#maybe one of those chip reading dog doors so she can get free of them

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 38

  PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst, smut (18+), oral (male receiving), handjob, slight innocence kink 

A/N: not me still not fully recovered from the “you wanna see what i can do with leverage” moment. oof, still gets me heated up. anyway, this smut was mostly inspired by my pinterest board showing me this and this which i feel would be something y/n would wear for bucky. enjoy xx 

NEXT CHAPTER

She didn’t know she was running, but she was. She ran off that room before he could catch up to her but through the middle of her thoughts she could hear him yell out for her and run after her. Maybe it was an adrenaline rush, the thought of getting severely hurt or any other thing but she had managed to outrun him, running into the main corridor where everyone was awaiting for the judge to announce the results. As Mr. Hawthorn screaming her name registered in her brain, she rushed to Bucky, taking him by surprise. Out of instinct he wrapped his arms around her, looking down to see her hiding her face in his chest. 

As Bucky started to wonder why she had suddenly appeared and even why she had left in the first place, Mr. Hawthorne made his way down the hall yelling out her name made it all the much clearer. Bucky held her slightly behind his back, hand tightly holding hers as the man made his way to them. Bucky held out his metal arm in front of him, stopping Hawthorne from getting any closer to her. 

     - Give me that phone, Y/N. Now. - he wasn’t yelling, his tone was constant as he starred both Bucky and Y/N down. She moved her phone behind her back, typing while maintaining eye contact with the agency director. - I said ...

      - Back off, man. - Bucky tried to remain calm, he knew having a major fight or even yelling at the man in front of him wouldn’t put him in a good spot. However, he’d be caught dead if he allowed that man to even dare to touch his wife.

      - C’mon, Y/N. You wanna play with leverage? At least step away from your guard dog and confront me or are you already too comfortable with being a housewife? 

      - You wanna see what I can do with leverage? - Bucky pushed him slightly backwards but Y/N stopped him before he could do anything else, squeezing his hand and handing out the man in front of the two of them her phone. Before Bucky could even complain about getting her phone back, Mr. Hawthorne left the two of them in a fast pace. - What the fuck was that? What did he do? Why did you give him your phone? 

      - Trust me, okay? - she cupped his face, leaning her forehead against his when she wasn’t even sure if what she did was going to work. Her eyes darted slightly across the hall, seeing Chuck with the lawyer but quickly returned to Bucky. - I love you. 

      - What’s wrong, princess?  Hm? What did he do to you?

      - I love you too would’ve been nice, Buck. - she teased.

      - You know I love you too that’s not the point. You’re trying to distract me. Don’t shut me out. 

      - I am not shutting you out, Bucky. Nothing happened, it’s fine ... he’s just ... upset at me. 

      - Why is he upset at you? 

      - I ...

      - Mr. Barnes. - the lawyer approached the two of them, interrupting her just  as she was about to start her sentence. - The judge has called everyone in, let’s go. 

      - Has the jury made a decision? - Y/N’s grip on Bucky’s hand tightened and she was almost frozen on the spot as he started to walk to back to the court room, but she didn’t move. 

      - Hey, it’s just us, princess. Just us. - Bucky smiled at her, kissing the top of her head but she could barely register things.

She couldn’t hear anything as the two of them walked to the court room’s door where they were separated again with Sharon, Steve, Sam and Chuck accompanying her to the bench while Bucky took off with the lawyer. She sat down on the harsh, cold wood, her heart beating fast as she tried to read Chuck’s face yet she couldn’t. The jury and judge arrived, and suddenly everyone was on their feet, waiting for whatever decision the jury had taken; however, the jury looked confused, almost puzzled by the fact they were back into the court room. 

      - It has come to my attention that further evidence as been found. As such, bailiff, take the witness Mr. Hawthorne into custody where he will be charged for the harassment and stalking of Y/N Barnes as well as obscuring justice. In the matter of The People vs James Buchanan Barnes, this case is dismissed. Mr. Barnes, you are free to go. 

