends soon, but thank you guys so much for everything! I'll call you later and give you the address of, you know, The Place!"

The boy rushed back to school, waving to you and then the owner who didn't raise his head from the magazine. Loki watched the boy run through the whitened street, careful of not slipping on ice, and not so careful about making other people slip.

Gold reflected in the window. He looked at the tiny ring in your hands and then at your utterly feral smile.

"I thought we were supposed to be the good guys," he said. "The good guys wouldn't do that."

You clicked your tongue. "Who said anything about being good? As far as I remember, we've only agreed on not being the evil ones. There's a tiny line in between those two concepts, and I must admit I feel very comfortable walking on it. Aren't you?"

A corner of Loki's lips twitched.

"You don't walk on it—you waltz all over it, and trample both sides equally whenever it suits you…"

You waited.

"...and I love it."

#Please Hate Me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki/reader #loki/you #loki #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #Loki Laufeyson #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson/reader #loki laufeyson/you #marvel #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki imagine

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elisaphoenix13 · 4 years

Text

A Full Party

Thanks to a donation, this has been made available to read!

Athena and Tibbs greeted them like anyone else that was considered a friend, they barely even paid any attention when they stepped off the elevator. Athena briefly flicked an ear in their direction before returning her attention to the rare belly rub she let herself enjoy that Bucky was giving her, and Tibbs rubbed up against their legs before he dashed over to Peter when he shook the treat bag. But Flynn? His reaction was...interesting to say the least.

Everyone was relaxing and spending time with each other while Wanda and Cassie made dinner and snacks for their regular team bonding day (otherwise known as movie night), when the fox suddenly screeched. Quill was on his feet quicker than anyone could turn their heads, but when he saw who the kit was screaming at, he groaned and stomped over to pick him up by his scruff.

"Hey! Relax! Do you see Athena freaking out?" The god huffed and Flynn immediately fell quiet. Whether it was because he was safely in Quill's grasp or if he understood him was a mystery though. "They're friends!"

Shuri bent over cackling and T'Challa merely shook his head as Flynn squirmed in Quill's grasp to try and get to his shoulders. The celestial held him up and let the fox curl around his shoulders, and Flynn sniffed the fingers that Shuri offered after she was done laughing. She pet his head a few times before he playfully snapped at her and she took her hand back.

"I swear he's not racist." Quill said. "He doesn't do that shit with Sam or Rhodey."

"They're new to him. He hasn't seen them before." Stephen said as he approached them. "I'm glad you could find some time to get away." He said to T'Challa.

The king smiles. "We needed a break and we wanted to visit."

"You came at the perfect moment. We're having our monthly movie night. How long are you staying?" Stephen asked as Quill stepped away.

"A week if that's alright." T'Challa said.

"No can do kitty-cat." Tony says from the couch. "There's no room. You'll have to sleep in the dumpster outside."

Stephen rolls his eyes. "Don't listen to him. There's plenty of room. You can stay on Sam's floor."

"Thank you."

T'Challa and Shuri step out further into the floor to socialize, the king going over to Steve and Bucky, and Shuri of course joining the teens. She did eventually end up with Diana and Valerie a little while later and both girls were enraptured by stories of her brother's good deeds. It was nice to see the baby warm up to her so quickly since they rarely saw the royal pair. But it also rubbed Stephen the wrong way because that meant she was becoming less attached to him. At least in his mind she was. If he asked anyone else, Valerie was just as attached to him as she usually was. She was the baby that he could have every single day and wasn't expected to change back to normal within 24 hours or completely miss out on. He enjoyed when the boys and Cassie had been changed but they weren't actual babies. Valerie was, and she was growing up too fast. Sometimes it felt like he had been snapped again because it seemed like just yesterday that he brought her into the world.

He missed her tiny hands and feet, the way she curled against him, and even missed the times she would fall asleep on his shoulder and drool all over it. It was amazing how much he had changed. The old him before the accident would have scoffed at the idea of having kids. Now, he actually thought of the accident as a blessing in disguise. It humbled him. Gave him the opportunity to meet Tony, to have this huge family instead of being alone for possibly the rest of his life.

Stephen really did want another one. He could have ten and Tony would barely blink. He'd just look at however many kids Stephen brought home (whether adopted or magical) and put aside some money for college for every single one of them. He already did that for the twins. Everyone joked about Stephen bringing home the next kid, but sometimes he thinks they forgot who brought home the first two.

Peter and Harley were Tony's first. Stephen just swooped in and took over. Peter very easily cracked the ice around his heart, Harley stuck a chisel in it, and Diana dealt the finishing blow and smashed the ice to smithereens when he accidentally brought her into the world. Stephen's heart was now soft and mushy, and grew with each kid.

He was the fucking Grinch of kids.

"Honey, why do you look like you ate something sour?" Tony asked and Stephen looked at him.

"I…" he blushed. "No reason. Just thinking to myself."

There was another screech from Flynn and an irritated "why are you like this?!" from Quill and Stephen looked over to find Carol on the balcony. Considering she didn't use the elevator, she probably flew here and might have spooked the fox, so he didn't really blame Flynn this time. Tibbs happily trotted over to the woman and rubbed up against her leg before looking around her.

Carol laughed as she crouched down to scratch behind his ears, "sorry fuzzball. No Goose this time."

Tibbs actually sounded like he meowed in disappointment, but he enjoyed the scratches and followed her back inside.

Carol smirked as Stephen approached her. "Have any popcorn?"

"It's for movie night!" Cassie called from the kitchen and Carol raised an eyebrow. "Dinner's almost ready!"

"Guess I'll go get cozy." She said as she scooped up Tibbs in one of her arms and sauntered over to the couch.

Peter seemed to give up on the cat once Carol arrived, knowing Tibbs would spend as much time as possible with her since he rarely saw her. She was in the top three of the cat's favorite humans, Peter and Tony being the other two. Quill finally found himself on the couch again with Flynn contently curled up on his lap and both T'Challa and Carol looked at them.

"Even I know the fox is new," Carol said. "What was with the screaming?"

"Stephen thinks it's because you're new to him. I think it's just because he's a brat." Quill huffed. "The universe decided that I needed the neediest fucking animal alive."

"He can't be that bad." T'Challa said and Scott snorted from his spot on the ground where he was playing cards on the coffee table with Sam and Clint.

"He's that bad. He cries if Quill goes anywhere without him. Hey! I saw that!" Scott said to Clint who had tried to slip a card away for later.

Things got a little too busy for Valerie so she joined Stephen on the couch when he finally sat down. Athena did too once Bucky finished giving her obnoxious belly rubs, and dinner ended up having to be brought to the sorcerer and Valerie when it was ready. Thankfully, Vision was kind enough to do just that and they both thanked him. Tony managed to find his way next to Stephen with his own dinner, and when everyone was settled with a plate, a family friendly movie was started. If only for the sake of the younger children. Once they went to bed, the older kids would go watch another movie in one of their bedrooms, and the adults would drink.

Stephen really needed a night to let loose. It had been a while.

So when the younger kids went to bed and the older kids squirreled away into one of the bedrooms with endless snacks, Stephen didn't even bother replacing them like he usually did. Tonight was a freebie. He was going to drink and he would let his kids get sugar high and consume a concerning amount of other junk food. They knew the adults were going to be drinking, so they knew leaving the bedroom would be at their own risk. It was a good thing William knew how to make portals and teleport.

"Mom, I swear if that's a bottle of wine I see, I'm going to stage an intervention." Clint said with a groan.

Stephen raises a brow as he opens the bottle in the kitchen, then rejoins everyone. "This is mine. I don't know what you're all going to drink." He said with a smug smirk.

"Oh, wow. Who's being a bad influence on him?" Carol asked.

Everyone looked at Thor who looked back with a little offense.

"Why are you all looking at me?" The Asgardian asked.

"Thor had nothing to do with it." Stephen said after draining a fourth of the bottle. Tony had watched in amazement with a hint of concern. "I just need this. I parent...I don't even know anymore." He mumbled.

Sam cackled after he came from the bar with bottles of hard liquor and every single shot glass Tony owned. "I'll drink to that. We children are pretty wound up from missions."

Everyone else laughed and started off with a shot before deciding on a drinking game. Stephen took his time on the rest of his bottle of wine while everyone else decided on a game of Never Have I Ever. Steve, Bucky, Thor, Carol, and Quill drank Thor's Asgardian stuff to even the odds, but even then, everyone was pretty shit-faced pretty quickly. They all knew a concerning amount about each other's sex life or whatever else they were drinking to, except Scott and Quill's sex life wasn't a surprise. Shame wasn't in their vocabulary.

Stephen finally polished off his bottle and joined the game just as Laura said, "Never have I ever done it while a child was in the room."

Stephen and Tony each took a drink and everyone stared at them. The sorcerer simply chuckled and shrugged.

"Valerie was asleep."

Bucky was the one to burst into laughter. "Even I didn't think you'd go that far!"

"I take it where I can get it." Stephen said. "Whose turn is it?"

"T'Challa's." Scott hiccupped.

"Never have I ever been thrown out of a bar or club." The king said.

No one was surprised when Quill took a drink.

"It's not what you think!" He exclaims after swallowing the ale. "It was during a fire. One of my buddies actually threw me out the window...it was before they knew about my powers."

"He probably always wanted to do it." Sam laughed and Quill shrugged.

"Probably."

"Alright," Natasha said to get everybody's attention. "Never have I ever sent a sext to the wrong person."

Every single person took a drink. The ones with kids blushed bright red...and Quill even grabbed the bottle of ale while mumbling something like, "Cass and my work buddies probably need therapy."

Stephen coughed at the god's words and his eyes water from the burning in his nose. "Please don't tell me you sent your daughter an unsolicited dick pic."

Quill groaned. "I did. Thankfully we were both home so I was able to keep her from seeing it. I never got out of bed so fast."

"I should put filters on the kids phones." Tony mumbled. "Or add their personal AI's or Friday to them. Friday, make a note of that."

"Yes, Boss." The AI said.

The game went on for another couple of hours until everyone passed out where they had been sitting. It was weird seeing the king of Wakanda passed out on the couch from drinking, but Tony figured the weird level of that was very low on the list of what he'd seen. He hadn't drank nearly as much as his friends and decided to go out on the balcony and sit in a chair with a cigar. It was something he rarely indulged in, but it was the perfect time to do it. The kids were all asleep and the smoke wouldn't bother anyone, but halfway through it, Stephen had gracefully stumbled out onto the balcony and landed in his lap.

Tony chuckled. "Hi honey. Thought you were dead to the world."

"You left." Stephen mumbled. "Are you smoking?"

"A cigar. A rare treat." Tony admitted.

"Hmm...I like the smell on you." Stephen hummed pleasantly.

"When you're not in danger of puking, I'll make it up to you."

"That's too bad." Stephen whispered. "I thought maybe we could do it right here."

"Tempting...but we do have thirty something kids." Tony laughed.

"I want another one." Stephen slurred as he dozed off on Tony's shoulder and the mechanic rubs his shoulder with his free hand.

"I know. Soon." He promised to his sleeping spouse.

He liked having Stephen in his lap like this. Maybe next time his wife would be sober and they could enjoy the stars from next to the fire at the lake house. He would indulge in a cigar again, have the man cuddled up to him in his lap just like this...and they would look up at the stars. Better yet, it would even be relaxing for Tony. No triggers from looking up into the vast expanse of space, just pure enjoyment.

"We'll have as many as you want." He whispered before placing a soft kiss to Stephen's brow.

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #supremefamily #mama bear stephen strange #the avengers #the avengers kids

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raendown · 4 years

Link

First entry for @madatobiweek this year! Today’s story is for the prompts magic au and de-aged.

Companion art for this story found here!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 10,519 Rated: T+ Summary: All the magic he could possibly want at his fingertips and yet he can't stop one big brother from meddling. Forced in to revealing both his heart and his deepest secret, in the end Tobirama is happy - and happily plotting revenge.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Small Problems

“What do you mean you don’t know how this happened?”

“I’m not sure how else to say that so you can understand it.” Tobirama was aware of the dryness in his tone, aware that was one thing that never failed to rile this man up, but in a situation like this he simply could not be bothered to modulate himself.

Not when the brother who should have been two years older than him sat across the room with rounded baby cheeks, chubby little toddler legs, and a face he hadn’t seen since he himself was about five years old. What on earth his brother had been doing to land himself in such a predicament was uncertain but the two remaining adults both understood one thing without having to voice it.

They needed to right this wrong before Mito returned from visiting the Uzushio Temples or there would be hell to pay.

“Haven’t you memorized basically every damn book in the entire library here?” Madara demanded. “Take a look around! You could say which ones here have spells in them that could do this!”

“I have read many of them, not all. I would need another hundred years at the very least to merely skim the entire collection.” Not that he hadn’t been giving his best shot at doing so. Almost every spare moment not spent bored in council meetings or crafting charms for gullible tourists to buy was spent with his nose in whatever books he could get his hands on. If not for Hashirama occasionally dragging him out of his study he might not eat some days.

“Ugh. What even is the use of you?” His companion crossed both arms and turned his head away, dark hair swaying forward until it almost concealed the way his eyes traced back over to watch Hashirama very intently pluck at a loose thread on the cushion underneath him.

To be fair he did make for an adorable sight. Despite reverting to an age when he had once sported an abominable bowl cut his brown locks remained as long and smooth as ever, long enough to give the effect of a permanent cape draped over tiny shoulders. His fingers were clumsy, tongue sticking out one corner of his mouth in concentration, and the look in his eyes was about as vapidly thoughtless as any seven year old had ever been. Whatever nonsense he’d been fiddling with had well and truly brought him back to childhood.

“Anija?” Tobirama kept his voice soft since he’d already discovered that speaking sharply led to even easier tears than normal. “You said you can’t remember what you were, ah, playing with. Do you remember anything at all?”

“I remember Tobi! Up! Up!” It was disgustingly hard to resist the cuteness of a tiny Hashirama holding out both arms with a beaming smile.

Madara stared at him when he inevitably capitulated, snagging the miniaturized man under both arms and hauling him up to rest on one hip. “I never took you for a softy, Senju. You like kids or something?”

The tone was clearly meant to be a mocking one but the sneering laughter cut off at a calm nod from the one he was trying to poke fun at. Even as a child himself Tobirama had adored taking care of other younglings. Children were uncomplicated, innocent, and they never judged unless they were taught to do so by an adult. None of their endless questions had ill intentions. Sometimes he very seriously considered taking his brother’s frequent suggestions to get out of the house and take up a second job as a teacher of some sort but the thought of not having an out for the times when he just couldn’t concentrate around his latest obsession always brought him back down to reality.

When Hashirama began to babble he listened at first, hoping his question was actually being answered, but it only took half a sentence for him to recognize the usual nonsense and tune it out. He looked to Madara instead with a contemplative expression.

“How do you feel about children yourself?” he asked, unsurprised when the man narrowed both eyes suspiciously.

“Don’t hate ‘em, I guess, why?”

“If you want me to figure out what part of this mess caused my older brother to become my younger brother then I’ll need some time to dig through it all. Can you watch him? I won’t get anything done if I have to constantly pull balls of paper out of his mouth and drag him away from things that could hurt him in this state.”

Watching those dark eyes widen and fill with horror was one of the simpler pleasures in life. “Me? Watch tiny kid Hashirama? Have you lost your entire mind!?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend?” Tobirama snorted. “One would think you knew him well enough to keep him entertained for a day or two. Or is childcare too much of a challenge for one such as yourself?”

That had exactly the effect he suspected it would. Madara spluttered and grumbled about how he was perfectly capable of watching one child for a few hours, how hard could it be, and other such nonsense. Amusing as that was, Tobirama did his best not to laugh. He truly wouldn’t get anything done with Hashirama underfoot and being obvious about his amusement would only send the very sexy bane of his existence storming away with no offers of help.

Honestly if the man weren’t so attractive both in mind and body Tobirama would have drowned him in a water sphere years ago. As long as he drew all the moisture out of the room afterwards it would be the perfect murder. No way to trace it back to him. But of course he had never lowered himself to fantasize about shutting that infuriating mouth up before - murderously, amorously, or otherwise. Wanting anything from someone he argued with so frequently would be a futile exercise and Tobirama was nothing if not a practical man. His time was better spent buried in books as he had been for the past two centuries.

If he learned enough about the world sometimes he wondered if it would make it all feel less lonely.

“Does he even know who I am?” Madara’s capitulation was as easy as that, although he made a point of not verbally agreeing, which was just like him. It was a good point, though. Tobirama hefted the child on his hip and cleared his throat.

“Anija? Do you remember who this is?” he asked.

“Maddy!”

“Yes. That’s exactly who this is.” Tobirama’s lips spread in a shameless smile. “Maddy.”

The sounds of spluttering from across the room were music to his ears, doubly so when the teasing hadn’t even really come from him so he couldn’t be blamed for it. Just for that he resolved to be a little less angry when everything was back to how it should be. Only a little though.

“You’re going to go play with Madara for a while, alright? Be good for him. And use your manners.”

“We’re not going to play,” Madara groused. He seemed to regret it immediately when Hashirama began tearing up. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, but the tears had extra impact when spilling out over chubby cheeks, big brown eyes even wider than normal when set in such a tiny face.

“B-but I wanna!” he cried, chin wobbling dangerously.

Madara backtracked wildly even as Tobirama stepped across the room to hand over the man-child. “No no! Of course we can play! I have lots of board games at home and a pack of tarot cards you can read and I think I still have some kid-friendly runes in one of the cupboards. Kagami likes to play with those. That’s good, right? Please stop crying.”

The way he took Hashirama’s small body in both hands like a sack of potatoes spoke to a certain inexperience with kids and yet once Hashirama finally quit producing tears and giggled at his best friend’s high pitched tone Madara looked much more comfortable, enough that when he set Hashirama on one hip the motion was as smooth and thoughtless as any full time parent. It did ridiculous things to Tobirama’s insides. Attractive, intelligent, and apparently decent with children. If it weren’t for the fact that he just couldn’t see it happening he might have been tempted to pursue something that would definitely end up terrifying everyone around them.

Unfortunately he had many times gotten the impression that Madara did not find displays of intelligence as arousing as he did - usually seemed more annoyed by it than anything else - so the thought was set aside just as it had been every other time it showed up again. While the other two whispered together about how they would fill their time for the rest of the day Tobirama looked around the room and tried to decide where he would start first. He’d initially found his brother buried under the small mountain of scrolls and tomes in the eastern corner of the room but it was all too possible that he’d simply knocked some things over in his struggle to understand this new body. Still, it was the only lead he had and it wasn’t any better or worse than starting somewhere else.

“Right.” Cracking both wrists in preparation, he turned to lift one eyebrow at the co-conspirators giggling away by the door. “I should get started if we want him back to normal before the next meeting of the Magic High Council.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” Madara took the hint, thankfully.

“Don’t forget to feed him. No sugar though, he was a demon whenever he ate sugar at that age.”

“Got it.”

Hashirama whined but Madara was already turning to leave with a little extra bounce in his step to distract the tiny body on his hip.

Although he did his best not to be obvious about it Tobirama watched them until the door closed behind his favorite pair of mischief makers. Only after their voices began to fade down the hallway did he turn and cast a weather eye over the messy study. How his brother got anything done in here was beyond him. Every inch of him itched to clean up, mourning briefly that he hadn’t been born with an affinity for air magic. With air he could have simply waved his hand and called the spirits to help him tidy the room without so much as moving from this spot, could have spent his hours in the library calling books to him without getting up, but alas he had been born with a connection to water instead.

The pile where he started took more than an hour to sift through and at the end he found nothing but the tear stains left by a confused young-again toddler. It probably wouldn’t have taken him half that long just to look at all the book titles and determine whether they were a likely culprit but his instincts demanded that he organize as he went, sorting the books in to categories by subject and gathering the papers that seemed to go together in separate piles as well. Several of the scrolls were unmarked and those he set aside for later. Messing with unknown, possibly magical artefacts was a mistake he’d made several times before. Now was not the time for a repeat. If the rest of the chaos around him yielded nothing he would look in to the unmarked items with due caution and only after advising someone else to come check that he wasn’t dead afterwards.

From there Tobirama began to move around the perimeter of the room, going through each new spot of chaos with a fine toothed comb, leaving order in his wake when he moved on. It saddened him to know that all this effort would probably be ruined in less than a week after his brother was free in here once more.

Beneath one pile of debris he discovered a couch and under a different one he found a table. In one pile after several hours of labor he found some books that he had loaned to his sibling and never gotten back, told they were mysteriously lost somewhere. From now on anything he loaned this idiot would be tethered to a tracking rune and carefully monitored; then the first time Hashirama tried to say something was lost he was going to go dig it up out of this trash heap of a room and commit violence with it.

Maybe he would even let Madara watch. The man did always seem like he could use a good laugh.

Over half the room had been torn apart and rebuilt in to piles of satisfying organization before Tobirama finally unearthed a clue as to what his brother had been messing with. Bundled under a few tomes about interdimensional flora trades he found one that he himself hadn’t read yet, though he remembered mentally noting it for a future subject of interest. Age manipulation was one of the few subsections of time magic he had yet to turn his attention to. His last experiments in those areas had led to tears from several of their neighbors and angered Kawarama so badly his youngest sibling had refused to speak to him for a whole year. Not truly such a large portion of their extended life spans but he’d felt the loss all the same and no matter what others thought he was capable of learning from his mistakes. Even if the mistake he interpreted was not being sneaky enough with his research.

There were probably at least a dozen other ways that Hashirama might have landed himself in the state that he did but finding materials specifically to do with age regression magic in his possession was fairly damning evidence for that possibility. Just in case, Tobirama took a moment to pause and look around the rest of the room. One corner that he hadn’t yet gotten to was an area he very rarely saw his brother digging in to and had thus left it to be dealt with last. Now he looked a little closer and noticed that several piles of nonsense had all been very carefully arranged to give the appearance of being the same old stacks of garbage while concealing a cleared area in the very center, a suspicious little set up if he’d ever seen one. Tobirama set down the thick Treatise on Age Manipulation: Techniques of the Elemental Nations and padded his way across the carpet on silent feet as though if he made too much noise he might startle away whatever lay in the hidey hole before him.

As soon as he poked his head around one tall stack of paper he was frowning deeply, more suspicious than ever. In the very center of the mess, hidden from sight at any other angle but the one he was looking from, a small area had been cleared out to set up an obvious workspace. He remembered when they were little and Hashirama had been so fond of building himself little forts or secret hideaways where he could practice with the natural magics in his blood, making games out of pretending to be some Master Enchanter conducting secret experiments.

Fun as it was to think back to such innocent times from two centuries before, not even the nostalgia of childhood was going to save Hashirama from his wrath if it turned out the idiot had done all this on purpose. With a deep scowl scoring lines in his forehead to match the tattoos on his cheeks, Tobirama slid carefully in to the cleared out space and hunkered down, pulling several open notebooks towards himself to read through his brother’s familiar handwriting.

His fears were proven disgustingly true in but a few pages. Judging by the typically scatter-brained notes, it seemed that not only was this not an accident but that Hashirama had actively sought out this brand of magic for the specific purpose of regressing himself to a toddler. Why he wanted to be seven years old again was not mentioned in the initial notes and so Tobirama read on with a headache already forming from clenching his jaw too tightly.

Two more notebooks of terribly organized outlines and vague descriptions of eighteen different experiments granted Tobirama no more clarity on the situation, although he did pick up enough crumbs of information to piece together a decent knowledge of the subject matter. His temper was barely contained by the time he worked his way down to the final notebook. Fascinating as he had always found it comparing the theories of one spell to another, he needed to figure out which one had actually been used that morning in order to properly reverse it. Truly a regrettable restriction.

Well, regrettable from Hashirama’s point of view, probably. He was the one who would suffer the wrath of an angry water mage until Tobirama had worked out the frustration of this moment.

The last notebook left unread sat open to a random page that Tobirama smacked his hand down on in a temper. Dragging it towards him across the worksurface made the distinct sound of crumpling paper as he did so. Instantly mired with an instinctual scholar’s guilt, he very carefully lifted the book to peer underneath and assess whatever damage he’d just done.

A lone sheet of parchment fluttered back in to place where he easily identified it as a letter. The frown that already might as well be permanently etched in to his face deepend at the sight of his own name at the top. Why in the many interdimensional worlds would his brother need to write to him? They lived right next door to each other! Setting the notebooks aside, he used both hands to smooth out the rest of the letter and held the edges down so he could skim the contents. The moment he reached the bottom his eyes snapped back to the top for a more careful read through since clearly he must have hallucinated what he thought he’d just read.

Nothing changed. Tobirama’s hands were shaking with rage as he read through his brother’s words for a third time like they might somehow change in to something less stupid.

Dear Tobi

If you’re finding this then my plans are in motion! You will be very proud of me, I’m sure, for how carefully I conducted my experiments and research. Just like you!

Watching you and Madara dance around each other the way you have been for half a century is starting to get ridiculous. I really hate seeing both of you so lonely but you both refuse to do anything about it so I decided to do that myself. You’ll thank me, I promise!

The spell I’ll be using will bring my body and mind back to when I was a child - but I guess you’ll already know that when you find this. Don’t worry for me, I still have all my memories. But there is only one way to break the spell and bring me back to normal. All you have to do is say a few simple words. Easy, right? I hope so because the words I chose for my release incantation are words you should have said a long time ago.

You have to ask Madara on a date! Isn’t that fun? I told you that you would thank me later! You can’t just say any old words, though, you have to say it exactly like this: “Madara, it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.” You deserve to be pampered. He should be the one taking you out and treating you nice!

I can’t wait to see how happy you’ll be when I’m back to normal!

Love, Hashirama (the best big brother in the world)

The sound of crumpling parchment filled the air around him, fingers clenching in to the letter with white-knuckled rage. Happy was not even close to any of the feelings chasing red hot through his blood. After he managed to get this idiot back to his usual height Tobirma was going to punch the man right back down to the ground. Stagnant thought it may be, his love life was his own damn business.

His first instinct, of course, was to tear his way through the final notebook in search of which exact spell his brother had ended up using. Almost every curse and rune and incantation that had ever been crafted could be broken or cancelled out by something if a man was desperate enough to do something stupid - and Tobirama was fairly desperate not to get backed in to such a ridiculous corner. Of all the hills he’d been prepared to die on over the years this probably ranked among the pettiest and yet that knowledge did nothing to stop him from slapping the notebook back down in a rush of fury when he discovered what he had most feared.

For a very stupid man Hashirama did have his moments of evil genius. All the notes appeared to be there just as they had been for the rest but here the letters were blurred with some sort of privacy seal, visible only to Hashirama’s eyes. The only thing keeping Tobirama from whipping the entire thing across the room was knowing he would feel compelled to go clean up whatever mess his little hissy fit might cause.

Dragging both hands down his face, he leaned back in what small space was available and tilted his head back to look up blankly at the ceiling, wracking his brain for a way to get around this. He knew dozens of counter-enchantments that could be attuned to different spells but of course Hashirama had known those would be his answer. Without knowing how to attune them he could end up hurting the idiot before he had a chance to murder him properly and that was far from what he wanted. Revenge would be sweet - but deliberate.

It couldn’t hurt anything to go home and do a little research of his own to see if there was some solution that might not be occurring to him in the panic. He had salvaged dozens of seemingly hopeless experiments over the years long after something appeared to be impossible, he wouldn’t know until he tried. With any luck he might stumble upon some hidden nugget of information to save the day and prevent him from making such an utter fool of himself in front of Madara by asking questions he was fairly sure he already knew the answer to. No need to expose himself like that. He’d been lucky in his experiments before, there was no reason to think he might not be lucky again.

Except for perhaps the fact that fate was often a bitch like that, abandoning him when he needed her most.

There was nothing really to pack up since none of the materials around him would be very useful so it only took a moment to squeeze his way back out of the little fort before he could head for the exit. Concentrated as he had been on the task of figuring out what the fuck was going on, his brain had rather easily filtered out the muted sounds drifting over from the other end of Hashirama’s ridiculously oversized home. Thanks to some rather clever seal work designed by Mito the inside of the house was nearly three times as large as the outside, new rooms and wings added on whenever Hashirama took a fancy to some new hobby or another. Until he was intercepted halfway to the front door Tobirama hadn’t realized one of the newest additions was a nursery.

“Play!” Hashirama’s tiny voice demanded with childish imperialism. “Tobi play!”

“Get back here you miniaturized tree! How the hell do you move so fast- oh.” Madara froze in the doorway, arms outstretched where he had clearly been attempting to capture his runaway charge.

“Having fun, are we?” Tobirama murmured. He tilted his head down to see two wide brow eyes staring back at him as though he’d hung the very stars in the sky. It’d been years since any of his brothers looked at him like that. Some small corner of his heart melted instantly, fingers twitching with the need to pull this tiny figure up on to his hip for a good cuddle.

Madara straightened up and cleared his throat. “You don’t need to check up on us, you know.”

“Up!”

“Not now, Anija.” Absently patting the man-child’s hair, Tobirama lifted one eyebrow. “I was on my way to look a bit deeper in to our options for this rather unorthodox situation. My own laboratory is much better equipped for such research so if the two of you would excuse me. Anija, please let go now.”

Hashirama’s bottom lip wobbled dangerously. “No. Tobi has to play!”

Difficult to tell at the best of times, it was even harder to figure out if his emotions were real or put upon with such an earnest and tiny face. He hadn’t lost his memories, after all, only his emotional and mental maturity. Which wasn’t all that great to begin with but Tobirama had been given enough lectures on the subject not to mention that anymore - at least not where sensitive ears might carry his words to a vengeful Mito.

“I can’t stay and play, Anija, I need to work on getting you back to normal.” And planning his revenge, of course, though he refused to give any hints of that. Surprises were supposed to be fun, or so he’d been told.

“But Toooobiiiiii!” Hashirama’s pudgy fingers curled around his leg in a stubborn embrace. “I already said how! I wroted you a letter! Play!”

“The correct word is ‘wrote’,” Tobirama corrected him out of sheer habit. He may not have accepted any of the teaching positions offered to him over the years but there would always be an educator buried somewhere in his heart.

Nodding furiously, the limpet clinging to him faithfully repeated his correction. “Wrote! Now come give me piggyback rides? Madara’s really good at them but his hair is all slippy and I keep sliding off!”

Listening to the strange mesh of adult language and the childish need to bastardize grammar was bound to give him a headache in less than five minutes. Hashirama’s pronunciation was perfect, it was clear he was aware of every mistake in his sentences, so Tobirama was left to conclude that it was all very deliberate. The undersized nuisance was acting as childish as he could to play it up. He had to be. Nothing else could explain how he remembered writing that letter but ‘didn’t remember’ how to properly communicate as such.

Even worse, it was working. Tobirama could feel his resolve weakening with every tug as Hashirama pulled insistently at his fingers. In his current state he had next to no strength and barely a fraction of his usual body weight, there was really no reason he should be able to pull a fully grown man around, and yet Tobirama found himself shuffling forward in half steps anyway. As an instinctual defense against his own stupidly soft heart he made sure to roll his eyes heavenward in an expression of great suffering. From the quiet snort that Madara let out he could guess that his efforts were wasted. So much for all-consuming rage.

As he allowed himself to get pulled in to what looked like the aftermath of a tornado Tobirama quickly revised his plans. He would allow himself to be distracted for ten minutes or so, just enough time to appease Hashirama, then he would head home as planned and see if there was anything helpful to be gleaned from his personal library.

“Maddy helpeded me build a tower!” Hashirama scurried over to show him the wobbly structure made out of wooden rune blocks, imitations of the stones and charms Tobirama himself often peddled for money. Not exactly work to be proud of but it was fairly easy income and quick fingers meant he could produce them fast enough to give himself lots of time for the research he was truly interested in. Pride was all well and good until it got in the way of his experiments.

“It’s a very...tower.” Try as he might Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to compliment that architectural monstrosity.

“He worked very hard on that,” Madara pointed out.

Tobirama turned to level him with a flat stare. “I have my own hard work to be doing right now.”

“Awww but you haven’t even given me a piggyback ride yet!” Abandoning his tower, Hashirama toddled over to strike an admittedly very cute pose. “Stop trying to run away, little brother!”

“Which one of us is little right now?” he snapped back.

Madara didn’t even bother to stifle the bark of laughter that jerked his entire frame, although he did turn his face away to let out a long bout of snickering. Being mocked by him was nothing new, that was pretty much the basis for most of their interactions, but it still wasn’t pleasant to realize he was acting so childishly in front of the man he had such unfortunate feelings for. Tobirama just barely stopped himself from crossing his arms; that would have really driven the nails down in his coffin.

Instead he appeased himself with a pointed glare down at the little body dancing from side to side near his feet. He’d sort of forgotten just how fidgety his brother had been at this age. Of course, the years hadn’t really dulled the habit all that much, just enough that he was able to pass for a semi-respectable adult for short spurts at a time.

“One ride,” Tobirama offered stiffly. “I will take you once around the room and then you will let me leave. Do we have a deal?”

“No! You have to play with both of us!”

“What on earth led you to believe you have any sort of bargaining power here?”

Daring to produce a sunny smile, Hashirama giggled in his face, clearly unaware of the massive hole he was digging for himself by the minute. Vengeance would be sweet once he was returned to a mental state that would understand the sort of tortures Tobirama had in mind.

“If you don’t play with me I’ll tell Maddy what I wrote in the letter!”

Tobirama had never snatched a child off the ground so fast in all his life. Doing his best to ignore the curious and increasingly irritated questions from Madara, he settled his brother across both shoulders and began trotting about the room. When Hashirama demanded it he even gave a very flat neigh. If they had been alone, if this were any other child on his back, he would have had so much more enthusiasm for play. Normally he loved kids. With Madara doubled over in the corner and both hands wrapped around his stomach to contain the mirth it was a little harder than usual to lose himself in the joy of youthful innocence.

Once around the room was deemed far from enough when he tried to stop. All it took was one glance over at Madara for him to set off again with barely a grumble. Mortifying as this was, making the other man laugh was preferable to letting him catch his breath enough for curiosity to set in again. He must have heard something about the letter. Or maybe he hadn’t and the spirits had for once decided to have mercy and allow Tobirama to escape this room without embarrassing himself with the one thing he would never recover from - his feelings.

For perhaps a whole five minutes he was allowed to have hope. Hashirama directed him like a little general on several laps around the nursery before dragging him over to the blocks and demanding he help make an ‘even betterer’ tower. With his guidance the results were at least structurally sound, if not entirely practical. He wasn’t so sure how necessary it was to have so many rooftops. After playing with the rune blocks Hashirama cheerfully announced that he wanted to play dress up and that, unsurprisingly, was where Tobirama drew the line. There were many things he would do to save himself from the fate his brother had chosen to be his doom but putting on a fashion show for a toddler and a man with the power to burn memories in to his own mind was not one of those things. Just the thought of whatever monstrosities might be hiding in this home, waiting for his tortured form to be stuffed in to them, was enough to turn his stomach. His brother was not known for any sort of fashion sense.

“Alright, that is enough,” he declared, standing up to brush imaginary lint from his pants. “You asked that I play with you and I have. Now I will be going-”

“But you didn’t play with Maddy at all!” Hashirama’s tiny legs fluttered him across the room to hang off his best friend’s sleeve.

“I don’t think he’s all that heart broken about it,” Tobirama pointed out flatly.

To his horror, Madara chose that moment to feel a little mischievous. “How would you know? Maybe I’m just torn apart inside with despair that you could possibly think to leave me out of the fun. Come now, Senju, stay and play with me too!”

“Oh! We could have a sleepover!” Clapping both hands to either side of his face, Hashirama’s eyes practically glittered at the very thought.

He wilted sadly when Tobirama shot him down with a short, “No.”

“Whyyyyy!?”

“Because I have work to do.”

“No you don’t!” Hashirama stuck his tongue out. “You just want to go and read a bunch of books a-’cause you’re trying not to ask Maddy-”

“FINE!”

Both of them stared at him with wide eyes for such an unexpected outburst. Madara’s eyes quickly narrowed again in thought, a dangerous expression. The man may have been famous for his manipulation of fire magics but only because there were so few people who had witnessed just what those dangerous eyes could do and lived to tell the tale. And as much as Tobirama knew that should have sobered him with fear he could only mentally sigh at the warm burst of intrigue that bloomed in his chest.

Clearing his throat, he did his best to smooth away the panic from his expression and coached his voice to more normal, less panicked tones.

“If you absolutely must then you may have your...sleepover.” The word came out through gritted teeth.

“Why do I keep picking up hints that there’s something you don’t want me to know?” Madara asked.

“Because there is something I don’t want you to know.”

The offended squawk was amusing, at least. Madara always had this way of bristling like an angry hedgehog whenever they traded their usual insults and that, Tobirama realized now, was probably the origin of his downfall. He couldn’t help it if his poor taste thought it was cute to see an already wild man made even wilder as his hair spiked up and his cheeks puffed out with indignation.

Before his thoughts could run too far away and bring any sort of damning color to his face Tobirama followed tiredly along with his little-older brother’s instructions to set up the room for a good old camp out. In a magically expanded mansion like this one there were a dozen or so futons to choose from. Hashirama picked out the ones he declared the cushiest and conducted his two temporary slaves to drag them through the halls, hemming and hawing with all his seven-year old eye for decorating, demanding they rearrange things four times before it was perfect. If he were honest it looked completely the same to Tobirama in each iteration but he knew better than to say so. He wasn’t looking for a three hour lecture on home decor from someone whose voice had reversed to prepubescence.

When all was about as perfect as he wanted it to be Hashirama threw his tiny body in to the very middle of the mess and began squirming around with all four limbs flailing. Irritating as the situation might be, that was still an adorable sight that forced Tobirama to hide a smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to wait at least until the little idiot fell asleep before he slipped away to hit the books. He just hoped that whatever spell had shrunk his brother would not have any adverse effects with lengthy exposure; it would be just his luck to finally have everyone back to their correct age only to discover that he had accidentally saddled himself with a man forever stuck in the mind of a child.

Not to mention that Mito would have his head for that.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed suspiciously okay with the proceedings. As unselfconsciously as though he were entirely alone, Madara straightened to pull off his outer robes and reached back to sweep the great mass of his long hair behind him. While he listened to Hashirama chatter excitedly about the bedtime stories they should tell he separated his hair in to three sections and began to braid the lot of it in to a thick rope. It was entirely unfair how much more approachable he looked without all that snarled black wire bristling around his head.

Tobirama looked away before anyone could catch him staring. He occupied himself instead with fussing at some of the blankets, turning the edges down and pulling them in to place a little better. Presumably Hashirama would be sleeping in the center and even at his full size he somehow managed not to hold on to any body heat during the night. All the blankets around them might feel excessive but they were probably necessary.

In an effort to relax himself he allowed his body to flop down over the mess of bedding, grateful when his head landed at least somewhat over a pillow. There would be no escape until little eyes had fallen asleep so he might as well get comfortable for now and since he had no long hair to braid or extraneous outer layers to remove there was nothing to do but consciously loosen the muscles in his body until he felt himself all but melting down in to the futon. Someday when this nursery was occupied by actual children he was pleased to note that they would undoubtedly be quite comfortable with soft beds, tasteful decor carefully chosen for a soothing atmosphere, and so many spells layered together for climate control he didn’t think it was even possible for one to grow cold in this room - unless you were Hashirama. A good place to raise children.

Crude as it was, his plan of waiting until Hashirama fell asleep to make his escape sounded perfectly fine right up until the tiny traitor passed out sprawled over his lap in the middle of a story he used to recite for their younger brothers. As soon as Tobirama realized what had happened he fell silent with a baleful glare.

“What’s he done now?” Madara asked with a snicker. “I thought the whole point of telling him stories was to make him fall asleep so what’s with that look?”

“I didn’t mean for him to do so on top of me.”

“Guess you’re trapped here with us, then.” Strangely enough, he didn’t look all that upset about it for a man who’d never seemed particularly enamoured with his best friend’s little brother.

Heaving a deep sigh of resignation, Tobirama closed his eyes and prayed to the spirits of water for patience. This was exactly the sort of situation he did not want to be in. He’d been stupid enough to admit that he was keeping something from Madara specifically and now here he was trapped in place at the other’s mercy. If he wanted to move he would risk waking Hashirama who was even more likely to simply blurt out his secrets than he was to reveal them on purpose. With despair he noted that it seemed Hashirama’s plan would be coming to fruition after all, the bastard. There didn’t seem like a way out of this now. If he woke Hashirama and left his Anija would simply tattle on him but if he stayed here Madara’s relentless personality would not stop until he had the answers he knew were being kept from him.

Staring back at the expectant grin watching him like a hawk, Tobirama could already taste defeat heavy on his tongue. He wasn’t going to get out of this without making a fool of himself. At least, he consoled himself, it wouldn’t be all that hard to avoid the man for a decade or so and by then either his feelings would hopefully have faded or Madara’s memories would have.

“Anything you want to fess up to while we’re stuck together?”

“You,” Tobirama snarled, “are not stuck anywhere. He’s not even a little on top of you.”