A few oh my gods erupted into the court room which went into complete frenzy as the bailiff took Mr. Hawthorne into custody who merely stared her down and shouted out in disbelief. She turned over to Chuck who took his phone off his pocket and played the exact same audio which she had played to Hawthorne just a few minutes ago.

     - I could kiss you. - she hugged her friend, a big smile on her face.

     - Please, don’t. I am still largely afraid of your husband, he would crush me like a soda can. Do you want me to die such a painful death? After I had to somehow understand your typo filled text with the worse recorded audio I have heard. Sincerely, Y/N, Bucky would’ve done a better job and he is what? As old as dinosaurs?

     - You’re the best. - she kissed her friends cheek before going over to Bucky who was being swarmed by both his friends that had come to congratulate him, his lawyer and some reporters.

She smiled at him, standing in the back of the crowd and catching his eye despite everyone surrounding him. Bucky couldn’t care less about those people surrounding him, congratulating him and even some complaining that he once again had avoided paying for his mistakes. All she cared was catching her eye in the middle of the crowd, as if a spotlight shone onto her. 

     - I hope you enjoy being being out of a job for 10 years. - Mrs. Olson said as she passed by to probably be with Hawthorne but Y/N didn’t say anything. 

She knew what was on the line but she would throw it away for Bucky. If it came between Bucky being free or her career, she would always pick the first option. However, it didn’t sting any less.  Yet, this was not about her, not today. Today was Bucky’s day. The day where he got rid of the problem that she had brought upon the two of them and while it was now gone, it still occupied a tiny spot of her mind which screamed at her about her own guilt in this whole situation. The flashes were bright and she kept being pulled to the back as more journalists and reporters tried to get some time with the former Winter Soldier but he avoided them, breaking through the crowd to be with the only person he actually wanted to celebrate this with. 

    - What did you do, princess? - he wrapped his arms around her, turning to exit the court room and leave all this experience behind. - And don’t say it wasn’t you, the lawyer told me it was you.

    - He could be lying. 

    - You could’ve gotten hurt. Why didn’t you tell me? 

    - It was just a guess ... I didn’t want to raise your hopes over a guess. I’m sorry. - she leaned her head against his covered arm. - It’s my fault this whole thing happened and I thought if I fixed it, I’d feel better.

    - It’s not your fault this happened. You could’ve gotten hurt, he could’ve hurt you and then what?

   - He was not going to hurt me. - she scratched her neck. She knew it was a lie, everyone is capable of everything in her business. - I had to do something for you. I am ... I am so tired of being weak. 

    - You’re not weak, what are you talking about?

    - Weren’t you in this trial? They talked about you as if you were some cold blooded murderer and me as if I were the weakest person ever. As if I wasn’t standing in that room and hearing to it. If I could defend myself, if I had put my foot down none of this would’ve happened. 

Bucky’s heart broke as he heard her talk, tears pooling in her eyes as what she had been feeling for the past weeks of meeting, court days and witness speeches seemed to finally explode, breaking free from the pressure she had been putting on it so it didn’t show, so she didn’t feel weak. He had never felt weak before, helpless maybe but never weak. Even as the Winter Soldier he could easily overpower his handlers if he wanted to, he could overpower new recruits and pretty much everyone who he was presented with. He’d never felt weak, he’d never know what it was like to feel weak and he had never even considered she felt weak because he just did not see her as weak. She was soft but not weak, she had strength in her softness, in her kindness. She’d done things he couldn’t see himself doing in his mid twenties. 

     - Hey ... - he flushed her close to him, drawing invisible circles on her back and kissing her temple. - Do you wanna get cheesy chips?

     - I need to go say goodbye ...

     - It’s fine. - he combed her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead. - I don’t want you to get caught up in a mess with photographers. 

     - I’m ridiculous. - she cuddled against his side as he led her out the back of the court where he had parked his car. - I should be comforting you, not the other way around.

     - You’re not ridiculous. This was as bad for me as it was for you. - he opened the car door for her. - Besides, I love comforting you. 