“I forgot how cute he used to be - in a dorky sort of way. The lack of bowl cut is a definite improvement.” Already sitting with his legs crossed, Madara folded himself a little tighter so he could lean down and inspect the small sleeping face between them.

Tobirama did his best not to track the movements of that thick braid or think about how much he wanted to unravel it loop by loop with his own fingers. It took a sizable chunk of self control but he managed to meet the other’s gaze once Madara finally sat upright again. “After a prank like this one I am tempted to recreate the bowl cut while he sleeps. He deserves to be laughed out of town.”

“Oh come on, he’s just trying to get you to open your mouth as far as I can tell. So why don’t you just make your confessions and then everything will be fine, ne?”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that, won the throne.”

“Ugh.”

Even that was enough to spawn some very interesting pictures in his mind, images of this man in dark robes lounging on the throne of hell, which made Tobirama glad that he had more self control than most. Otherwise having his brother spread across his lap would have suddenly become twice as awkward.

“Go on then, putting us both out of our miseries now would save a lot of time and badgering,” Madara said.

“And yet I still find myself reluctant to say anything,” Tobirama shot back.

“It must be extra embarrassing then; I’ve got to know!”

With a scowl he turned his head away and declared, “No, you don’t.”

“The more you protest the more curious I become,” Madara laughed. The truth of the statement brought one of Tobirama’s hands up to drag tiredly down his face.

“Right. I should have expected that. Would the reason why we’re in this situation satisfy you? That sounds like a decent compromise to me - and brother is always whining at the two of us to compromise more.” It wasn’t as though they didn’t get along at all but they were both possessed of cantankerous personalities that led to bickering more often than not. Hashirama hated it but Tobirama was often grateful for the way his feature naturally affected a scowl, neatly hiding the fact that he actually enjoyed their verbal spars.

“Sounds entertaining, at least!”

“Hmph.”

Entertaining the other was the last thing he was after, no matter how deviously attractive Madara looked when he was bent over with laughter at someone making a fool of themselves. Right now his biggest concern was mitigating the damage. With that in mind he shored up what little courage he had left the matter and cleared his throat.

“In a stroke of brilliance that I was unaware he possessed - and will happily beat out of him later - Anija located a spell that requires an incantation to break. He chose a certain phrase that he would like me to say, something he has made the decision on my behalf that desperately needs to be said out loud no matter my personal feelings on the matter.” Tobirama took a deep breath in an effort not to get himself riled up. “In short, I am under duress to make confessions I would rather not. Does that satisfy you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Madara declared with a grin.

“You cannot be serious!”

His companion fell back in to the bedding with a bark of laughter. “If anything I’m even more curious. So he won’t turn back in to an adult unless you say whatever he set as the decantation?”

“Mn.”

“Would just be easier to get it over with, wouldn't it?”

“Not really.” Tobirama studied a spot on the wall without actually seeing it. “One doesn’t just say things like this without expecting the consequences to be remembered. You do, after all, have quite the long memory when it comes to mocking others. Not so much when it comes to important dates.”

“I forgot his birthday one time! One time!”

For a moment he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Madara seemed content to be distracted by going off on a rant about how it should be completely forgivable that in several hundred years he had only missed one of Hashirama’s birthdays, too deep in his studies to see the way time marched on around him. It was a state that Tobirama could more than sympathize with, although that did nothing to stop him from throwing it in the man’s face whenever he needed a good distraction.

To his poor luck, however, today his foolproof distraction failed him at last. Madara’s rant ended after only a handful of minutes when he snapped his jaw shut with a suddenness that clacked his teeth together. A curl of his top lip slowly blossomed in to something downright evil looking.

“Something you don’t want to say to me but Hashirama thinks that you should.” He cackled softly under his breath. “Oh this promises to be so embarrassing. Perfect! I have to know!”

“No, you don’t,” Tobirama said again.

“I really, really do.”

A growl slipped out between his teeth as he gnashed them together. “What would it take to convince you to just drop it?”

“More than you could ever afford,” Madara answered promptly.

“Would begging help?” Tobirama’s voice carried a note of mounting desperation.

Yet still Madara shook his head, expression filled with malicious delight. His toes were practically wriggling with it. If it weren’t for the visual comparison spread across his own lap Tobirama might have been tempted to call the man a child for looking so pleased over something so cruel.

Why, in the name of all things holy, did he find that so attractive? Clearly there was something wrong with him.

“I’m afraid you just talked yourself in to a corner by piquing my interest even more. Which means that you have two options.” Madara held up his fingers in a V shape. “One, you tell me whatever this gift wrapped blackmail is yourself. Two, I wake Hashirama up and we hear it from his mouth instead.”

Tobirama stared at him with his heart sinking in his chest because the man was right. He had only two options and of those two he knew which one would feel worse. Saying the words himself was going to end in pain - for more than just himself if his plans for revenge had anything to say about it - but cowering in the corner like a shy child ashamed of his own feelings while someone else exposed his vulnerabilities? Just the thought of standing back and letting that happen made him shudder. It took several tries drawing breath deep in to his lungs but eventually he was able to force his chin up, shoulders square. He held Madara’s gaze for all of three second before his eyes skittered away of their own accord to stare at the wall instead.

“Madara,” he breathed, “it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.”

“W-what?”

“AH!” The booming baritone of Hashirama’s voice was startling after an afternoon of listening to his seven year old squeaking, almost more of a distraction than the way his body returned abruptly to its usual size with a rending crack that echoed off the walls. When he sat up he did so with the clumsy movement of a new faun learning its own legs. “Did I fall asleep? How did the story end? Why does my voi- oh! Oh brother! You must have asked him! I’m so proud of you, I can’t wait to hear how your first date goes!”

Shoving his giant lump of a brother off, Tobirama ignored the indignant whine as he surged upwards to his feet and stormed towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath. The answer is no.”

“You said no!?” Hashirama exclaimed, turning to his best friend who sat very still with a poleaxed expression.

“I didn’t say anything…”

“He never said anything, Tobi. How do you know what his answer is if you don’t let him speak?”

“Easy.” When he paused at the door to look over one shoulder he could meet neither of their eyes. “There was never a chance he would say yes.”

Without waiting to hear a response from either of them he turned back to the door and left, down the hall and through the many twisting corridors of his brother’s stupidly large home. Drafting seals in his mind to cancel out the magic expanding the inside of Hashirama’s house was so much easier to think about than the fact that he would probably have to avoid Madara for the next couple of decades. The man did have a long memory. There was really no guarantee he would ever forget but hopefully the shine of mocking Tobirama for his feelings would have faded away by the time he allowed them to talk again.

His nose wrinkled against the cold when he finally managed to find his way outside to the cobblestone streets of the capital city. Council meetings; he’d forgotten that all three of them sat together on the Magic High Council. That would make it infinitely harder for him to avoid conversing with either of those morons but he was sure he could find a way. Maybe he could design a rune that would remove his voice for a while.

No, that would make it difficult to sell his wares when he needed money. Not to mention that many of the spells he spent his time researching required incantations. He would have to think of something else.

It wasn’t exactly a long journey to his own modest home next door, although with his head lost in the swirl of dark thoughts it felt like it took forever to get there. Stepping in to the ring of fae-fire light illuminating his front step brought with it the familiar shiver of wards scanning him for ill intent and he was glad to have his attention pulled back to reality. Thinking about Madara wouldn’t do him any good. It never had before. Tomorrow he could lock himself away with several notebooks and brainstorm some underhanded method or another to minimize the contact between them until he could meet the other man’s eyes again but for now the best thing would be to just get some sleep.

The house was dark and Tobirama didn’t bother to turn on any lights, familiar enough with his own layout not to need them. Living by himself as he had for so long meant that he really felt no desire to expand the inside as his brother had. What need did he have of more space? He already had more rooms than he knew what to do with, filling most of them with books and the results of failed experiments, so the thought of adding more felt ridiculous.

Even without light enough to see it Tobirama could feel the comfort of his living room the moment he stepped inside. Well worn carpet buoyed his steps on his way to collapse down over the threadbare couch. Not many things in his house had been replaced in the past couple of centuries. Impressing the rare guests who entered was far less important to him than the precious memories attached to every item here that had been with him through discoveries, achievements, and heartbreaks. He gave the cushions underneath him a chance now to help him through one more of the latter as he stretched out on his back to stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. Would that he could turn his mind off. To not think any thoughts for several hours would be a wonderful boon at the moment but sleep felt as far away as the ocean.

A good thing, as it turned out. The spirits of water only knew what sort of reaction he might have had to being awakened by the sound of booted feet storming in to the room and a violent hand smacking the light switch without looking. Despite knowing exactly who had invaded his home - he knew those footsteps, would always know the pattern of that confident stride - Tobirama pulled himself in to a sitting position where he could glare down his unwanted guest.

“I have never understood,” he growled, “how you always bypass my wards.”

“Don’t need to. They let me in just fine.”

“They shouldn’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

Shifting forward to the edge of his seat, Tobirama pointed back down the hall. “Get out. I have better things to spend my night doing than being mocked by you - like figuring out what loophole you’ve found that keeps letting you in here.”

“They’re intent based, aren’t they? I get in because I have no intent to harm you in any way.” In deliberate ignorance of being asked to leave Madara stepped further in to the room. Somehow he managed to look both his usual confident self and oddly hesitant, arms folded closely to his chest.

“Like hell you don’t. It’s not just physical harm they’re supposed to guard me against. Just leave. I don’t want to listen to whatever-”

“Just let me talk!”

Sitting down while the other hovered menacingly over him felt like weakness, like offering himself as bait, so Tobirama stood to fold his own arms with a frown. “I’m sure I don’t want to hear whatever it is you came here to say.”

Whether that be mockery or some kind of apology for not returning his feelings he really didn’t want to listen. Both options would hurt equally as bad. It was something he had observed long before falling prey to the same thing himself; beings like themselves with lives extended by the magic in their veins tended to harbor their pains much deeper and much longer than the humans with more natural lifespans. He’d been in love with Madara for so long it was hard to remember when he first decided to push it all down and simply forge ahead. Learning to let these feelings go was going to be even harder than learning to ignore them had been.

“I think you do. But first I need to know; did he make you ask me that because…”

“Don’t make me say it,” Tobirama said quietly, looking away.

“So you do... Then you meant what you said to Hashirama? You really think there’s no chance at all that I could ever say yes to you?” Madara took another step forward only to pause when Tobirama took a step back in answer.

A glare probably wasn’t enough answer so he forced himself to say, “Obviously.”

“W-What do you mean ‘obviously’? That’s not- Like hell!”

“Either make sense or leave. Actually, just leave. Now.” Tobirama took a step back with the intention of turning and walking away. His bedroom was much more heavily warded than the rest of the house, he would be safe in there from whatever the hell was going on.

He froze when Madara blurted out, “I would have said yes!”

“I...beg your pardon?”

The particular shade of red currently spreading across Madara’s face was one Tobirama had long ago learned to associate with an impending explosion, generally one of words and almost always directed at himself. Some part of him braced for impact out of sheer habit even as the rest of his body hung loose with shock and his thoughts ground to a stuttering halt. He watched Madara fidget and held his breath.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. You like me, I’m allowed to like you back!”

“Since when!?” Tobirama demanded. Then, because that didn’t feel like enough, he also spluttered his way through, “How? What? Me?”

“Of course you! It’s always been you! You’re the only one who knows how to properly yell back at me, you’re so smart already and you still spend every day lost in your studies, you’re more attractive than I know what to do with; who the hell wouldn’t say yes to all that?” With a toss of his head Madara scoffed and tried to stand casually as though he weren’t blushing redder than his own family crest.

Tobirama could only stare. “I don’t...what?”

By the determined expression on the other’s face Tobirama figured he should probably turn tail and run when Madara began marching across the room towards him. As luck had it, he was still too deep in shock to do anything but stand there like an idiot until his collar was bunched up in a pair of fists.

“Fuck it,” Madara snarled. “Neither of us was ever any good at words anyway.”

Despite all the clues laid out so neatly in a row for him Tobirama’s first thought when he was yanked forward was that he was about to be headbutted, a ridiculously mundane attack considering how much magical power they both wielded. Nothing could have possibly surprised him more than Madara’s lips crushing against his own in a kiss that began as brutally as their clashes ever had only to soften, taking and taking and then suddenly asking, exploring, reaching out with a question he could finally understand. It took several heartbeats for him to respond through the shock but when he did-

Oh, when he did. Centuries of yearning coalesced inside him and faded away to dust as he slid his fingers in to midnight hair and tilted his head for a better angle, a deeper kiss. Madara sighed in to the affection like he too had been waiting much too long for this moment. The feeling of that strong body pressed against his own was like finding the other half of himself and finally finally coming back together again. Tobirama held tight and prayed that none of this would disappear when he woke the next morning.

“Was that clear enough?” Madara asked him in breathless words, quiet as though he didn’t want to disturb the moment.

“I will have a lot of questions,” Tobirama warned him. “Later. Just- again.” He was grateful that his incoherency made sense to the other, pulled in for another kiss that felt like learning how to breathe for the first time.

They could have made their way to the bedroom, to the couch he was still right next to, up against the wall or anywhere really. It was late and the day had been filled with more emotions than either of them were accustomed to dealing with in such a short time span. Still they remained where they were. Even when the kisses began to fade and the desperation in their movements settled in to the confounding knowledge that this was truly happening they stood where they were, wound together with their eyes closed and their cheeks pressed against each other in silence. Tobirama breathed in the scent of smoke and ash, closed his eyes, and smiled.

Maybe he wouldn’t kill his brother after all. It was possible - unlikely as it sounded - that Hashirama had been right in the end. And as much as Tobirama protested the methods used to force his words in to the light he was self-aware enough to know that he would never have said them otherwise, too wrapped up in his own interpretations to see the truth.

Another deep breath and Tobirama admitted to himself that he should probably thank his brother. Without interference he might have never had the opportunity to feel the beat of Madara’s heart against his own, the way their chests pressed together with every synchronized breath in. His eyes cracked open but it was only to crinkle at the edges with a smirk as evil as he had ever been accused of being. Thanking Hashirama could come after the revenge he was equally owed. A few smiles, a day or two of playing nice, and he was sure he could weasel out of the man which spell he had used to reverse his age. Tobirama was patient. Locking his brother in that limited body for a week or so would be so much sweeter after Mito came home and he could leave the idiot to her lack of mercy. Only after apologies had been given on bended knee would he relent.

“You’re thinking something evil,” Madara’s voice rumbled in his ear. “Your fingers always twitch when you do.”

“Sorry-”

“I like it. You’ve always been a mean son of a bitch and that’s part of what I like about you. Share whatever evil thoughts you have in your head?”

Tobirama bit his lower lip to keep himself from laughing, curling tighter around the body in his arms as he whispered, “Stay.”

“Always,” Madara whispered back. “I always meant to stay.”

It seemed like it should be impossible to have everything he wanted handed to him as easily as that but Tobirama was hardly going to question it. He questioned enough in his research. All thoughts of giving thanks or revenge could wait until after he’d spent at least a few good hours memorizing the way it felt to finally hold this man in his arms.

Pressing their lips together again was more of a rush than any magical discovery had ever given him, dusting his cheeks with a pleasant warmth, and Tobirama decided that he was happy to stand here for the rest of time if it meant he never had to do anything but trade gentle kisses just like this. It felt like the events of tonight had gone by so fast he wasn’t entirely sure how any of this had happened but that was alright.

“Always. I like the sound of that.”

#rae writes #madatobiweek2020 #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #magic au

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nadiestar · 4 years

Text

Drawing Unicors And Train Wrecks: Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 (AO3)

Masterpost | Taglist

“I see your point I just don’t think we could motivate any of the boys to come here and just sit together. Logan is angry at me for skipping him and at you for making the button. Virgil is angry with me siding with you and I don’t think I need to point out what Roman would have against sitting together with us,” Patton said and massaged his temple.

Janus leaned back in the chair and pressed his lips together. He had hoped for Patton to be far more eager to get his beloved famILY together. But apparently him turning into a giant frog had caused him to become more reasonable. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but right now Janus would have preferred an optimistic Patton to a reasonable one.

“Well, and we’d also have trouble with Remus...”

Janus raised his eyebrows, as he watched Patton casting his eyes down to the kitchen table in quiet guilt. That was not something he expected Patton to bring up, but then again, what was he if not an opportunist.

“Indeed. We’re going to have a lot of problems with Remus. But we need to have them, so we can get over them. Otherwise he will not be accepted by Thomas and we both know we need him to be accepted.”

Patton looked up. He clenched his jaw and Janus crossed his arms in front of his chest, as he pushed his chin forward. He would not back out of this conversation. Not in a million years.

___

“So, you just knock once on the floor instead of saying “UNO”, alright?” Roman proposed while knocking with his fist on the floor, as an example what Remus was supposed to do.

The little Duke, now with the quiet elaborate make-up moustache, grinned widely and demonstrated his agreement with hammering his fist on the floor a few times. Virgil grinned at the little boy's energy and enthusiasm and then asked if he should distribute the cards.

Then they started to play. It had been Remus who conjured the set after he had been satisfied with staring at his reflection and the three others were quick to oblige. And so, they had ended up sitting in a little circle around a stack of UNO cards on the floor of Logan’s living room.

They didn’t know but imagery the group provided was more than a little strange. The three grown men all looked like they all came out of different shows. A prince out of a fairy tale, the stern but fair teacher from the protagonists of a kids show and an emo background character out of a Tim Burton movie. And all three looked utterly displaced sitting as they were in a little circle with this little boy in midst of them.

But they did not truly care. Not when they miraculously managed to keep going and going and whenever one of them had an UNO the others’ managed to keep them to lay down his last card. Also, somehow whenever things got a little quieter the one player who was next pulled a +4 and as funny it was to hear all three adults censor their swears (Remus was Remus but also five years old. They had to be responsible around him.) it also was a bit strange.

After a further fifteen minutes of them playing without ever reaching a conclusion, Logan paused before he played his next card, a green reverse which would keep Roman from playing and give Remus the next move, and looked to the little Duke next to him.

“Remus, am I right in the assumption that you are monitoring which cards we have and manipulating the middle stack?”

The little boy pressed his cards against his chest and pouted with big puppy eyes. Logan sighed but the tiny hint of a smile reached his lips and he told the boy: “I know you’re not changing the cards we hold in our hands. I’ve kept an eye on it. It’s only the middle stack and taking that in account I have to say -” The hint of a smile turned into an actual smile - “that is quite impressive. You’re being very clever with this.”

A tiny giggle escaped the little rat kid’s lips. It was not loud but genuine and fresh. Filling the air and their chests like only few melodies ever could. It was surprisingly soft and so, so vulnerable. Vulnerable like a feather.

___

Patton was shaking like a feather in the wind. The hard and stern expression in his face could have fooled one, but Janus saw the fear and the fragile state of the other. He didn’t want to put him through it.

“I understand that he is loud and wild. I get that it scares you,” Janus said and put Patton through it anyway, “but he will let us face what we need to face. The anger, the sadness, all the things that weigh you down. He can access them so much easier and it will only help you to face them. He’s necessary for us to get better.”

“But what is about the effort the others already put into my wellbeing? Does it not count? How is it not enough? Roman sacrificed his own needs for me feeling better! How is that not enough for me?” Patton retorted defensively and desperately.

Janus eyes became sad and he reached over the table to take Patton’s clenched hands in his own. He saw his pain. He knew it. He had seen it so many times in his friend.

“I am so not sorry Patton. I wish that the things the others did for you would have made you better, made it easier for you to be but self-sacrifice, as noble as it might seem, is not helpful. What Roman did was not helpful. He was just as desperate as you and wanted to help but what he brought to the table was not helpful. Because it was not what he really believed, what he really wanted. He was just trying to please you and that wasn’t helpful for either of you. He needs to be able to talk back to you, having another opinion than you and knowing that he might get out of a discussion as the winner, because right now, he can never win.”

Patton’s bottom lip shivered but his hands were unclenched. He let Janus hold him.

“Roman can do much good if we let him. And you can too. So, so much good. I know that is all you want but I’ve seen you destroy yourself by taking over the wheel with no idea of what you were doing. You’ve been hurting so long and I know you began to acknowledge parts of that but that won’t be enough. We’re going to have to dig deeper than that. And I know you can do it. Just not on your own.”

___

Finally, Remus played his last card and Logan proposed for all of them to take a short break. Remus was fine with it, when Logan gave him some paper and a pen and sat next to him, while he scribbled some doodles on the paper. Meanwhile Virgil pulled Roman aside.

“Hey, man, uhm, you seem… tense?” Virgil started quietly while eyeing what Logan and Remus were doing in the corner of his eyes.

Roman forced a smile and fumbled with his hands as he then told doubtful Virgil: “I’m fine! Just worried. About Remus. What else would I be worried about, I mean? Right?”

The fake laugh Roman put on after that didn’t help convince Virgil in any way of Roman’s words. And Roman could see that all too well and stopped. Uneasily he cast his eyes down to his feet and felt his shoulders slump. He didn’t feel princely, at all.

“It’s fine. You took a big hit after the whole thing with Deceit. You’re allowed to be upset about it. Especially, now when your brother fucking regressed as well. This is like the worst nightmare I can imagine, myself being in,” Virgil claimed despite at least five worse things coming to mind but choosing to ignore them since they didn’t seem to be helpful additions in order to get Roman into a better mood.

“It’s not so bad. There are worse things than being regressed.”

Virgil stared at Roman with big eyes and Roman immediately noticed his mistake. Franticly, feeling sweat building on the back of his neck he held his hands up in front of his chest and he faked a laugh.

“I mean,” Roman tried to deflect the suspicion, “there are worse things than Remus being regressed! Remus being regressed! Yeah. That’s what I meant.”

In Virgil’s head rang a million alarm bells. Roman had been regressed before. His poor attempt to hide it made that clear enough, but looking at Roman’s face, at the worry in it he knew he couldn’t ask it. Not without compromising Roman into a crying mess at least.

So, he took the other bait and asked: “Then Remus has been regressed before? Like how often?”

Roman’s breath was still racing and Virgil almost felt that he was going to cry but at once Roman just gulped, drove his hand through his hair and got a grip on his breathing again. He smiled shakily but it seemed to be enough for him to keep himself together and he began to explain.

“It’s usually, when he gets super overwhelmed by stuff that happens to Thomas. Or to us for that matter.”

“What?”

Roman and Virgil turned both their head to Logan who had stood up and now was walking towards the two of them.

“Why would regression help him to deal with feeling overwhelmed?” Logan asked again, as Roman didn’t continue talking.

With a curt shaking of his head Roman bounced back and he answered: “It doesn’t help. It’s a reaction. He has no way of changing the situation, he cannot do anything to stop us all from hurting and stuff and so his physical state just aligns with his emotional state. He just becomes as small and helpless as he feels.”

___

“Thank you. I feel a little less directionless now,” Patton told Janus and squeezed his hands.

The snake smiled at him, fondness visibly glittering in his eyes. He let his hand slip over Patton’s and stroked it a few times, getting a little shaky but authentic smile out of the moral side.

“Do mention it. I’m just doing what I can to keep us all from crashing.”

Patton gave him a short glance, which told Janus that he was thinking that Janus did much more than that but neither lingered on that notion. Instead, Patton sighed a little and straightened his back.

He pulled on hand back to his chest, fumbled with the knot of his cardigan and said while looking down to the table: “I just can’t but still feel uneasy about the twins. It’s as if I could sense their unease, you know?”

“You what?” Janus asked suddenly vigilant.

It was then both heard the sound of a door opening in the hallway.

___

Nerd had heard Bro and Gily talking. He had gone to them and talk.

Nobody was looking over his drawings anymore. Remus did not like that feeling at all. He knew, he should have been used to it, but it still bothered him. He didn’t want to cry though. Bro was upset and Nerd and Gily could not handle him being upset. So he would not cry and do something himself.

Nerd’s room was not much fun, when he looked around. Just papers and necessities. Many books Remus didn’t want to read.

But then there was the door. The doorknob was very shiny and Remus knew he could reach it with no problem. And so, the little Duke stood up and walked over to the door, mindful of his step, so the others wouldn’t see him.

The shiny doorknob was smooth and Remus liked the feel as he turned it and opened the door. Quick he stood outside and looked down corridor. It was funny how much bigger everything looked to him now.

___

Roman barely heard Logan’s last words as they all three suddenly noticed the little creak the door made as it was opened. In panic all three turned to see Remus walking outside and Roman started sprinting to get to his brother.

He hit his knee at the door, the pain pulsed, but he had no time thinking about it. Remus wasn’t looking at him. He looked to the doorframe leading into the living room, to the shadow that was cast through it.

Roman felt his heart beat up into his throat. The shadow had a hat. He knew the steps. He placed himself beside Remus, despite shivering like a leaf, holding out his arm as if to protect him.

And there it came; Janus stepped out of the doorway. Looked at him and his little brother, who was close to tears. Roman opened his mouth, wanted to defend Remus, not seeing the obvious concern and not anger shining in Janus’s face. But no sound wanted to come to him. He was helpless.

Another shadow. Another pair of steps, next to Virgil and Logan who had come out after Roman.

Patton stood behind Janus.

And at that Roman shrunk. His prince outfit morph into a simple white shirt with a golden sun on it and the red sash turning into a red cape. The black slacks and black boots gone for red shorts and bare feet. On his head a golden cardboard crown held on his head with an elastic string around his chin.

Whimpers shook the now so little Prince and he tried to muffle, suffocate them behind his tiny hands, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t do anything.

Remus jumped in front of him. A little, silver short appeared in his right hand and with his left he shielded him from the other’s sight.

Roman fell onto his backside from crying and his brother’s little hand was suddenly put on his shoulder. And then they fell through the floor into a different place. Away from the others.

___

The four grown-ups stared at the place where Roman and Remus had just stood a mere moment ago.

“Where did they go?! Janus! Where did they go!” Virgil cried aggressively and targeted Janus, who’s eyes still were frozen on the spot.

“Remus probably took them to the Imagination. It’s where he feels most in control,” Janus answered in reflex.

Panicked Logan shot forwards, hands on his head and muttered: “The Imagination is a death trap! They are five years old and we cannot function without Creativity. We cannot lose them! We cannot lose them.”

“Hold. Hold on. We can fix this. It is fine,” Janus intervened finally breaking free from his spot.

“Fix this? This is your fault and-”

“Virgil, please!” Patton stopped Virgil.

All three looked at Patton. He rubbed his eyes. Tears were streaming down but beyond them was a shaky sign of determination in his gaze.

“Janus is self-preservation. If somebody knows how to start saving ourselves it will be him.”

Patton reached out and held onto Janus’s arm.

“I’ll trust you. Lead the way.”

Virgil and Logan gaped at the two and then exchanged a look. Logan gulped and took a step towards them. Gave Janus a simple nod and hesitantly put is and on Patton’s back.

Virgil stared at Janus. And Janus stared back. For once Virgil didn’t slouch. He met Janus evenly in his gaze, taking a deep breath and took a step towards Logan.

“Well then,” Janus said looked to the others, “let’s not waste anymore time and get our Creativities back.”

___

@aprincehasgotoslay

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

#platonic drlamp #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #janus sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #Drawing Unicorns And Train Wrecks #mim rambles #Mims Requests

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keichanz · 5 years

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it’s been over a year since i’ve worked on this last and for some fucking reason i got the random inspiration to dig it out of my wip folder and finish it up and well *shrug* have some drama, i guess.

majorly unedited. literally haven’t touched this in over a year so who the hell knows what you’re gonna find rofl

“Wait—what?” Kagome blinked as she set her giant yellow bag on the floor and eyed her friend dubiously, almost positive she had heard that wrong. “Say again?”

She settled down by the fire and accepted the cup of tea Kaede handed her with a smile of thanks, not at all surprised when a warm weight reclined against her side and she used her free hand to run her fingers through Shippou’s hair in an absentminded gesture of motherly affection.

Sango smiled in understanding at the girl’s reaction because she had had a similar one upon hearing the news as well.

“No, your ears aren’t deceiving you, Kagome,” she said with a hint of amusement, idly stroking Kirara’s fur where the cat demon snoozed contentedly in her lap.

“It’s completely true; Inuyasha really did accompany Miroku to the neighboring village to slay a low level demon, even though Miroku could have easily handled it himself.”

A puzzled frown wrinkled Kagome’s brow, but before she could question the hanyou’s uncharacteristic behavior, someone else beat her to it.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Shippou piped up, unwrapping a lollipop he’d pilfered from Kagome’s bag. “Inuyasha misses you, Kagome, so he went with Miroku to distract himself from thinking about you.”

He paused to take a few licks of his treat. “He knew you would be back in this world by the time he and Miroku returned so it was a good excuse as any to think about something else and let off some steam at the same time.”

The fox tyke shrugged his tiny shoulders and stuck the sweet into his mouth, closing his eyes and putting his hands behind his head, nodding to himself.

Kagome and Sango blinked and as the former blushed and ducked her head, Sango’s brows rose and she grinned at the kitsune.

“You know, I think you may be right, Shippou,” she said and glanced at the girl in question, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide her red face behind her yunomi.*

Kaede chuckled as Shippou puffed out his chest in obvious pride, a wide grin spreading across his young features, and Sango smothered her giggles behind a hand. Without her permission, Kagome’s lips twitched up into a small half-smile and a quiet laugh escaped her too as her embarrassment faded. Truthfully, in all likelihood, the young fox demon probably hit the nail right on the head with his observation, and Kagome would be lying if she said that didn’t please her at all because she missed him, too.

The three adults lapsed into idle conversation then about shard rumors, the demon the two males of their group had gone to destroy and what have you as Shippou contentedly lapped at his lollipop, leaning against the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother and more or less tuning out the grown up talk. It was a good thing he was around to explain to his human friends the stubborn half-demon’s thought patterns, otherwise they would all be lost and Kagome and Inuyasha would never get around to telling each other how they feel.

Someday they’ll realize what I do for them, he mused and popped the cherry-flavored sweet into his mouth again with a happy sigh.

Another half an hour went by with no sign of the monk or half-demon and Kagome was just about to suggest a game of cards to pass the time when suddenly a scream of absolute terror pierced the air and the three adults exchanged startled glances before hurriedly getting to their feet and rushing outside.

The sight that met their eyes elicited twin gasps of horror from the two younger women while Kaede pressed a hand to her chest, her good eye going wide in disbelief.

“Oh…my,” she breathed, stumbling back, and had it not been for Sango wrapping a supporting arm around her shoulders, she would have fallen to the ground in her shock.

Kagome felt the color drain from her face and she threw out a hand to grasp Sango’s shoulder to steady her suddenly wobbly knees. The village was in utter chaos. Buildings and homes had been set aflame, the villagers were screaming, running for their lives from the ruthless bandits that invaded their home. They were everywhere, some on horses, laughing mercilessly as they struck down men and woman alike. Others ransacked homes wielding swords, striking down anyone who got in their way. Some of the braver village men attempted to fight back, grabbing anything they could get their hands on for a weapon and providing a distraction for their wives and children to escape.

It was the terrified screaming of a child that jolted Kagome into action and jumped started her heart to beating in her chest again. Why was she just standing there?!

“Sango!” she yelled, spinning around to her friend only to have her bow and arrows suddenly being thrust into her arms.

“Help Kaede round up anyone not fighting and lead them to safety,” she demanded, clutching her rarely used sword in one hand and Hiraikotsu slung over her shoulder, ready to be released if necessary. “I’ll try and divert their attention for as long as I can.”

Sango’s face was grim and Kagome knew, though she’d do her best to avoid it, some of those bandits were not going to survive the evening.

Clutching her bow, Kagome nodded once and simultaneously the two women reached out and clasped hands, squeezing once; a silent bidding to stay safe. Then Kagome spun around and headed into the smoky fray while Sango charged forward, sword raised and the sound of steel clashing together pierced the air.

Gritting her teeth and trying very hard to ignore the bodies already littering the ground at an alarming rate, Kagome dove into the massacre, dodging swords, pitchforks, and flaming wood alike as she did as he was bade, tracking down those too old, young, or frightened to fight back. Through the smoke she could see Kaede, her own bow in her hands, urging a group of women and children toward the forest and Kagome ran after them, arrow knocked, ready to fire and protect from behind.

The smell of blood and smoke was making her simultaneously lightheaded and nauseous but she forced herself to ignore it, her breathing labored as she hollered for the villagers to keep moving, don’t look back! They were terrified, children sobbing, women screaming for their husbands and she tried hard not to think about how some of those screams were abruptly cut off with harsh, maniacal laughter.

Hoof beats thundering towards them had Kagome whirling around and raising her bow toward the bandit on horseback charging toward them, sword raised, face bloody and the most twisted smile on a scarred face. She braced herself but a familiar bone boomerang knocked him clean off the horse and Kagome didn’t stay to thank the slayer, turning back around and hurrying after those she needed to protect.

Kaede was at the forest’s edge, ushering everybody within the safety of the trees and their eyes connected for a split second before Kagome’s vision was abruptly obscured by a snarling face and bloody battle-axe. She cried out in alarm and instinctively thrust out her bow, hoping to catch him off guard, but the bandit thwarted her attempt with a vicious backhand across the face.

Kagome hit the ground hard, her bow landed some five feet away from her and pain throbbed her through head as her vision went blurry. She tasted blood, her stomach heaved, and before she could even think to scamper away, something tangled in her hair and roughly jerked her head up, eliciting a pained cry from her mouth and she opened her eyes to find the bandit inches form her face, his rancid breath making her gag and the sight of his rotted teeth as he smiled nastily something Kagome was sure she’d see in her nightmares if she survived.

Screwing her face up in the nastiest scowl she could manage, Kagome spit in his face and tried to escape by any means possible kicking, punching, squirming and even trying to bite, but to no avail. The bandit growled and tightened his hold on her hair before slamming her head into the ground and Kagome’s cry of pain was drowned out by the sudden agonized screaming of the bandit who’d been about to kill her. The hold on her hair vanished as he stumbled back, swatting at the blue fames that had engulfed him, and in his haste to extinguish the illusion, he tripped over a dead body, fell back, and impaled himself on his own weapon.

Kagome groaned, her stomach heaved, and with a mighty shove that caused pain to ricochet throughout her skull, she managed to turn over onto her side before emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground. She sputtered, grimacing as she spit and wiped her mouth with a dirty hand.

“Kagome!”

“Shippou,” Kagome rasped, gritting her teeth as she leveraged herself onto her hands and knees, shaking, sore, head spinning. “Are you—”

“I’m fine!” the kitsune hollered, his pale, dirt-smudged face desperate as he grabbed her hand and tugged. “You gotta get up, Kagome! C’mon, we need to get to Kae—”

Shippou was cut off by a booted foot landing roughly into his small body and Kagome watched in horror as the fox tyke flew through the air from the harsh kick, landing in a pile of burning rubble. Kagome screamed and scrambled to her feet, dizziness making her sway as another bout of nausea assaulted her, but before she could take even a single step an armor clad arm snagged her around the waist and hauled her back against the sweaty, bloody body. She shrieked, kicking against the hold, clawing at the hand but the sharp blade of a sword pressed against her neck stalled any further movement.

“One more move and I’ll slit your throat, whore,” a hoarse voice growled in her ear and Kagome shivered, closing her eyes as her captor started dragging her backward, through the smoke and remains of what once was Kaede’s village. She tripped and stumbled but the bandit didn’t seem to care, his breathing harsh as she swiftly turned around and led her away, keeping the blade pressed to her throat.

Inuyasha, Kagome mentally called for her hanyou, tears pricking the back of her eyes as the noise of the destruction and pillaging grew distant. Where are you?

Inuyasha...!

“Aaaarrgghh...!”

With a mighty heave, Sango let Hiraikotsu fly, successfully knocking the trio of bandits on horseback off their mounts and landing on the blood-soaked ground with a chorus of curses and groans. She wasted no time, unsheathing her katana in one smooth movement and darting forward to end their miserable, murdering lives with a flick of her wrist. Hiraikotsu curved back toward her and without missing a beat she caught her weapon just in time to swing it behind her and do some major brain damage to the bandit that had been sneaking up behind her.

He fell to the ground, either dead or unconscious but she didn’t care enough to check, hardly taking the time to catch her breath before she was running again. She was glad to see that most of the villagers had escaped with their lives and the majority of the bodies littering the ground were the bandits that had stormed the village. That didn’t mean there were no casualties, however; as she darted through the destruction, she came upon bodies she recognized, both women and men, and Sango had to fight against the urge to weep for their loss.

Now wasn’t the time for that; she had to find Kagome and Shippou and make sure Kaede had managed to make it to the first safely with the women and children.

“Dammit, Inuyasha, Miroku, where are you?” she hissed, grunting as she ducked and swerved through the burning remains. The fires were nearly out and while some of the huts had been spared, most of them lie in ruins, smoking rising into the air, a home lost.

Swallowing thickly, hoping her dear friends were alright and trying not to panic, Sango forced down the hysteria that rose, tightening her throat and making her stomach roll. Frantically she searched the ground, praying to anyone that would listen that she wouldn’t find them amongst the dead, looking for a flash of green or orange amid the rubble and blood.

A noise to her right had to her skidding to a stop and Sango braced herself, whipping her head around and tensing in preparation to throw her weapon, but she paused when nothing jumped at her. Breathing hard, heart racing in her chest, Sango frowned and listened carefully, filtering out the sounds of crackling flames, pained groans of survivors, the wind—

There! Eyes zeroing in on a pile of burning rubble, Sango narrowed her eyes and cautiously edged forward, hand tightening on both of her weapons, prepared to launch into another attack. Her gaze narrowed as she surveyed the scorched earth; nothing moved and the noise had stopped.

Sango paused and tensed. She waited; tightened her grip on her katana. Braced her knees.

With a cry, she whirled around, ready to decapitate the bandit that sought to surprise her with a blow to her back, but before she could deliver her own attack, another blade entered the fray and blood splattered as the bandit was suddenly skewered right through the stomach.

Dead before he hit the ground, Sango didn’t spare him a glance and instead focused on her savior, the relief the swamped her so strong she had to jam Hiraikotsu into the ground to remain standing.

Furious amber eyes regarded her steadily and he didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Where is she?” he growled and it was obvious he was trying very hard to leash his fury.

Covered in a grotesque combination of mud and blood, both his firerat and kosode had been ripped to reveal the deep slashes across his chest, suggesting he’d ran into a bit of trouble on his way here, but he hardly seemed aware of his current state, the growl thundering in his chest steadily increasing in volume the longer she didn’t answer him.

Sango had to swallow several times before she could answer. “Don’t know,” she rasped, her eyes holding her regret, the deep-seeded worry that reflected in his own eyes. “I—haven’t seen—”

The snarl that erupted from his throat was low, dark, positively lethal, and had Sango been anything less than what she was – or had she not known him as well as she did – she probably would have fled in terror. She remained where she was, however, her weary body screaming at her to rest, but she forced herself to remain standing.

The fury in those golden eyes faded somewhat as he took her in and a lurid cruse fell from his lips.

“Miroku’s with Kaede,” he said and jerked his head toward the forest. “Go. I’ll take care of the rest.”

There were a few stragglers rifling through the remains, but they wouldn’t be standing for long; Tetsusaiga would make sure of that.

Sango hesitated, but knew she wouldn’t be able to stay on her feet for much longer, so in the end she didn’t argue and gave a curt nod.

“Find her, Inuyasha,” she rasped and watched his stare harden, jaw clenching in determination before the half-demon returned her nod with a jerk of his head.

Despite himself, Inuyasha waited until he knew she would make it to the others before turning around but before he leapt off, his ear flicked and he whipped his head around to the right. He stared hard at the same pile of rubble Sango had been advancing on early before some of the murdering fuckers had crept up on her and he strained his ears, listening, golden eyes narrowing—

The sound came again and with a fervent curse Inuyasha leapt into action, hastily dropping the fang into its scabbard so he could heave and shove and toss away scorched wood. His hands burned form the flames but he ignored it, his breathing hard as he kept an eye out for a flash of orange amid the burned wood and—

“Shippou,” Inuyasha hissed and with a grunt, he lifted the last of the heavy wood that was pinning the kit in place and carefully scooped him up into his arms. Pale and bloody, the fox demon’s breath rattled in his lungs and his small body was limp.

Cursing again, Inuyasha hopped out of the hut’s ruins and cradled him in his arm, knowing he had to take him to Kaede, but before he could move his name uttered on a groan had him freeze in his tracks and he snapped his gaze down to the child in his arms.

Shippou’s green eyes were cracked open and his mouth was parted as he dragged in stuttered breaths of air, but his grip as he clutched the firerat in his small hand was surprisingly strong.

Shippou winced and his little face screwed up in pain as he wheezed, “Kagome...taken...”

He coughed weakly but his eyes remained open, his emerald stare zeroed in on the half-demon’s face and Inuyasha was surprised at the amount of clarity in them.

“Where was she taken, Shippou?” Inuyasha growled, resisting the urge to shake the kitsune as a savage sense of urgency rocked through him. “Dammit, runt, tell me!”

“Forest,” he croaked, recalling the glimpse he’d caught through a crack in the rubble before falling unconscious. “G-Goshin—”

A coughing fit prevented the rest of the word from passing his lips and he gave a pained whimper, but Inuyasha knew what he’d been trying to say.