     - Really? Because from what I know, you were the one in danger of being in prison for at least 5 years. The only danger for me was trying to get naked during spousal visits. 

     - Aw, princess. You were willing to get naked in prison, for me?

     - You’re ridiculous, Barnes. 

     - So are you, Mrs. Barnes. - he smirked. - You are not weak and you are not ridiculous. Are we clear? 

     - Don’t use your sergeant voice on me.

Bucky chuckled, putting the key onto the engine and turning it on as the car started to roar up. She leaned her head against his shoulder, mindlessly listening to the song on the radio, probably one of Bucky’s favourites. On that moment, she didn’t care her career was on hold for the next 10 years because he was here and he was free like he deserved. As he pulled in front of the chippy shop nearby his flat, she perked her head up to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

    - Can we do takeaway? I wanna go home. - she cuddled against his shoulder once more. 

    - Sure, princess. Stay in the car and I’ll be right back, yeah?

    - Yeah. 

He left the car, loosening his tie as he entered the shop, leaving Y/N in the car. She rose her hand up, looking at the wedding band on her finger. It had barely registered in her that she was married, she of all people. She knew she wasn’t attention’s sweet centre and she knew she definitely did not deserve a guy like Bucky. God, in her wildest dreams she’d never thought she’d even end up with a man as caring and thoughtful as he is. It was almost surreal she’d even gotten married without having to fight her agency, at least too much. Her lips stretched in a smile as her husband came out of the shop, a toothy, childish grin on his lip as he waved the brown paper bag on his way to the car door.

He drove the two of them back to the flat and once they were inside, her shoes were thrown to one side as well as his tie and jacket and the couple made themselves comfortable on the couch. Y/N sat on Bucky’s lap, takeaway on her lap while he held his on his hand with the other searched for something to watch on TV, eventually landing on The Honeymooners.

    - I need to take you on a honeymoon. 

    - I don’t need a honeymoon. 

    - Bullshit. - he held her close by, hearing her giggle through the small digs onto the plastic container. - Where do you wanna go? C’mon, entertain me. 

    - Hm ... - she looked up, nose slightly scrunched. - Italy. 

    - I was stationed in Italy for a while. Nice place, great food. Where about?

    - There’s this movie called Letters to Juliet, it’s in Verona, and I always thought it looked so romantic. 

    - Okay, princess. Whenever you want, I’ll take you to Verona and we will have a nice month long honeymoon. 

    - Month long? 

    - Yeah. If we go any less, we won’t have time to do any sight seeing. 

    - Why is that?

    - Because I do intend to have sex with you in every part of the hotel we stay in. - he kissed the crook of her neck, taking the takeaway container away from her and placing it on the coffee table. - Maybe even try it in those tiny Italian balconies.

    - You just escaped five years of prison and you’re thinking of vouyerism already?

    - You shouldn’t look so pretty, then. - he hooked his finger under her chin and turned her face towards him, giving her a long drawn out kiss. His hand climbed up from her thigh up to her dress, pushing the sleeve down to expose her shoulder. His stubble rubbed against her soft kiss as he laid a kiss on the subtle skin of her shoulder.

   - Mhm, Buck ... - her hand pushed his shoulder back and he immediately pouted. - I have to shower. I smell like the dusty, mouldy court room and I’d like that smell off me. 

    - Mind if I join? - he pulled the sleeve off her other shoulder but she held her dress against her chest before it could fall down. - I can give you a massage.

   - If I allow you with me in the shower, there will be no showering. - she got off his lap, pushing her dress up. - I’ll be back. Try to keep the pouting to the minimum until I’m back. 

   - Just so you know, you’ll need another shower after you’re back. 

Y/N rolled her eyes, before padding into the bathroom, leaving Bucky on his own in the living room shuffling through various channels. The shower on the background was running until it was running for too long, Bucky turned his head around, looking at the door that led to the bathroom.

    - Princess, everything ok? - he prepared to get up and check on her but was. interrupted by her opening the door.