Ears flattening against his head, Inuyasha swore as indecision tore at him, his desire to heed the kit’s request to leave him and find Kagome warring with his need to make sure Shippou was safe with the others before he didn’t anything else. Kagome would never forgive him if something happened to her kit, and Inuyasha would never forgive himself if he left him here by himself in such bad shape and something happened to him.

Dammit—“ I can’t leave you here,” Inuyasha gritted out and turned towards the forest where he’d left Miroku and Kaede, his body screaming at him to turn in the other direction toward the God Tree that loomed above everything else.

Wood snapping to his left had Inuyasha whirling around with a snarl on his face, claws raised to protect himself at the kit, but the snarl abruptly died at the sight of the pale and limping village woman that approached him, arms out.

“I’ll take him,” she said and Inuyasha didn’t think twice.

With a nod, Inuyasha carefully deposited the now unconscious kit into her arms, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before turning and sprinting toward the woods, pushing himself harder, faster than ever before. He was a crimson blur as he leapt over the carnage of Kaede’s village, not even daring to spare the few seconds it would take to dispatch the few bandits still standing despite what he’d told Sango. Every second counted; he had no idea what sort of condition his Kagome was in, what he would find when he found her – and he would– and with every instant that prevented him from getting to her, the more danger she could be in.

There was no way in hell Inuyasha was risking that and with a savage growl borne from his desperation, the urgency racing through his veins and his frantic desire to destroy anything that dared harm his woman, he increased his pace, hardly caring when his lungs protested and his legs grew tired. He couldn’t stop, refused to stop; Kagome needed him and he would not fail her.

Hang on, Kagome, Inuyasha thought, features twisted into fearsome scowl as he launched himself through the trees even faster, I’m coming for you. Just hang on!

With a careless shove, Kagome’s back hit the unyielding force of the God Tree behind her and she didn’t even have the time to cry out or attempt to scramble away before he was on her, hands grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with freakish strength. Hot, rancid breath fanned over her mouth seconds before it was taken in a hard, punishing kiss and Kagome’s stomach churned.

Already weakened from numerous blows to the head and a hard punch to the stomach, Kagome struggled to escape but the bandit laughed at her attempts, easily pinning her legs between his own and shoving his pelvis into hers. With one hand caging her wrists the other used a knife to slice clean through her dirtied shirt, revealing soft breasts encased in some weird fabric but that hardly deterred him. With a dark chuckle and malicious grin he roughly grabbed her, squeezing and relishing in her cry of pain.

“You can’t fool me, slut,” the bandit laughed as she squirmed and tired to jerk away from his greedy hand, “your nipples hard, I know you like—fuck!”

Stumbling back and releasing his hold, the bandit groaned as he cupped himself, lifting his head to glare murderously at the bitch that had just fucking kneed him in the balls. She glared right back at him as she shrunk back against the tree, body tensing as she prepared to dart off into the trees, and her attacked reacted swiftly before she could escape.

“Fucking whore,” he spat and drove forward, cranking back his fist and punching her hard in the jaw. Her head smacked against the tree and her sound of pain was sweet as she slumped down, her body losing what little strength she had left.

Head swimming, black dots dancing in her vision as pain exploded throughout her skull and down her neck, Kagome could do nothing but whimper and feebly try to push him off her as a heavy weight settled on her thighs and yanked at her skirt, trying to tear it off. A sob caught in her throat and tears leaked from her eyes when she realized what was happening, what was going to happen if she didn’t do something.

“No-o-o-o,” she moaned, trying to buck him off of her, but her body wouldn’t obey, her mind hazy. Rough hands jerked and clawed at her clothes and she tried to shove them away, heart pounding, fear and pain making her movements slow and uncoordinated. Every move she made hurt, head throbbing, every breath like pins and needles stabbing into her chest and stomach.

Another sob welled in her throat. She couldn’t let this happen, she couldn’t— “I-Inu—”

“Shut up,” her attacker hissed, easily evading her hands and managing to shove her bra down enough to reveal her breasts. His prey released a sweet sound of torture and his excitement throbbed in response.

He eyed her perfect breasts greedily, licking his lips as saliva pooled on his tongue and dribbled down his chin. He cackled and while one hand continued to pull at her skirt, the other reached for her chest, fingers inches away form the delectable soft flesh just begging for his touch—

The bandit suddenly froze and the change was abrupt enough to grab Kagome’s attention. Sucking in a stuttering breath, she managed to crack her eyes open enough to catch the look of wide-eyed shock on his face. She blinked in confusion but before she could even think to escape during his strange and sudden distraction, her salivation came in the form of a deadly threat that had Kagome releasing a sob of pure and utter relief.

“If you value your pathetic, sorry excuse for a life at all,” a deep, pissed-off growl reverberated behind him and the positively lethal edge to it had her attacker paling slightly even as Kagome went limp beneath him, “then I suggest you get the fuck outta my sight. Quickly.”

There was a pause as the fool deliberated on what to do. And unfortunately, instead of her tormenter hastily scrambling away as he was strongly bid to do, the bandit seemed to scoff in the face of the threat, regathering some of his lost bravado and not even bothering to look behind him at what was probably just some village man playing hero, unwilling to tear his greedy gaze from the delectable sight before him for even a second.

“Oh yeah, and what’ll happen if I don’t?” He snorted dismissively, resuming his earlier task of ridding the bitch of her wonderfully short kimono. She’d gone completely limp, apparently accepting her fate, and he grinned. Good, this would make it easier. Dumb bitch actually had da brain in that pretty head of hers. Too bad, really; he liked them stupid and weak.

She tried to stop him again, apparently still having some fight left in her, and he roughly swatted away her hands with an annoyed scowl. A subsonic growl filled with lethal warning rumbled behind him again the bandit rolled his eyes. What, did he think he was scared of some mutt? He’d slain demons that sounded ten times more lethal, not to mention bigger!

Impatient and annoyed at the interruption, he waved a hand, dismissing the villager like a common pest.

“Get lost, boy,” he grunted and grinned in victory when the green fabric finally tore under his hands; the girl’s whimper was music to his ears. His black eyes leered at the smooth flesh revealed to him. “I’m busy and I don’t share my playthi—guurrkk.”

Kagome didn’t even flinch as flecks of crimson landed on her pale face, could only watch with wide chocolate eyes as blood welled in the bandit’s mouth and thickly dribbled down his chin, coating the already blood-soaked tip of Tetsusaiga protruding from his throat. Then her would-be rapist was abruptly flung to the side like so much rubbish and the tears spilled from her eyes, blurring her vision, streaking down her bruised cheeks, his name falling from her abused lips in so soft a whisper he almost didn’t hear it.

Covered in copious amounts of both mud and blood, silver hair streaked with red and suikan torn asunder to reveal the muddy and bloody mess that was his chest, Inuyasha looked every bit the warrior to her right then.

He’d found her. Inuyasha had found her, saved her as she knew he would, and as he gazed down at her with intense amber eyes, chest heaving as he dragged in ragged breaths of air, Kagome released a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like his name and reached for him.

Not even bothering to spare a glance at the piece of shit he’d just skewered for daring to touch his Kagome, Inuyasha was still breathing heavily from a combination of his mad dash from the village to get to her in time and the cold panic that had seized his lungs. His golden eyes frantically assessed her form, growling at the dirtied and torn state of her clothes, and though the bruises darkening the perfect skin of her face pissed him the fuck off and made him want to stab the fucker responsible a couple hundred times despite his deceased status, he was glad that that seemed to be the worst of the damage from what his eyes and nose were telling him.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he finally looked into those wide, liquid brown eyes and suddenly overcome with an overwhelming urge that he didn’t even want to resist, Inuyasha let his sword fall unceremoniously to the ground before surging forward, dropping to his knees and taking her hand to haul her into his arms.

Kagome sobbed and clung to him tightly, her body shaking from relief or pain he couldn’t tell but he only held her tighter, crushing her to him as her name fell from his lips in a rough whisper. She curled into him and Inuyasha fell back, cradling her in his lap and letting her cry into his chest, gritting his teeth as emotion welled in his throat and pricked at his eyes.

His hold was desperate, his limbs shaking as he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her sweet scent, tinged with blood, dirt, and the acrid stench of the fucker who dared lay a hand on her. The odor elicited a thunderous growl to reverberate in his chest, but it vanished just as quickly when Kagome whispered his name again, leaning back to catch his gaze.

“I knew you’d come,” she breathed, lifting a shaking hand to touch his dirty cheek, chocolate eyes bright and glistening with unshed tears.

Inuyasha wordlessly shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he cupped the back of her head and pressed he face back into his healing chest, burying his nose into her hair. Kagome sighed and slipped her arms around his waist, finally allowing herself to relax, safe in the arms of her protector, her beloved half-demon.

Allowing himself another selfish moment of relishing in her nearness, the relief that she was okay, a little banged up and shaken but alive, swamping his entire body and it making hard to concentrate on anything else, Inuyasha sucked a shaky breath and released it slowly before dropping a reverent kiss to her forehead, lingering, reluctant to pull away. Kagome squeezed him around the waist, a wordless reassurance, and finally he was able to relax.

He removed his arms from her briefly to shrug out of his already repairing suikan and wrap it around her before taking a moment to drop his sword back into the scabbard and getting to his feet with a soft grunt.

“Shippou,” Kagome murmured, her worry for her kit apparent even through her exhaustion and Inuyasha put her mind at ease.

“He’s fine,” he assured her, pausing to kiss her forehead one more time. “I found him before I went to look for you. Villager took him to the others. He’s a little banged up, but safe.”

She sighed. “Mir...San...” It was a struggle, but she managed to lift her head and gaze up at him, brow wrinkled with her concern even as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

She was starting to drift off, and Inuyasha had to smile. Even as exhausted as she was, it as no surprise that his Kagome was fighting it in order to make sure her friends were all right.

Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha gently cradled the back of her head and leaned down to press his forehead against her own and his sigh was shaky as it ghosted over her lips.

“Safe,” he said thickly, closing his eyes and hearing her soft sigh of relief. “Everyone’s safe. You’re safe, Kagome. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Kagome smiled, closed her eyes, and resting her head on his shoulder, she finally let herself drift off, knowing she was safe in the arms of her beloved as he carried her back to their friends.

*Yunomi: those little clay tea cups they drink out of.

does kagome have a concussion from all those blows to her head? lakdfklafd let’s pretend she doesn’t lel

#idk wtf to call this so untitled for now #inukag #inuyasha #kagome #oneshot #keizfanfiction #fanfiction #will there be a second part?#who the hell knows lmao

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collecting-stories · 3 years

Text

I’m Pine-ing for You

A/N: The second chapter of my Christmas fic.

Christmas Mingle Masterlist

_* ◦ ❅ . ❄︎ * ∙ ◦ . _

Ariana Grande crooned over the tinny radio in the gift shop as Audrey browsed, trying to maximize her day off and finish the last of her Christmas shopping. It was futile, she knew that much, but she had bundled up for the cold weather and headed out to walk around Main Street, hoping some kind of good would come from searching. Even if all it yielded was a new candle for her apartment. Most of her family was generic enough to settle for giftcards from Target but she still went out, as if she would find something that anyone would appreciate more than the basic $25 card.

Just like every year though, she was browsing more for herself than anyone else, halfway through the display of handmade ceramic mugs, when she heard Jeff's familiar timbre. She'd only gone on one date with him so far but it didn't matter, she could probably pick out his voice in a line up. It was deep and not to raspy and she could've listened to him talk forever. But now that she thought about it, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to "run into" him here. And when she looked over toward the door she realized he was with his son. She hadn't seen any pictures of Charlie but if that tall-for-his-age kid beside Jeff wasn't his son she'd be shocked.

Audrey was in the back of the store, not poised to sneak out without having to walk right passed him. If there was one thing she truly hated it was running into people, something that happened a lot more frequently in her life now that she worked retail. There was nothing that compared to being trapped by an old school acquaintance as she rang up their groceries. She thought about turning and heading further into the store but there was no pretending that she hadn't seen Jeff, especially as her hand paused mid-grabbing a mug off the shelf, when he called her name.

"Christmas shopping?" Jeff asked, stepping up beside her in the narrow aisle of the shop.

"Well," Audrey looked over at him, "I tell myself that but honestly, I'm just shopping for me."

"Nothing wrong with that," he replied and Audrey cracked a smile.

"You're very agreeable, you know that?" She pointed out. He'd been the same on their date, agreeable on all fronts. About her divorce, her disinterest in her current job, her lack of enthusiasm for the Christmas season.

"Maybe we just agree on things?" He suggested.

"Well then, I know who to call for a second opinion." Audrey replied, glancing over to the small section of kids toys, Jeff's spitting image crouched on the ground looking over a puzzle, "Is that Charlie?" She didn't know if day-after-the-first-date was too soon to meet his son but it wasn't like he was formally introducing them so she didn't feel too bad about asking.

"Yeah that's Charlie," Jeff nodded, looking over, "kiddo's supposed to be helping me shop for other people's presents but it looks like he's picking out a few things to add to his list."

"Kid after my own heart," Audrey teased. "I'm not sure I could be of any actual help, Charlie and I seem to share a shopping gene, but I could lend a hand picking out some things if you want?" She wasn't sure that inviting herself to spend the afternoon with him was really an appropriate, normal thing to do, but she couldn't help herself. The words had come tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could think them. Something about Jeff just seemed to make the temptation of spending her day off completely by herself pale in comparison to spending the day with him. She couldn't remember a time when she felt this way about someone, even with Chris, even in the beginning when everything was new and supposedly exciting, she sought out moments when she could be alone.

"Alright, but I have two stipulations," Jeff replied, picking up one of the mugs to look it over, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I take the credit for all the gifts, and you provide the coffee."

"I provide the coffee? How is that fair? What are you providing?" Audrey said.

"The company." He shrugged as if it was totally obvious, Audrey laughing out loud, turning more toward him when the shopkeeper looked over at the sudden sound of them disturbing the ambiance of the store.

"It's a deal." She kept her voice down as she moved further down the aisle, pointing out a sun-catcher that was hanging on display. "Anyone?"

"Not even close." He replied. "I'm gonna rethink this deal if you can't hold up your end of the bargain."

"To be fair, you haven't given me any information to go on." Audrey pointed out, still holding onto the sun-catcher, contemplating a place for it in her own apartment.

Before Jeff could say anything else Charlie had found him, clutching a puzzle box to his chest he came over, stepping in front of his dad to show off his find. "Look, it's 1000 pieces...I've never done 1000 pieces before."

Audrey smiled, mouthing '1000 pieces' when Jeff caught her eye passed his son. He grinned and nodded, giving in to Charlie's request.

"Alright, we'll put it aside for break." He offered, taking the box from Charlie, "but you're supposed to be looking for something for something for your grandma."

"I am!" Charlie insisted.

"In the toy area?"

When Audrey snickered at Jeff's comment Charlie turned to look at her, a wide smile on his face at the sight of the stranger. "Hi."

"Hey." She greeted, smiling at the young boy.

"I'm Charlie," He introduced himself, holding his hand out to shake hers.

Audrey took the seven year old's hand, shaking as she introduced herself, "Audrey."

Never one to miss anything, Charlie had noticed the look that his dad had given Audrey immediately, even as he was talking about the puzzle that he wanted.

"How do you know my dad?" He asked blatantly.

"I, uh..."

"Audrey's a friend of mine," Jeff supplied, putting his hand on his son's shoulder to get his attention.

Charlie leaned his head back, looking up at Jeff and giving him a toothy grin. "Can she shop with us?" He asked.

"Well, don't ask me." Jeff replied.

"Can you shop with us?" Charlie asked, looking back at Audrey, "I need help picking a gift for my nana."

"I would love to help you."

Charlie stepped away from his dad, grabbing Audrey's hand to lead her away from Jeff and toward the back of the store. Audrey glanced back over her shoulder at Jeff, biting her lip as she smiled at him. Charlie was a well adjusted kid for his age, comfortable talking to adults happy to spend time hanging out with Jeff. He knew there were enough people in his son's life, family included, that pressured him about the way Charlie behaved. They wanted a kid that was less used to spending the majority of his week with his dad and they wanted Jeff to be more interested in dating and less interested in fathering his kid.

His mom had been thrilled, the night before, to babysit her grandson when she heard that Jeff had a date. It had been since his late wife passed away that he had gone out and before then she was the only one he had dated in years.

"It's just been so long," she had lamented, following her son into the kitchen, attempting a whisper as she spoke. "You deserve to be happy-"

"I am happy ma," Jeff promised, writing out any information she might need while he was gone. Phone numbers, the name of the restaurant he was going to, Charlie's pre-bed schedule.

"Happy with someone in your life. Someone who can help you raise Charlie. I know you don't agree but, he needs a mother figure."

"Charlie doesn't need a 'mother figure' and it's one date ma, I'm not gonna marry this woman."

"You don't know that." Jeff's mom replied, adamant on her stance about the date. She had been trying to convince Jeff to get back into dating for a few years now. She knew it was hard, losing his wife so quickly after Charlie was born, and she felt like she had waited an appropriate amount of time but, around two years ago, she had started dropping hints. Mentions here and there about women that she knew from church or even just 'eligible singles' that she saw at the grocery store. She had very little in the way of requirements.

"Please just watch him for the night and don't read too much into this?"

"Is it so wrong to be optimistic?" She asked, "it's been a long time since you've even considered dating."

"I'll call you on my way home, I'll just be down the street at the brewhouse."

Audrey crouched down so she could get a better look at the bottom shelf of the display where Charlie was checking out a few different glass blown ornaments. She reached for one, a red teardrop shaped ornament that was crackled and, when she held it up to the light, glistened.

"That's really pretty!" Charlie exclaimed, taking it from her when she handed it over to him.

"I think so too," Audrey replied, "what do you think about it as a gift?"

"I don't know," he pouted, nose scrunching as he inspected the ornament in greater detail, "dad, would nana like this?"

"Is there a pink one in there?" Jeff asked, looking over from the display of candles he'd been going through. He liked everything about Christmas aside from having to buy gifts for people. Charlie was easy, he always knew what his son wanted. It was everyone else that gave him a headache. "She'll probably love that."

Charlie dug through the box of ornaments, careful that nothing broke, successfully pulling out a pink one, "I found a pink one!"

Audrey took the red one back, turning it over in her hand once more before putting it back in the box.

"You should get that one." Charlie pointed out, "you could put it on your tree."

"Oh gosh," Audrey laughed, "I actually don't have a tree." She confessed.

Putting up a tree had been the least of her worries this year, not even a table top had made it's way into her house though she'd spent plenty of time on pinterest and instagram scrolling through the holiday decorations of influencers who's lives appeared much more together than her own.

"No tree?" Charlie looked absolutely offended at the thought of anyone not having a tree for Christmas, "dad! Dad!"

"Yeah bud?" Jeff asked, tearing his attention away from a case of handmade necklaces that he shouldn't have been looking through so early on in knowing Audrey when it was clearly her he had in mind.

"Audrey doesn't have a tree," the disbelief, even as he repeated what he already knew, was on par with the discovery of Santa's fraudulence. "We can get you a tree?" He reasoned, turning back to look at her, wide, eager eyes.

"I really don't have a lot of ornaments." Audrey admitted.

The first time she had told Chris that she needed space they had both assumed that she would be back within the month. But then two months passed and three months and she drove passed the house but it felt foreign to her. So she said it again, she needed space, mountains of it, years of it, more space than he could ever give her. And when she set foot inside the house for the last time to take what she deemed hers from a short lifetime of theirs, she left all but a shoebox of decorations.

"Oh well," Jeff was smiling at her like whatever he said she'd be hanging on, "you happen to be in the presence of the best ornament chooser in the entire world." He pointed to Charlie as he spoke, indicating it was the seven year old who possessed all the expertise of Christmas decoration.

"Really?" She attempted her best look of skepticism as Charlie nodded his head in agreement with his father.

"Dad buys me a new ornament every year that I pick out all on my own." He replied as proof of his skill.

Audrey agreed, unable to say no to Charlie. He was too sweet and she was enjoying spending time with him and Jeff too much. It was arguably some sort of honeymooning phase, she reasoned, that had her this invested in a guy that she had only been on one date with but she couldn't help it. This was just a for the holidays thing, a see where this goes, nothing special, thing that didn't have too mean too much. She didn't have to read too much into every look and every touch, didn't have to take everything so seriously, and still she was eagerly agreeing to spending the rest of her afternoon with Jeff and Charlie.

"I gotta tell you Charlie," Audrey said as she walked through the Christmas tree lot with him, "I am no tree expert. I haven't had a real tree since I was a kid."

"That's okay," he promised, "I'm the best tree chooser there is."

Jeff walked just behind the pair, listening to his son discuss the important parts of the tree and how to pick the best one, talking with such authority that his bullshitting was almost believable. Once Charlie got started on a topic it was nearly impossible for him to stop and he loved showing off whatever knowledge he might have, be it minimum or not.

"Expert ornament chooser and expert tree chooser?" Audrey asked, glancing back at Jeff with amusement. Jeff grinned back at her.

"What can I say?" Charlie replied, "Christmas is the best time of the year."

"I can't argue with that."

"Besides, if you don't get a tree then how is Santa going to bring you presents?" Charlie asked, a look of distress washing over his features as his eyes met hers. The thought had just occurred to him and yet it was a troubling one.

"That explains the lack of gifts the last few years...I think Santa is still delivering all my presents to my parents' house." She teased.

"Do you live by yourself?" Charlie asked, intrigued by the new development.

If Jeff was eager to learn more about Audrey than Charlie was tenfold. He asked questions about her job and her house and what her favorite Christmas activity was. Jeff wasn't sure if it was just her being too polite to ignore Charlie's questions or if she was truly interested in what he had to say but she listened and chatted. Dating hadn't been something that Jeff had kept at the top of his to-do list and he definitely hadn't introduced too many people to his son. A few close friends, those that knew him before his wife passed away, but no one that he seriously considered spending his life with. Not that he was thinking that far in advance now but getting to know Audrey was definitely something he wanted to continue doing.

The three of them circled the tree lot more times then Jeff felt necessary, scouring rows of evergreens that he was sure they had already examined until Charlie finally spotted the spruce that he wanted. He let out a shout of exclamation at the sight and broke out in a dash as if someone else might discover the tree before he could reach it. "This one!" He announced, standing in front of the tree and waving his arms to draw their attention to it.

"That one is..." Audrey looked at the tree on display, imagining the trip up the stairs and sheer mass of it sitting in her small apartment, "big." It seemed like the only logical adjective to describe the tree she was staring at.

"Big trees are the best trees." Charlie insisted, "you can get the most ornaments on."

"Maybe you can, I'm still lacking in the ornament department." Audrey replied. A shoebox full was not enough for a tree that was threatening six feet tall. She'd been hoping that the seven year old would settle on something more akin to a tabletop but he seemed determined that the green giant was going to be part of Audrey's Christmas.

"We can get you more ornaments."

"Don't fight it," Jeff teased, coming up beside her. His hand fell to the small of her back, turning just slightly toward her so that he could whisper in her ear, away from Charlie's heightened hearing, "he's never gonna give in."

"I think I've already figured that one out." Audrey replied, looking at Jeff, unable to stop herself from smiling.

Tree decided on, Charlie was as determined as ever to find ornaments that would go perfectly. He insisted that they not be too uniform, complaining, at seven, about the odd need for trees on television shows to have a ribbon woven through them. The strong opinions he had about Christmas were entertaining, to say the least, and Audrey didn't fight them. She had been content without all the fuss, happy to let Christmas happen the same way that it did every year but now she found herself letting Jeff haul a tree up her steps and into her apartment.

Charlie seemed as enamored by her tiny house as he did by her, rushing to the window to look out on the street that he'd walked around on a hundred times. "Dad!" He called, face close to the window pane, unbothered by the hint of cold that seeped in through the the old wood and glass.

Jeff let the tree slide off his shoulder, leaning the tree that was as tall as he was against his chest as he looked over at his son, "what's up Charlie?"

Audrey locked the door behind them, bags in one hand as she kicked her shoes off. She had stopped for some ornaments along the way, practically clearing out her Target's Christmas section. Marci had eyed her suspiciously as she checked out, fully aware of Audrey's disdain for the holiday season. She had ignored her co-worker though, rushing through self-checkout as quickly as possible so that she could avoid making Jeff and Charlie wait too long outside of her apartment.

"Look!" Charlie called, waving Jeff over as if the tree wasn't heavy and unstable. "You can see Main Street."

"You should stay for dinner and see it at night with all the lights." Audrey replied, setting the bags down on the couch as she went over to help Jeff, "I can't believe you guys stopped and got a tree stand too."

"You can't have a tree without a tree stand." Jeff shrugged, "that seemed pretty obvious. Tree, tree stand, ornaments..."

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Audrey laughed, setting up the stand.

While Jeff did most of the assembly in getting the tree in the stand and cutting it loose from the netting, Charlie rummaged through the bags of ornaments, sorting them into groups that he decided went together. The tree didn't take as long as Audrey thought it would but it did look a lot better in her apartment then she had first suspected when Charlie had spied it in the lot. Though it blocked a decent amount of her window view, the ornaments looked pretty with the lights and she had even brought out the shoebox of special ones that she kept in her bedroom.

"Some of these are pretty old, they belonged to my great grandma." Audrey explained, setting the box on the coffee table and opening it up for Charlie to see.

"This one is so cool!" He held up a blue bobble, handpainted with a horse and carriage in the snow. "My grandma got me an ornament decorating kit and I painted one with a Christmas tree."

"I bet it looks really awesome," Audrey replied, taking the ornament from him so she could hang it up a little higher.

"You should come over to see it!" Charlie looked thrilled at his idea, turning to his father in excitement, "what do you think dad? Could Audrey come over soon?"

Jeff looked over Charlie's head to Audrey, their eyes meeting as Audrey smiled. It seemed a natural occurrence when she was around Jeff though she didn't want to let herself think too hard on the matter.

"I don't see why not." Jeff finally said.

"Well, since you're here now, what should we get for dinner tonight?" Audrey asked, taking another ornament from Charlie to hang up.

"Pizza!" He replied without hesitation.

"Pizza it is," She agreed, stepping away from the tree to grab her phone, "any toppings?"

Dinner was served on the coffee table, the three of them sitting on the couch to watch TV, Charlie choosing It Happened on 5th Avenue as his Christmas movie of choice. He sat between them, enthralled in the film, announcing favorite scenes just before they happened. Audrey had steered clear of cliche Christmas films like It's a Wonderful Life or Love Actually for a while, longer that she had been single. She never cared for them and always found them cheesy and ridiculous. The leads falling in love all within a week, enamored with each other as if there was no one else in the world. As if falling in love at Christmas solved all their problems. But here she was, watching this old black and white film and actually enjoying it.

It was nearly three quarters of the way through when Jeff felt Charlie slump against him more that he glanced down, realizing that his son had fallen asleep. Audrey seemed to pick up on Charlie's sleeping around the same time, pausing the film and asking if wanted to let Charlie nap in her bed. "Unless you two need to get home?"

"We can stay a little while longer," Jeff replied, reluctant to go as it was.

While he carried Charlie into the bedroom, laying him on the bed and covering him with a blanket, Audrey cleared away the pizza and closed the front window. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the cabinet and two glasses, meeting Jeff back in the living room.

"Wine?"

"What've you got?" Jeff asked, taking the bottle from her.

"Just a red, it's from a subscription I get every month." She replied, "I could be paying for a gym but-"

"Wine is better than a gym," Jeff concluded, heading back to the couch with her. She let him pour the glasses, a little heavy handed though so was she. "I was thinking about what you said, about looking for something that wasn't working at Target."

"My glamorous part time job...what about it?" Audrey asked, taking a sip of her wine.

"The art teacher at Charlie's school is going on maternity leave and I heard they posted the job online. I'm not trying to overstep or anything, just saw it and thought of you."

"Well, I'm flattered that you thought of me. I'll look into it." She replied, "part of me would love it, honestly, and the other part is terrified to actually do something like that. I feel everything has moved really slowly but quickly at the same time for me."

"I know the feeling well. Don't feel like you need to consider anything just cause I mentioned it." Jeff replied, "take everything at your own pace."

"I'll never move forward if I do that." Audrey admitted.

"Well hey, nothing needs to be decided now...I mean, Christmas break is right around the corner."

"That's right, you have finals for your semester don't you?" Audrey asked. She wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to her the entire time that they were out shopping or looking for a tree but it was as if she suddenly remembered that Jeff had actual work when class hours ended.

"Coming up, yeah." He nodded. "I'll be spending the next four days prepping and grading essays."

"I'll trade you bitchy, impatient customers who think I'm secretly stashing all the stuff they want so they can't find it?" Audrey offered.

"Now that you mention it, the papers are fine." He replied, smiling at her as he took a sip of wine, "so this party coming up? It's your co-worker's?"

"Co-worker/best friend."

"How did that come about...if you don't mind my asking?"

"I guess, all my other friends are friends with Chris too you know? They knew us when we were dating, as our relationship progressed, they went to our wedding. When I left him and it wasn't for any "good" reason, I think they felt like I was overreacting." Audrey admitted. Even more than leaving and telling Chris she was never coming home, she could remember the distinct heartache that had followed her falling out with her best friend. The way Leah had accused her of being dramatic and foolish and told her that she was blowing things out of proportion. "I mean, he didn't cheat on me, he wasn't some awful guy...a little controlling sometimes but not to the magnitude of telling me what I could and couldn't do."

"If you don't love someone, you don't love someone. You can't stay in a relationship just because they're 'not a bad guy'." Jeff replied.

"I feel bad telling you about all this honestly," she confessed, "I'm trying to divorce my husband, you lost your wife, that's...I feel silly having such superficial problems."

"It's not superficial." He reassured. "I met Hannah in my early 30's after I had broken up with a woman who wanted me to propose to her."

"Oh no," Audrey laughed, "you were one of those!"

Jeff nodded, "thought I didn't want commitment, I think I just, didn't feel like I knew what I wanted. But, I met Hannah through friends and we took things slow until she basically told me to propose or get out-"

"I like her."

"She was great. You know, it's hard...she passed away around the holidays. It would've been our first Christmas with Charlie." He replied, "I thought about not celebrating...took me weeks to put up a tree. He won't remember any of that but, it felt like something I had to do."

"For Charlie or for yourself?"

"Both of us, I guess. I didn't want him to feel like Christmas had this awful connotation, you know? I didn't want him to grow up feeling like he couldn't celebrate and he had to be sad."

"When I moved out of my house with Chris it was just, easier not to celebrate. It was just me and it felt ridiculous to decorate this little apartment." Audrey admitted, looking over at the tree in front of the window, "seeing the tree up though, I kinda missed that."

"If you let Charlie come back again he'll probably put gifts under it for you just to make sure it looks official."

"Charlie is awesome, you have an amazing kid."

"Thank you, I think so most of the time." Jeff laughed.

9 Days Until Christmas

"I gotta say, the cowboy boots are a touch I wasn't expecting." Jeff laughed as Audrey stepped out the front door of her apartment. She did a twirl, showing off the outfit she was wearing beneath her plaid coat.

"Would you believe me if I told you they were a Footloose impulse buy after high school graduation?" Audrey asked.

Not everything feels like something else, but holding on to a pair of red cowboy boots that went with nothing in her wardrobe simply because of the sentimentality felt a lot like being stuck in place. When she came back for her things, letting herself into the old house with two suitcases that her mom had been reluctant to give away ("can't you just work it out? Have you even tried?"), she had almost left them. Sitting there on the bottom of her shoe rack, accumulating the dust that was inevitable for something so rarely worn, she had thought of letting them go too. Was it symbolic? To leave both the boots and Chris behind? But she could bring herself to leave them the way she had left her marriage so she carried them out to the car and put them in the front seat and then, three years and five months later she wore them to a Kacey Musgraves concert with Cady.

"Can't say I'm a fan of the film." Jeff admitted.

"Is that your way of telling me that you don't recognize Ariel's iconic red cowboy boots?" And now she wore them again. Red cowboy boots paired with black stockings, a jean skirt that fit the persona of Midwest Christmas she was trying to pull off, and a sweater that was cuter then it was ugly. Pink with white pompoms and a sequined Jolly Old Saint Nick. Cady's holiday party would inevitably be as country as she wished she was and Audrey had every intention oof dressing for it.

"It is." Jeff replied, "but you look beautiful." Audrey had mentioned her best friend's proclivity for all things Tennessee Christmas but that had done little to influence Jeff's outfit. Dark jeans and a cable knit sweater with boots. Nothing entirely special in the outfit, and Audrey had never been one to give men's fashion too much thought, but he certainly looked good. "I feel like I should've dressed the part more." He took Audrey's hand in his as they made the short trek across the street and down to the small parking lot a block away.

"That's okay, when we inevitably sneak away from the party because, god love her but Cady's 'Yeehaw Christmas' is a little more than I think I can bear, you'll look like a normal person and I'll look-"

"Like you're in middle school?" Jeff teased.

"Exactly like that," Audrey replied.

Comical as it was, Yeehaw Christmas was the perfect describer for the party that they walked into. Cady had outfitted her shared apartment with decorations that looked as if they had been purchased at Cabellas or maybe just a Dollar General. Cady's wasn't the only party a friend had invited Audrey to this season but it was the only one she committed to, at least, making an appearance at. Her other friends were friends with Chris and she knew he would be there too, as if it was all some elaborate plot to convince her that maybe she had made a mistake when she decided that they no longer fit in each other's lives.

"You made it!" Cady shouted across the room, rushing over to wrap Audrey in a hug. Ten years made little difference to either of them. The idea of meeting your best friend at a retail job seemed like something that truly only happened on TV but Cady had been the lifeboat back to normalcy after the heartache. "Oh god, I'm so glad you came!"

"I said I was." Audrey insisted, pulling away from Cady. She was standing slightly in front of Jeff and when her eyes met Cady's she shifted her gaze subtly to the side, a look that screamed, 'I brought him'.

Cady's eyes shifted over to Jeff, brushing her blond hair back as she looked up at him. He was taller than her. Like a tower. He was taller than Audrey and she was relatively tall, or so everyone always felt the need to say when she wore heels. Before she could say anything Audrey continued, introducing them. "Cady, this is Jeff. Jeff, my best friend Cady.

"Thanks for letting me tag along." Jeff replied, handing over the bag that contained a small hostess invitation. "Audrey said you don't do wine."

Cady took the bag from him, pulling out a bottle of grey goose. "Thank you! This is the best Christmas present ever!" She joked.

More partygoers came, allowing Audrey and Jeff a break from Cady as they made their way over to the kitchen and the counter space that was doubling as a bar for the evening. There were cheap flavored vodkas, tequila, whiskey, gin, and some bottles of red wine stuffed into the small space between the sink and the fridge.

"Guess we have our pick?" Audrey asked, looking over her shoulder at Jeff.

"I'll stick with the whiskey, seems like a safe option." He replied, "only cause I've heard of the brand."

"What? No peppermint mocha vodka?" Audrey said, trying and failing not to sound completely grossed out by the suggestion of the flavor.

Jeff laughed, "tell you what, if you do a shot I will do a shot."

Audrey grabbed two shot glass sized red solo cups, never one to back down from a challenge, and poured the vodka in them. Truthfully, she just wanted to see him drink something as ridiculous as Christmas themed vodka simply because he struck her entirely as a classy kind of drinker, even his beer on their first date had felt superior to all those cheap brands she'd snuck in high school. He was game for just about anything though, proving it as he kicked back a shot of the sweet liquor, feeling the faint burn of it down the back of his throat.

"Can't say I love feeling like I just tossed a whole pack of spearmint gum in my mouth and lit it on fire." Jeff commented, sticking his tongue out for a second as if that would get rid of the taste. Audrey coughed around her shot, almost losing it but swallowing at the last second. She gagged and shook her head furiously at the tiny cup in her hand.

"No." She finally said. "No, that was terrible."

"It was bad."

"It was...oh god, I need something after that." She replied.

Jeff shifted bottles around until he found a decent red nestled in the back. "How's this?" He grabbed two cups from the stack, filling them a little more than he would a wine glass.

"Works for me."

She took his arm, pulling him passed the fridge and a little further into the kitchen as people came in to grab drinks. Jeff moved with her, turning so his back was to the other couple and the two of them were in their own little corner. Audrey looked passed him, watching as a few more people came and went from the kitchen.

"I really didn't feel like I was going to feel old being here but I totally do." Audrey muttered.

"You feel old?" Jeff scoffed, "how do you think I'm feeling right now?" He brushed his hand through his hair to draw attention to the strands of gray there among the black.

"Well, don't worry, I have no plans to stay the whole time," Audrey whispered as if someone would overhear her, "I love Cady but she can go forever if she's drunk enough and I definitely think she's on her way there."

Jeff opened the door to Charlie's room, the dinosaur nightlight in the corner glowing and painting the room a dim yellow. The party had been a short lived experience followed by a quick meal at a diner down the street from Cady's apartment. He and Audrey had sat there in the booth against the window, the conversation easy over burgers and fries.

It had been fun, good even, to go out with Audrey and go to a stupid holiday party. Everything was fine until he walked in the front door. His mom was in the living room watching an old Christmas special, a million questions on the tip of her tongue when he came inside. He'd managed to dodge most of them, skirting around details and specifics as he rushed her out the door and promised that he'd see her soon. He wasn't completely sure that he was ready to divulge details about Audrey to his mother.

Back in his own room, Jeff sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling off his sweater and undershirt and tossing them over to the hamper. His eyes landed on the picture that sat on the dresser, the same picture he'd looked at a million times in the last seven years. It was a picture of him and Hannah on their wedding day, close enough that the bottom of her dress was cut off but it didn't matter, he could remember everything about that moment. That day had felt like a godsend, the moment in his life when everything felt like it was going right and he was finally on the right path. Jeff stood up, crossing the room and taking the picture off the dresser to look at it closer.

Audrey popped into his unprompted as he stared down at the picture of his late wife. Was moving on something that he really wanted? He'd thought about it before but it never felt like the right time. He never felt ready to let go of Hannah's memory or the love he had for her. But he knew there was something different about Audrey. He didn't feel so much like loving her would be giving up Hannah. Something he hadn't felt once in the last seven years. Something he felt like he had to hold onto.

#christmas mingle series

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ceealaina · 4 years

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Title: In My Dreams I Turn You On - Chapter 1 Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier Ship: WinterIron Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Tony's crushing hard on his new massage therapist, but doesn't want to be a sleazy businessman. Bucky's crushing hard on his latest client, but doesn't want to take advantage of him in a vulnerable position. So they handle it like any sane adults - pretend it's not happening and refuse to discuss it. At least they both have terrible friends to help them through it. Word Count: 4259 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Tony groaned as he headed into the penthouse, Pepper close behind him. He’d spent the morning tinkering over a design, which had been followed by three meetings in a row in uncomfortable chair after uncomfortable chair. His shoulder blades were tight and aching, and he arched his back, stretching it out as he collapsed onto his extremely comfortable sofa. His back cracked with a series of loud pops, and he groaned again in relief, closing his eyes and rolling his neck, wincing a little at the sick crunching sound his muscles made at the movement.

When he looked up again, Pepper was staring at him in horror. “Tony, was that your back ?”

“Um. No?” He offered, doing his best to look innocent. When she didn’t look any more impressed, he offered a faint smile. “It was also my neck?”

Pepper rolled her eyes at him. “JARVIS, please book Tony an appointment with the in-house massage therapist,” she requested pleasantly, before fixing Tony with a dirty look. “This is exactly why we have a therapist on call. Use it.”

“I did!” Tony insisted. “I mean, I do! I just... got busy.” Pepper wasn’t budging, and he sighed heavily. “Fine. J -- go ahead and book that appointment. I think I can put off that phone update and clear some time tomorrow afternoon.”

It wasn’t that Tony minded getting massages; quite the opposite actually. He was pretty good about booking his appointment every six weeks (doctor’s orders) and Louise, the staff therapist, was an absolute sweetheart with the uncanny ability to know when he wanted to lie in silence and let himself drift, and when he wanted to be regaled with stories about how she’d spent her weekend with her wife and their three dogs. He’d just been so busy that it had kind of fallen to the very bottom of his todo list. Still, the creaks his body was making were a little concerning, and it would be good to be able to relax for ninety minutes.

By the next afternoon, Tony was actually really looking forward to the appointment. He’d had a ridiculous morning, and his neck and lower back were killing him, the beginning of a tension headache beginning to crawl up the base of his skull.

But all those thoughts flew right out of his brain when he walked into the therapy room to be met with a pert ass in perfectly fitting soft, grey pants, bent over the office desk.

“Um.” Tony blinked, eyes trailing up over a broad back, muscles clearly defined beneath a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. “You’re not Louise.”

The man bent over the table jumped a little, straightening and turning to face him, and Tony felt his heart skip a beat in the face of bright blue eyes and a wide smile, and long brown hair pulled back in a mostly-professional bun.

“Hey!” Tall, dark and sexy beamed at him, moving across the room. “You must be Mr. Stark.”