She stood against the door wedge with her typical shyness which made her so endearing to anyone who met her, yet, this time, it was something other than endearment that Bucky was feeling when looking at her. She was dressed in a white corset and knickers with a small floral print and small pink ruffles at the edge of her underwear. The corset was also adorned with a blue ribbon and small blue bow, everything covered in with one of her many short satin robes that she normally used over her pyjamas or over one of Bucky’s shirt which always looked like a dress on her. 

    - Were you wearing that ... - he cleared his throat, trying not to stare at her perky chest. - Were you wearing that today? 

    - No, I bought this one in case you won. - she closed the door of the bathroom behind her, padding barefoot over to the couch, standing in front of him, her robe slightly slipping of her shoulder. - Do you like it? 

    - Fucking hell, princess. - he leaned forward, hands wrapping around her waist to pull her close to him. 

    - It looks silly, doesn’t it? I don’t know, I just thought I’d wear something nice and do so ... - Bucky interrupted her rambling by kissing her, his hands pushing the robe fully off her and throwing it somewhere in the living room. His hands massaged her thighs and upper body until they were cupping her face, kissing her as if he hadn’t seen in her in ages. 

Her hands rest upon his shoulder, lips melded against his in a long, drawn out kiss. She whined as Bucky moved his lips from hers to her jaw and slightly under it, sucking the subtle and sensitive skin he found there. She allowed herself to get lost in the feeling of his slight stubble against her sensitive skin, drawing kisses and leaving hickeys with slightly rough lips. His hands scouted her corset for the square brackets, loosening the garment and pulling it over her head before leaning to kiss her again. She smiled against the kiss, breaking it to look at him which greatly annoyed Bucky, who tried to kiss her again. 

    - No... - she pushed him back against the couch as he tried to kiss her collarbones. Her hands toyed with the fabric of his shirt, fingers trailing up and down his chest. - Let me do something for you.

    - Princess ... - she ignored his pleas and attempts to pull her in and distribute more kisses all over her body.

Instead she climbed off his lap, standing on her knees in front of him, eyes looking up to him with a devious like innocence which was intoxicating to him. Her hands ran up his thighs, nails racking over the fabric of his trousers until they reached his belt. She bite her lip, unbuckling the accessory and tossing it aside before pushing his trousers down along with his underwear. She gripped his cock in her hand, her finger swiping the pre-cum off his tip before he started to move her hand slowly up and down.

    - Oh fuck ... - Bucky groaned, throwing his head back with his eyes shut. She smirked at this reaction, continuing to move her hand up and down in a painfully slow motion. 

Bucky groaned and moaned, head pressed against the headrest of the couch, eyes closed and lips opened. Her confidence grew at the sight of her completely blissed out husband and she stopped her motions. Before Bucky could whine about it, she kitten licked his tip before licking a broad stripe up his cock eliciting a low grumble from him. He looked down at his wife through half closed eyes, locking eye contact with her. Y/N gave him an innocent smile with innocent eyes before taking him in her mouth. Bucky breathed out, high gasp as his hand gripped onto the couch cushions. He moved his hips forward unconsciously, his cock hitting the back of her throat. She breathe through her nose as she bobbed her head up and down his cock slowly, cheeks hollowed out as she made it upon the spot. 

   - Fuck, princess. Fuck, you’re so good, fucking hell. - Bucky breath harshly as she picked up the pace, her movements almost matching up with his breathing tempo until she started to vigorously suck his tip, getting him almost shaking before returning to take him inside her mouth once more. - Fuck, stop. Stop. 

  - Did I do something wrong? - she pushed her hair behind her ears.

  - Come here. - Bucky helped her up and on top of his lap, pushing her underwear down her legs before he did so. She held herself up by holding onto his shoulders, staying slightly taller than him as he holstered her up. 

She looked down as he looked up, his eyes gazing onto hers as he lowered her down onto his hard cock, silencing her whimpers with a consuming kiss. Her skin seemed to flush hot and cold at the same time as he filled her to a halt. Bucky let her accommodate to his size, kissing down from her lips to her collarbones.