If he squinted, Tony could hear the slightest trace of a Brooklyn accent in his voice, reminiscent of Steve when he was drunk, or got all worked up about the state of America, or both. Tony couldn’t help feeling endeared at the sound, the low voice rolling over him. “Tony, please,” he managed to get out, toes curling in his dress shoes as his hand was gripped in a warm, firm handshake.

“Tony,” the therapist repeated dutifully. “Louise is on vacation for the next couple of weeks. My name is James. I just started today, but I’m fully trained and certified, promise.” He gave Tony a broad grin, the kind that looked like it would be accompanied by a wink, if that wouldn’t come off as unprofessional. “I’ll be your therapist for today, if that works for you?”

“Oh yeah, that definitely works for me,” Tony assured him before wincing a little, because wow Stark, creepy much? Way to keep it classy.

Fortunately James didn’t seem bothered, huffing out a soft laugh with a twinkle in his eyes. “Glad to hear it,” he said, and it may have been Tony’s imagination, but it seemed like the handshake lasted just a second too long before he released his grip and took a step back. “Uh, right. So we’ll just go over any problem spots you want me to work on, and then I’ll leave you to get as undressed as you’re comfortable with and we can get started.”

Tony was nodding along as James spoke, somehow managing to keep from shivering when he talked about getting undressed. “Sounds good to me.”

“Uh, one more thing,” James added, doing an adorable little scrunch of his face before lifting his left hand and rolling it awkwardly, and-

“Holy shit!” Tony reached out to catch his wrist, stopping himself just in time. “Is that one of mine? Of course it’s one of mine,” he added before James could answer. “You wouldn’t work here and not get an SI prosthetic. That’s one of the most recent models though, right? How’s it working out for you? Any problems with neural connections? Any pain at the connection sight? How’s the response time?”

“Mr. Stark - Tony.” James interrupted him, laughing again. “We’re here for you, not me. But, uh, off the record?” He did another little twist of his wrist that Tony had a hard time pulling his eyes away from. “The arm works like a dream. Thank you. But I just wanted to let you know that the hand might give you some different sensations than you’re used to. Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, and I can always put a glove on if you’d prefer.”

“Oh no,” Tony assured him quickly. “I’m sure it won’t be an issue.”

James was wholly professional, nodding as Tony told him about his problem areas and clarifying how the session would go. Then he was leaving Tony to change. Tony moved quickly, stripping down to his silky red boxer briefs, folding his clothes neatly on the table; he figured it didn’t hurt to make a good impression, just in case. He was well settled on the table by the time James knocked on the door, blanket pulled up to his shoulders to ward off any chill.

“Yup,” he called at the sharp tap on the door. He cleared his throat quickly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

James slipped into the room with quiet movements, dimming the light and moving to gather his supplies. Tony took a few deep breaths, letting himself relax as he listened to him move around the space, the quiet, steady beat of his footsteps,

“I’m going to get started now,” James told him, his voice softer than before. He pulled the sheet down, exposing Tony’s back, and he did his best not to shiver at the cooler air of the room. “Just let me know if anything doesn’t feel right, or if you want the heat up.”

Tony nodded against the table. “No prob-lem.” His voice hitched on the last word as thick fingers tucked the sheet just under the waistband of his briefs, pushing them down a little in the process. His touch was completely professional, but the quick drag of his fingers over the top of Tony’s ass had a shiver of pleasure running through him in a way that Louise’s touch never did. If James noticed the catch in his voice, he kept it to himself, no hesitation in his efficient movements.

A minute later, strong fingers were pressing into the skin of Tony’s back, touch light to start and sliding up either side of his spine. Even that little touch was heavenly, and when James’s fingers dug in at the base of his neck, Tony couldn’t help the low moan that slipped out.

“That feel okay?” James asked, and Tony thought he could hear the slightest hint of a smile in his voice.

“Feels amazing,” Tony slurred into the sheet. “Thas... really nice.”

“Is the pressure okay?” James asked. “You can let me know if you need a lighter touch.”

“No, no it’s good,” Tony mumbled. “Actually. You can go a bit harder.”

Ridiculously, he felt his neck heat at the unintentional double entendre, and he couldn’t help feeling grateful for the dim light of the room, keeping James from seeing. A minute later strong thumbs were digging circles into his shoulder blades, the touch of his metal hand just slightly cool enough for Tony to register the difference, and he just about melted into the table.

Tony lost time for a bit, brain floating, hovering somewhere between awake and asleep. He was vaguely aware of James in the room, his hands working steadily over his back, pulling him closer to consciousness as he worked out a few particularly tight knots before Tony would drift away again, equations floating in and out of his head, gone before he could work out what they solved.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when James moved his hands down to his lower back, making a soft noise under his breath.

“You’re really tight here,” he murmured, and Tony couldn’t help appreciating how his voice was lower and softer now, like he knew Tony wasn’t all there at the moment. “This might be tender for a moment, but it will help you in the long run. Is that alright?”

Tony hummed out something that hopefully passed for an affirmative, doing his best not to tense up as he prepared himself. James’s hands settled on his lower back, either side of his spine, just above the swell of his ass. He pushed down and up, with enough force that Tony’s entire body shifted along the table and -

Oh.

Tony’s eyes popped open, suddenly wide awake. The fact that James had enough strength to move him so easily was super hot, but Tony was having a difficult time focusing on that right now. Apparently he’d been too dreamy to notice before, but he was hard. And not the normal plumping of his cock against his thigh that occasionally happened. He was almost fully hard. James pressed in again, shifting his body on the table and inadvertently grinding Tony’s cock against the table. Tony bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle the moan that threatened to slip out as little sparks of pleasure shot up his spine.

“Sorry,” James hummed after a moment. “You’re tensing up a little. Is that too much?”

Tony swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “No,” he managed, clearing his throat when it came out a little squeaky. “No, it’s fine.” He did his best to relax as James continued his ministrations, taking slow, deep breaths, eyes fluttering with each slow grind of his dick against the sheet. His hands, thankfully hidden where the sheet was pulled up to his hips, were clenching and releasing against his thighs as he tried to think about all the paperwork waiting for him and not the fact that he could feel himself getting harder, his arousal growing.

He breathed a soft sigh of relief when James took a step back from the table, hoping it would come across as just being relaxed from the massage. This was okay; if he didn’t have James forcefully grinding him against the table (which was hotter than it should be even if Tony hadn’t already been rock hard) he could focus on something else, get his body to calm the fuck down. It was absolutely fine.

He held onto that hope right up until James was pulling the sheet up over his back again and then moving down the table to uncover his right leg. Because right, Tony had mentioned that he had some pain in his hips and glutes. This wasn’t uncommon -- they usually worked on that area when he came in for his regular sessions. But somehow it had never felt so sexual when Louise did it. Tony was certain he made some kind of noise when James tucked the sheet in under the leg of his briefs to hold it in place with quick, professional movements, but if he heard, James thankfully didn’t comment. Then his strong fingers were digging in at the tops of Tony’s thighs and the bottom of his ass and Tony felt his eyes flutter, doing his best not to hold his breath at the touch.

He’d always been sensitive to this part, but it had never been quite this much of a problem before. He was no longer drifting, hyper aware of the press of each of James’s individual fingers. Tony could feel the back of his neck burning with embarrassment; he was closer to fifty than not, had thought these types of spontaneous erections were well behind him. Poor James was just trying to do his damn job, and here Tony was acting like the worst kind of pervert businessman cliche. He shifted at a particular movement, and winced when he felt the damp spot against his skin, actually leaking precome into his briefs. He might as well just ask for a happy ending while he was at it. Tony was never getting a massage again.

He managed to stay calm while James worked over his leg, and then moved to the other one, and despite everything he had to admit that his hips did feel a lot more relaxed. When James stepped back again, Tony couldn’t help hoping that the massage was finally over so he could sneak off upstairs and take a very long, hot, loud shower.

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

Once James had covered him up fully again, he moved back up to the head of the table, standing just to the side of it. Tony tried not to think about the fact that if he just turned his head, James’ cock would be right there. Tried not to imagine sucking him off while he was still propped against the table.

“Okay,” James said. “I want to do some more work on your neck. You still seem awfully tense. I’m going to lift the sheet a little, and I’ll just get you to roll over onto your back and slide down a bit so your head is fully on the table.”

“Um. That’s okay, actually,” Tony told the floor. “We... You don’t need to do that. Actually, we can just call it there, if you want. I’m sure you have... things to do.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation. “Is... Was something wrong?” James asked cautiously. “I didn’t...” Tony caught the faint whirring sound of James rolling his prosthetic wrist. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”

“No!” Tony said quickly, feeling like a complete asshole. James had just started this job, was probably worried about not making it the week when Tony just couldn’t keep it in his pants. “No,” he said again. “It’s not that at all. It was great. Wonderful, even. One of the best massages I’ve ever had. I really enjoyed it. I just, uh. I really enjoyed it.”

“Oh!” James said, and Tony had to give him credit, he was quick on the uptake. There was a soft huff that may have been laughter, but Tony didn’t get the impression he was laughing at him. “That’s fine, Tony, honestly. It happens all the time. And I’ll be focusing on your neck, so I’m more than happy to continue the massage as long as you’re comfortable.”

“Gonna be too comfortable,” Tony grumbled before he could stop himself, and there was definitely a snort of laughter from James that time, although he quickly cut it off, clearing his throat instead. He was waiting patiently, and Tony wasn’t sure how to explain that this wasn’t exactly a half-chub, that he was rock hard and leaking, without it turning into a sexual harassment suit. He sighed softly. He really was still tense, and some masochistic part of him didn’t want this to be over yet. “Okay,” he said.

His voice was little more than a whisper, but James must have heard anyway. He moved again, lifting the sheet by Tony’s head just enough to give him space to shift around. Tony squirmed his way lower first, suddenly hyper conscious of the way his ass must look through the thin fabric. He chewed at his lip as his cock rubbed against the table again, and then, keeping his eyes closed, he rolled over onto his back.

It was a bit of a relief, actually, and his cock thickened further, no longer compressed against the table. He didn’t have to look to know that he was tenting the sheet, and if it wasn’t for the briefs keeping him somewhat contained, he was pretty sure it would have been waving hello. Tony could feel his cheeks flushing darker. There was a moment of silence from James, and Tony didn’t dare open his eyes to see what he was thinking.

“Okay!” he said suddenly, and there was a note in his voice that Tony couldn’t quite place. “Okay...” He lowered the sheet around Tony’s chest and then moved away from the table. Tony heard the rustle of fabric and risked cracking an eyelid open to find James gathering up the heavier weighted blanket from the corner. They’d forgone it for today, since the room was already quite warm, but he brought it over now, settling it over Tony from his toes to his waist. “Thought that might make you a little more comfortable,” he said softly, like it was a secret outside the professional aspect of their situation. Tony felt his heart lighten with relief and something else, and opened his eyes farther just in time to catch James’ gaze as he straightened back up.

“Uh, thanks,” Tony murmured, their eyes locked in the dim light of the room. There was a heavy weight to it, like they were the only two people in the world, and then James was smiling at him and moving back behind Tony’s head and the moment was gone.

Tony let his eyes fall shut again as James started working over his neck and upper chest, doing his best to let himself relax and somehow ignore the hardon that was currently begging his attention. He was half successful, enough that when James finally pulled back completely, he was a little startled by how much time had passed.

“Okay,” James said, his voice a quiet rumble that sent shivers up Tony’s spine. “We’re done for today. Can I get you a glass of water, or anything?”

“Nah,” Tony mumbled, still feeling drowsy and hazy. He blinked up at James, catching a faint smile on his face that could almost be described as fond. “Thanks,” he added. “This was... Thanks.”

James’s smile grew. “It was my pleasure,” he assured him. “It was very nice to meet you, Tony. Maybe I’ll see you again.”

“I’d really like that,” Tony told him, before wincing because that was not a thing you say to your massage therapist. What was wrong with him today?

But James didn’t sound concerned, laughing softly. “Okay, I’m going to head out now. Take your time getting dressed, and try not to stand up too fast,” he said, and when Tony glanced over at him, there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “Wouldn’t want you to get dizzy from low... blood pressure.”

Tony blinked up at the ceiling for a long minute after the door had shut softly behind James. “Did he just...?” He couldn’t help giggling a little, some of his self consciousness fading away. He blew out a long breath, rubbing a hand absently over his thigh. “Fuck. Stark, I think you might be in trouble.”

***

The second the door had clicked into place behind him, Bucky had to take a minute to lean against it, exhaling softly. That had been the worst session of his life -- and he had loved every second of it.

Bucky had always had a bit of a crush on Tony Stark, okay? Bucky loved technology, and the man was an absolute genius. The ideas he came up with never failed to blow his mind. And if he’d spent more than one drunk and lonely night googling images of his butt, that was between him and his search history. So when he’d come out of his massage training, and his old friend Steve had suggested applying to SI while they were catching up over drinks and rock climbing (not in that order), he’d figured, why not? The thought had honestly never occurred to him, and it certainly had never occurred to him that they would actually hire him.

And it had definitely never occurred to him that he would be working on Tony Stark himself.

When he’d gotten the appointment booking, he’d nearly had a heart attack. He’d spent the whole day debating calling out sick, but he knew that wouldn’t be a good look in his first week. So Bucky had pulled himself together and told himself to be a goddamn professional.

And then Mr. “Call Me Tony” Stark had walked in, and Bucky had nearly fallen on the floor. He was even hotter in person, all sparkling eyes and a smile Bucky would melt for. But he was also funnier than Bucky had expected, so easy to talk to and get along with, and not at all the rich asshole that he had been preparing himself for. Bucky was pretty sure he was in love.

***

“Steeeve.” Tony flopped down in the seat opposite to his best friend, setting his sunglasses on the table. “I think I’m in love.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve didn’t even look up from the sketch he was working on, which was just rude if you asked Tony. “And who’s the lucky person? Or is it another robot?” He did look up then, looking inordinately proud of himself, and Tony just glared back at him until Steve relented and rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m listening.”

“Well I don’t wanna tell you now,” Tony grumbled at the table. Steve didn’t answer, just waiting him out, and it only took a minute for him to start squirming. “You’re gonna make fun of me.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not already,” Steve retorted, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt.

Tony rolled his eyes -- the defining trait of their friendship. “Stop trying to talk like a teenager, asshole. You’re not that much younger than me.”

Steve just smirked back at him before smacking his foot against Tony’s under the table. “Come on, pal. Spill. It can’t be that bad. What? Some 80-year-old scientist? An exotic dancer? A new intern? Oh god, is this like those two weeks when you were convinced that Pepper was your future wife?” He laughed as Tony looked less and less impressed. “Come on, Tony, I’m running out of business man cliches here. What, is it your massage therapist, or—“ The smile dropped off Steve’s face when he saw the way Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh, Tony no.” He looked around, suddenly realizing that they were in an open air cafe where anybody could be listening. “Seriously?” he hissed.

“I know.” Tony dropped his head to the table, burying it in his arms with a low groan. “I know how it sounds. It’s the worst.”

There was a beat and then Steve’s hand settled on the top of his head, fingers rubbing briefly over his scalp. Even though he was still mad at him, Tony couldn’t help smiling into his arms, leaning into the comforting touch.

“Cheer up,” Steve told him, although he didn’t sound totally convinced of what he was saying. “It’s not so bad. Stranger things have happened. How long have you been feeling this way?”

“Since I met him.”

“Which was..?”

Tony hesitated before lifting his head enough to give Steve sheepish eyes. “Yesterday?”

Steve made a pained noise. “Jesus, Tony.”

“I know . It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Steve got his face on and Tony resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. “Look, I get how you could have certain… Feelings from a massage.”

Tony rolled his eyes skyward, and Steve stuck his tongue out at him in return.

“But you can’t confuse touch with real emotions, Tony.”

“It’s not like that!” Tony protested. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the touch was nice. Like. really nice--,”

“ Tony .”

“But it was more than that. He just… I don’t know. He was gorgeous, but he was also sweet and funny and he made a dumb joke before he left and… I don’t know,” he said again. “People get so weird, sometimes, but he didn’t even blink when I walked into the room. We just clicked. It felt like he really saw me.”

Steve blew out his cheeks, mouth twisting up into a sympathetic grimace. “Hey, it could work. Maybe you’ll… Lose all your money and have to fire him, so you’ll be on equal footing?”

Tony stared at him blankly for a long moment and then groaned loudly, the sound turning to a long, drawn out whine as he draped himself face first on the table. Steve gestured to the server for more coffee and leaned forward to pat Tony on the back.

“Cheer up, pal. It’ll be okay. Hey, I’m going axe throwing this weekend with my friend from high school. You wanna come along? Might help get your stress out.”

Tony lifted his head long enough to give Steve a baleful glance and then dropped back down with an even louder whine.

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes #warfalcon #james rhodes #sam wilson #pepper potts #steve rogers #humor #fic #my fic

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nothinghereanymoremaybelater · 4 years

Text

Into the Depths Pt.1

Here’s the first part of our adventure! It introduces the characters you can choose from, and a bit about our setting. I hope you all enjoy! Let me know who you’d rather see our reader ‘enjoy’ the attention of!

WC: 3k

The outdoors are not your thing. You loiter around the back of your friend’s pickup, breathing in the strange mixture of engine exhaust and fresh, clean air, with your arms folded and a war raging inside your head. You’re trying to express your apathy about the camping trip without words, but your companions are paying you no mind as they stand talking in front of a map. The whole drive over, you were second guessing your decision to join them; wondering if you could somehow gracefully bow out even now, standing in front of the ranger station that marks the entrance to the forest. The largest forest in the world, as signs that dotted the roads in this area like pimples, intrusive and unwanted.

And you don’t see a way out of going camping in them. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with your friends; you absolutely do. The four of them are the most important things in the world to you, and you’d do anything for them all. Usually you wouldn’t have been so reluctant to go on an outdoors-y adventure like this, even with your general distaste for all things involving nature; you’d been on hikes and camping trips with them before, laughing over roasted marshmallows and climbing to scenic cliffs just to watch the way the clouds moved overhead. They liked to tease you about the modern conveniences you brought on these trips- the most comfortable tent and sleeping bag you could get, enough bug repellant to clear the whole area of insects- but you knew they appreciated you indulging their interests.

Usually you would have been fine with loading into Michelle’s van and careening down the road towards another week of exploring the world around you.

But you had… problems, with this forest.

Nothing concrete. No earth-shattering experiences that had traumatized you and shaped you into the person you were today, no story you could tell your friends as explanation for why you really, really wanted them to choose any other camping ground for the trip. Nothing you could grasp in your memory and hold onto as proof that you weren’t crazy, weren’t just imagining the way this place made you feel every time you set foot on its trails. You’d been here before, on trips when you all were younger or on outings with your family- the mountain that rises in the middle of the blanket of trees has watched over the town you live in for your entire life.

‘We live near the largest forest in the world,’ everyone always says. ‘Why not take advantage of it?’

You don’t have a solid reason not to. No solid reason except for the creeping feeling of eyes on your back whenever you draw near the thick, dark lines of trees that stretch for miles and miles. No explanation for the paranoia that sinks into your bones and makes you shake and shiver at a cloud passing overhead or the snapping of a twig under your own foot. There’s nothing you can tell your friends about your misgivings that wouldn’t make you sound delusional and so the only thing you can do is stew in the exhaust from the idling car and wish you’d followed through on faking a sudden illness to get out of having to join them. But this was your last chance to do an outing like this all together- Eli and Michelle were going to grad school, Sarah was moving for a job offer next month. Andre was the only one staying, but it just wouldn’t be the same without all of you together; and so here you are, in a place that terrified you.

“The station should be just down that trail,” Eli announces with an air of triumph, apparently having finally solved the confusing array of colors and squiggles masquerading as a map of the trails and ranger stations in the forest. Michelle throws her hands up in the air but seems to accept his pronouncement, walking back to the van to turn the idling engine off. You’re treated to clean air once more, with only the lingering smell of gasoline to keep you company as your friends re-lace their boots and ensure the doors are locked.

Andre throws a glance your way, furrowing his brow at the way you’ve isolated yourself from the rest of them. You offer him the best smile you can manage, but even here, at the very edge of the forest, you can almost feel creeping hands that crawl up your spine and seem to chill your very being with their touch. You’d volunteer to stay with the van as they trek to the ranger station to get registered, but that would leave you all alone until they got back- perhaps a fate even worse than walking further into the depths of this place. Making your decision, you join the little group as they set off down one of the marked trails, trusting that Eli had read the map correctly.

To distract yourself as you walk, you contemplate the little group of people around you- faces and voices that feel like home, a welcome distraction from the alien feeling of the woods. Sarah’s the closest, hanging back to walk in step with you without saying much. You appreciate the gesture- you’d have to be playing catch up with the other three if she wasn’t with you. The comfortable silence is all you think you can take at the moment, unsure that you wouldn’t just start screaming if you opened your mouth. Eli’s leading the way with his sister and Andre close on his heels, glancing around at the trail as they contemplate plans for where exactly you all are going to set up camp for the week. You’re not paying close attention- you just watch the way that Michelle links her arm with Andre’s, the tread of their boots leaving prints in the mud like carving a pattern into the trail.

It’s not that far into your group’s trek, only five minutes at most, when a building suddenly appears out of the tree line. It’s ramshackle and shoddy at best, seemingly cobbled together from fallen logs and discarded wood from around the forest rather than any real building grade materials. ‘RANGER STATION’ is painted on the side of the building in brilliant yellow, and a number of ATVs and a van are parked in the small, dirt lot outside it. Andre whistles at the sight, frowning.

“I guess the budget really got cut for the parks service,” He says, though you aren’t sure there’s any amount of budget cuts that would force such a dilapidated building into service. It seems to you that it must have always been like this, though you can’t remember such a strange structure in any visit you’ve had to this forest before. The five of you climb the stairs and they creak under your weight so badly that Eli and Sarah hang back, going up one at a time after the rest of you are already on the porch. Michelle opens the door and waves you all inside.

The first thing you notice is that the interior perfectly matches the exterior. Everything appears to be held together by some loose nails and a prayer- the counter in front of you lists to one side and the surface of it is rough and uneven, certainly almost useless for writing on. Behind it, the walls are absolutely covered in plants- climbing ivy and hanging terrariums that house blooms you’ve never seen in this part of the world, huge ferns that have almost completely obscured the rows of shelves and stacks of papers arranged against the back wall. There are a few doorways, with wooden doors shut tight in their frames and no labels or nameplates hanging on them to hint at their contents. You look at the clouded glass windows and see shapes outside in the lot that don’t look anything like the vehicles you’d noticed on your way inside.

Before you can move closer to the windows to get a better look, one of the doors swings open and a man comes shuffling out. It’s hard for you to believe he’d actually fit in the cramped office you see beyond him- he’s enormous, at least six and a half feet tall, with wide, muscular shoulders and dark, curly brown hair. His ranger’s uniform seems to be having trouble containing his figure, the sleeves stretched over rippling muscles that strain the fabric as he places his hands on the counter. You all watch in awe as he clears his throat, not looking any of you in the eye but rather staring down at the wood below his fingers- if you were paying closer attention, you’d have said he was uncomfortable with all of your eyes so clearly focused on him.

“Can I help you?” He asks, in a voice as deep and rumbling as thunder. You can almost feel it reverberate through your chest. After a moment of silence, Andre manages to clear his throat, stretching his shoulders out as if he could physically shake off whatever strange spell you’ve all fallen under.

“Yeah, we need to get a camping permit and then some directions to the campsite,” He says, swallowing nervously. The hulking man nods to himself and ducks underneath the counter for a moment, though he’s so large that you can still see the curve of his wide back as he searches for something underneath it. Michelle audibly gulps at the sight, and you have to agree with her- you’ve never seen someone so physically imposing before. Surely he’s new to the ranger team here; you were sure you would have remembered someone like him from your previous visits, even if you were preoccupied with that creeping paranoia this place inspired in you.

The ranger sets a piece of paper on the counter, and places a portable credit card reader down next to it. It looks comically small in his hands.

“Every adult who will be camping needs to sign this. Are there any children with you?” The giant asks, sounding like he’s reading from a prompt.

“No,” Andre shakes his head, and steps up to the counter to grab the dented ballpoint pen lying there. He signs his name with difficult on the uneven surface and then passes the pen to Michelle, standing next to him.

You don’t want to sign it. It feels like you’ll be signing your life away if you do, like signing a contract with some unknown, terrible creature. The one whose eyes you can feel on your back even now in the station- maybe closer than before.

But with the same awful inevitability that led you to agree to coming on this trip in the first place, you step up to the counter when it’s your turn. The ranger is pointedly not looking in your direction as you do so- he hasn’t looked at any of you, not really, since the moment he stepped out of his office. You reach for the pen where it’s lying on the counter and accidentally brush against his hand.

The man stiffens. His gaze flashes to you and his mouth falls open. You’re not sure why but you find yourself trapped in this moment- watching the way his eyes cross your face, watching the way he closes his mouth and opens it like he has something to say but can’t manage to get the words out. Time seems to stretch on forever in this moment, until he snatches his hand away and the spell is broken.

Blushing furiously, you stammer out an apology and go to sign and print your name on the designated lines. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move other than to hold the hand you’d touched aloft as though he’d been burned somehow.

“Did you tell them the mountain sites were closed?” Someone calls from behind another closed door. You look towards the voice and back away from the counter, but the ranger doesn’t seem to even acknowledge that someone spoke. His gaze is locked on you.

“Hector!” The voice comes again when there is no reply. Your friends all look at each other- you know they’ve noticed the strange atmosphere in here, the ranger still seemingly entranced by you. Eli comes up next to you and folds his arms, watching the hulking man with suspicion. You wonder if something is about to happen; if the group you’re with has finally noticed what you’ve been feeling all along, if they’ll pull you outside and run back to the van. You feel that invisible presence right behind you, practically pressed up against your back.

Another man emerges from his office, letting the door bang against the wall to express his frustration. He’s tall, though not as tall as the other ranger and more lithe in build. His dark skin contrasts with the fire engine red of his hair, a garish color that must have been dyed only yesterday to still be as vibrant and radiant as it was. It was tied in a long braid that swung over his shoulder as he moved, disregarding the assembled group on the other side of the counter in favor of his dumbstruck colleague. Finally the larger ranger- Hector- tears his eyes away from you and turns towards him, shaking his head.

”Gotta do everything myself,” the new man says, though you’d say he was actually enjoying the spectacle of showing off his annoyance in front of you all. The new ranger turns to you guys and smiles, showing off rows of white teeth that appear to have been filed into points. You can’t imagine that’s up to uniform regulations where he works, but you’re too preoccupied with the look on his face to make much notice of it.

Just as Hector did, he stops completely at the sight of you. There’s a look of shock on his face, like he’s run into someone he’d never expected to see again- like he’s seen a ghost. A moment passes, just a moment- he’s better at recovering his composure than his coworker and the man with the red hair straightens out his smile once again, gaze still watching every movement you make. Sarah leans her arm on your shoulder, staring them both down. You’ve never been gladder for your friends.

“I’ll have them stay in the Forest’s Glen site,” Hector says defensively, seemingly responding to the other ranger’s earlier comment. The newcomer frowns at the words, holding up one finger. His braid swinging as he moves, he makes for one of the stacks of papers hiding underneath the crawling ivy on the walls. Sweeping it away, he picks up the top sheet and scans it, counting out something on his fingers.

“Actually, I think I was a little too hasty…” He says, waving the paper around. “We’ve got one open spot at Mountain’s Peak. We can send them there.”

“Nico…” Hector says, but doesn’t follow up with any sort of protest other than that.

“What? I’m sure they came for the views, right?” Nico enthuses, waving his hands around in the air.

“Uh…” Michelle murmurs, interrupting them. “Can we pick which site we want to go to, if there’s a couple spots open?”

Both rangers blink in surprise, as if they haven’t thought of that. They look at each other for a moment before Nico shrugs, Hector looking a little unhappy about the direction this situation has taken.

You’re still reeling from the strangeness of this all, wondering why exactly they had stared at you like that.

“Sure,” The red-haired ranger says. “If you want to stay at the mountain site, I’ll show you the way there.” He flashes his teeth, all sharpened points, in something that might was probably supposed to be a smile but which missed the mark quite a bit.

“Forest’s my area,” Hector chimes in with his arms folded across his chest, voice rumbling through your chest with every syllable as his fellow ranger comes to stand next to him.

They watch as your little group withdraws towards the door to talk about the decision, casting furtive glances towards the strange duo as you all do so.

“This is strange. Did you see those looks on their faces?” Eli asks, gesturing at you as he talks. “They looked like they were going to jump across the counter.

” “Yeah,” Sara echoes. “I dunno what their deal is, but it’s weird.”

You wonder what to make of all of this- the creepy atmosphere, the strange rangers, the feeling that something terrible and awful is looming over you. If you had your way, you’d go home right now and forget all of this ever happened.

But you know your friends have been looking forward to this for months. And you know this may well be your last chance to camp altogether as a group- you’re all moving on to different places, different phases of life, and you don’t want to let it go out like this. You can put up with a bit of paranoia for a week, you tell yourself; you can put up with the feeling of being watched and odd rangers who look at you like a starving man looks at a meal.

“Don’t let them put you off guys,” You say to your friends, voicing the exact opposite of your real opinion. “This is supposed to be fun- we won’t even see them after this.” Your friends nod one by one at what you’re saying, shifting on their feet without looking back at the rangers.

They cast their votes one by one for which site you guys should camp at- Michelle and Sarah for the mountain, Eli and Andre for the forest.

They look at you for the deciding vote and you can’t help but glance up at the rangers, apparently still standing in the exact same spot as they had been before.

Somehow you feel that this choice will affect more than just this week. Nico and Hector and all your friends wait.

Vote here

#yandere #yandere/reader #yandere/you #yandere fiction #yandere writing #story

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marshmallow-phd · 5 years

Text

Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

Ice ran through your veins. You could feel his hot breath against your neck. His very proximity was enough to churn your stomach. Your skin was crawling to get away from him. He’d had this effect on you since you were children. There was always something unnerving and unsettling about him.

Out all the people… no. You couldn’t lose your cool. You could still control the situation. You’d conquered your fear of him long ago.

“I don’t know what you’re blabbering about,” you hissed as you stood up from your chair abruptly, causing him to jump back. “I was fixing the files after finding there was a mistake in the information. We can’t exactly operate at an efficient level if we’re strategizing off of inaccurate information.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, something sparking in his gray eyes. “Inaccurate information, you say?” Out of his pocket, he procured a folded up piece of paper. He held it up between his index and middle finger like it was the winning card of a poker game; his ace in the hole. “If the town was incorrectly named in the files, then why do your GPS coordinates have you going only to the town previously mentioned in the files?”

You always knew that Johnny was twisted. He crossed lines and went around orders. His disciplinary file had an above average amount of papers that had found a home there, but he was never really punished for any of his transgressions. Most of the council actually preferred his methods, even if they went against tradition and honor. And he had mastered hiding the more insatiable parts of himself from the elders. His greatest trick.

This, though… it was like he knew you weren’t going to go through with your mission. Or… he’d been planning something from the beginning….

“What are you getting at, Johnny?” Challenging him in this moment probably wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to keep him talking. Johnny was like the villain in a spy movie. Once he started on his speeches, he gave away everything.

“Entrusting you with this mission was a mistake from the start,” he sneered. “You’re too soft. You’ve never even slain your own wolf.”

“This mission wasn’t about killing,” you snarled back. Whether you were choosing to leave this life or not, being called soft or weak was still an insult. You’d been taught since you were little that being either one of those things would get you killed. “It was getting the book. That’s why you weren’t sent. You’re too reckless. All you think about is the kill. You never look at other perspectives.”

Johnny scoffed. “Other perspectives? You sound a little peace-loving, don’t you?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Slowly, a smirk grew across his lips. “Do I?”

Turning into the predator he really was, Johnny began to circle you, his eyes trained on your face. You tried hard to remain collected, to act bored or uninterested in his little game while in reality, panic was beginning to shake the very fibers of your muscles. Fight or flight was kicking in and either one would give you away.

“I don’t think I do know what you mean actually,” he hissed in a very snake-like fashion in your ear. He was directly behind you now and enjoying the game he was masterminding. “You forget, (y/n), I’ve seen you hesitate before..”

You elbowed him hard in the stomach, receiving a satisfying groan in return. “That was years ago, in a simulation. If that’s the best you’ve got, then maybe you should pick a new career.”

Before you could walk away, Johnny grabbed your arm and spun you around. His wide, round face was red from the strain it took to hold himself back. Controlling his temper was always a struggle for him and you might have just pressed the wrong button.

“I was born and bred to someday lead this section of the organization,” he growled, the grip on your arm tightening, forcing a wince out of you. “I am the only one strong enough to lead the next generation. You are weak and sympathetic. It makes me sick.”

“I am not,” you argued back desperately.

“Yes, you are. You don’t have the willpower to do what is necessary. But don’t worry. Because I have the will and the vision it takes to eradicate the world of those creatures. I will make sure that every single mongrel is wiped from the face of this earth and I’ll start with your precious monsters.”

“They’re not monsters!” The words were out from your lips before you could bite them back. By the sickening grin spreading across Johnny’s face, you knew you’d given yourself away.

Slowly, the real monster turned his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Is that proof enough for you?”

Suddenly the monitors on the walls flickered on, revealing the council sitting back at the conference table after you’d been told the meeting was dismissed. You were surrounded on all sides by the people you used to admire and look up to. Every member wore a cold expression, save your father. Disappointment and heartbreak were written all over his face.

“No judgement will be passed as of yet,” your father declared. His voice was much more powerful and indifferent than what his features showed. “We’ll investigate further. Until then, she’ll be held in the cells with the possible charge of treason.”

The monitors went black again, cutting off any possible argument you might have given. Pressed against the delicate skin of your neck was the sharp edge of Johnny’s favorite knife.

“Don’t try to fight,” he laughed. “There are more of us outside this room.”

You didn’t plan on fighting. Not right now. But of course he brought backup. He knew if it was simply one-on-one, you’d win. Johnny couldn’t hold his own in a long running match.

Knowing that you didn’t have any other choice, you let him lead you out of the main hall and across the grounds towards the holding cells while his loyal goons followed closely behind with Tasers crackling in their hands.

“(y/n)?”

Shit.

You kept your face forward, ignoring the cries of your baby sister as she ran towards you.

“What are you doing with her!” Alli shouted.

Johnny snarled at her. “Mind your own business, child!”

“I’m not a child!” she bit back. Turning to you, her fierce façade melted away to a desperation for answers. “(y/n), what’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it, Alli. Everything’s going to be fine.” An empty promise. And she knew it. She maybe not have been an adult, but you couldn’t get away with simple generalizations with her like you could a child.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Your sister is a traitor, how about that?” Johnny shoved Alli away, making you fight against his grip, but the knife was back at your throat and his slid the metal just enough to break skin. “Get out of here. If you want answers, find your father.”

Alli shot you one last pleading look. At your silence, she took off for the main hall. You weren’t sure if your father would actually explain anything to her, but you hoped he would keep her in the dark just a little while longer. For her own sake.

The only light that was given in the small, stable-like prison came from the high windows that would be just out of your reach. Concrete slabs made up the walls, impossible to climb with their smooth surfaces, and old iron bars speckled with red-orange rust created the doors to the five-by-eight rooms. Old, musky straw covered the dirt floors and several of the cells had worn wrist cuffs hanging from a heavy nail hammered into the walls. Thankfully, Johnny didn’t see a need to chain you up as he shoved you into one of the cells near the middle of the single-hallway building after patting you down for weapons. You hadn’t strapped any on you this morning, deeming it unnecessary. That decision still seemed right. If you were able to get out of here, you knew exactly where your weapons were stored, rather than being in the possession of Johnny. Again, that was if you got out of here.

“This is a truly enjoyable sight,” he snickered as he slammed the cell door shut. With a motion of his head, he led his posse outside, leaving you alone.

You slid down to the ground, not caring about the dirt and grime that was getting all over your pants. It wasn’t a surprise that you landed here. As soon as you’d gotten into Innie’s car, you knew there was a high chance that you’d be caught. You’d come to terms with the end and so now all there was left to do was sit and wait for your fate.

Luhan crouched down low in the shrubbery that outlined the compound. Buildings that ranged from large training facilities to personal homes were scattered among the grounds in no specific order. Hunters were wandering around in groups of three or four, the older ones walking stoically with their hands hand their backs while the more youthful hunters were loudly joking and shoving each other.

The sun was still too high in the sky for his liking, so Luhan waited - rather impatiently - for the better cover of night. He had no idea where you were or which house belonged to your family, but that was easily handled. He just needed to find a small hint of your scent. Surely you’d been gone long enough that he wouldn’t pick up old, confusing traces.

As soon as he had the cover of darkness and the compound seemed to have settled for the night, Luhan emerged from the forest and slowly walked along the cemented trails. He stuck to the shadows, but at the same time tried to look like he belonged so no one would question him from a distance. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to concentrate on finding your scent among dozens scattered around the area.

Finally locating it, he followed your trail to the largest building in the center of this place. He knew walking into what was obviously the headquarters for this branch of the organization, but he needed to find you.

And the front door was unlocked.

So, he opened it slowly, stepping inside and carefully, quietly closing it back up again. He scanned the long hallway, careful to look for any signs of movement. After a hundred feet or so, your scent came to a stop at a pair of double doors. There was no light shining out from underneath onto the carpet, indicating that the room wasn’t in use. Was it possible you were still in there?

Luhan decided to take the risk. He placed his palm on the shiny golden handle and pushed.

The room was empty. Great. Now he had to find the trail again.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?”

Luhan whirled around. Leaning against the opposite wall was a cocky-looking hunter about his size twirling a knife between his hands. Luhan knew his eyes were giving off an amber glow, catching the smallest bit of light to give him better sight. This hunter knew what he was, anyway.

“It’s interesting that you came after her. Very revealing,” the hunter mused, not looking up at Luhan. He instead kept watching the knife as if it held the world’s secrets in its structure. “I thought (y/n) had just gone soft, unable to hurt the poor, unsuspecting wolves. But now that you’re here,” he pointed at Luhan with the knife, finally making eye contact with him, “I suspect that it’s much more than that. Is she, perhaps, your precious, fated mate? That would certainly explain a lot.”

Luhan let out a low, threatening growl. “Where is she?”

“In the same place all traitors go,” he shrugged. “But she won’t be there very long. Especially now that you’re here. Maybe we’ll be nice and kill you both together. Wouldn’t that be sweet? Just like Shakespeare’s stupid play.”

Luhan wanted to pounce. He wanted nothing more than to jump on this sick, sadistic hunter and rip his throat out for even thinking about hurting you. But before his muscles could twitch, the doors at the end of the hallway flew open, revealing a new group of hunters.

Shlink.

The knife the first hunter had been holding was now embedded into the wall near Luhan’s ear.

Well, shit.

Taking off in the opposite direction, Luhan burst through the doors, making it to the outside before the other hunters made it to their leader. Thankful for his supernatural speed, Luhan bobbed and weaved through the buildings. He couldn’t head back to the woods. Even though it was his territory, the place he was most familiar with, it would make getting back here nearly impossible.

From what he heard with his acute ears, the hunters were still a ways behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see where they might be looking for him. Up ahead, there looked like what might have been an unused building. The grass around the edge of overgrown and a few of the higher up windows were cracked or missing corner pieces. He ran towards the possible hiding spot.

He didn’t make it.

Strong hands stopped him in his tracks and yanked him off his course. He landed hard on his back against the wall of one of the steel buildings. The jolt sent a shockwave through his system, unnerving him for a few seconds as he shook the stars away.

“If we live through this, I’m going to kill you.”

Luhan blinked, his eyes widening as he made out the silhouettes of some of his pack members. Kris still had a good grip on Luhan’s shirt and his eyes were flickering red as he towered over him.

“Why the hell did you take off on your own?” Tao whispered harshly. Concern was evident all over his face, even in the low light of a crescent moon.

Luhan shoved Kris’ hand away. Guilt bubbled up in his stomach, growing worse when he saw that Minseok was among the tiny rescue party. “You shouldn’t have come for me. The more of us there are, the more easily we could be caught.”

“Well, we’re not going to be caught because we’re getting out of here,” Kris argued.

“No.” Luhan glared up at the alpha. “They have (y/n) locked up and they’re going to kill her. I have to get her out.”

Tao looked back and forth between Kris and Luhan, his uncertainty of who to follow apparent. Minseok, however, had no trouble on deciding.

“I’ll help you get her out.”

Kris’ looked down at the eldest wolf in shock. “You realize she’s the one who shot you, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Minseok nodded. “But at the end of the day, she’s Luhan’s mate. If getting her out means Luhan comes home, too, then I’m going to help.”

Kris tried to hold his ground. They all knew if he really wanted to, he could order them all back home. The only one who wouldn’t be able to obey would be Luhan. Only the mate pull was stronger than a true alpha’s orders. But Kris had always refused to be the person who forced his authority.

He sighed heavily, looking up at the twinkling stars before bringing his face back down. “Fine. We’ll get the hunter out.”

Luhan smiled, but the flickering, hope-filled joy only lasted a second as an ear-splitting scream cut through the air.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #luhan x reader #luhan #lu han #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo series #exo supernatural au #Lies Untold #untamed wolf universe

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