    - Fuck, you’re pretty. - he panted, moving to kiss her neck while his hands held her still. - So fucking pretty, princess.

    - Bucky, please ... move. - she hide her head in the space between his shoulder and neck, a hot flush settling in her cheeks. 

    - I’m not gonna ... fuck ... I’m not gonna move if you hide, princess. - he spoke through moans, voice strained due to the grip of her walls around him, pulsating. - Look at me, look at me when I’m fucking you. Let me see your pretty face. 

Y/N whined, moving to look at him as he flushed her chest against his. She probably looked a mess yet had no time to worry about that once he started to push her hips up and down on him, eventually leading her into riding him. Her hand slide from his shoulder to his chest as she bounced on top of him, the sound of skin slapping against each other along with the moans and groans of both of them as they chased their high. She felt her own walls pulsating with each thrust, her lower belly coiling up as she continued to move up and down his cock as if she were going to die if she stopped. She gasped and whined, continuing with her movements as the coil continued to tighten up and her movements sped up. 

   - That’s it, princess. Such a good girl. - he moaned against her ear, silencing some of her moans with messy, wet kisses. - You wanna cum on my cock, hm? I know you want to.

   - Buck ... - her gasp was high as her walls spasmed and her body tensed. The grip on his dick led him over the edge just a few seconds later and he pulled her completely flush against him, feeling him cum fill her up and leak onto both hers and his thighs. She hide her head on the crook of his neck, mewling while she regained her breathe. 

Bucky chuckled through his breathlessness before slipping out of her which caused her to let out a small whine before he laid her down on the couch, arms wrapped around her. 

   - Make that a 3 month long honeymoon. - he cuddled her against his chest. 

   - How much of that will be sex? - she looked up, completely blissed out.

   - You’ll get a week of sightseeing if you keep pulling this on me.  

   - Right. - she rolled her eyes. - I forget that you are old and cannot take this much excitement. 

   - Are you teasing me, Mrs. Barnes?

   - Maybe. - there it was, the little playful smirk he loved so much. 

   - Oh, princess ... - he lifted her up as he got up from the couch, walking towards their bedroom. - You’re gonna regret that. 

taglist: @disasterbi @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @oh-nohoney @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir @niki-is-a-thing @cynic-spirit @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @buckyswillow​

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky imagine #bucky drabble #bodyguard bucky #bodyguard!bucky #bodyguard bucky barnes #bodyguard bucky au #bodyguard au

[thischickwritessometimes]

MYSME RBB

Hey!! I joined my first ever collab this year for the Mystic Messenger fandom! It was totally awesome, and I lucked out and got someone super cool as my artist. Shout out to @thedum1, who was my partner for this. Go check out their amazing art that goes along with my writing, and give them some love. Without further ado, here’s the fic!

(You can also find this on ao3!)

Saeyoung decided that he’d been sitting in one place for far too long. His back was screaming in agony, his eyes were trying desperately to make the computer screen focus, and his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. All of those combined to make him feel miserable, like he was going to explode if he sat there for even one more minute. 

He shut down his workstation, making sure that his work remained where it was, the computer encoded carefully to make sure that no one could get into it and change things. Of course, if someone was going to get in, they’d have to break through the security in his house, which wasn’t likely to happen. He’d just figured out the best password for his front gate, after all. As Saeyoung idly considered his password (and other possible future ones), he slid on his shoes and grabbed his jacket. 

He stopped in the kitchen to grab a package of Honey Buddha Chips and then was off, heading into town on some form of a quest. The destination isn’t important, he tells himself, just the experience. He just needed some fresh air, a sight that wasn’t his computer screen (or, more recently, the wall slightly above and behind his computer), and perhaps a reminder that there were other humans in the world outside of himself and Vanderwood.

He hummed to himself as he walked, enjoying the sun on his skin and the sounds of birds and people talking. Couples were walking just about everywhere in the park, each chatting and laughing happily. Some younger kids were running around chasing each other. A dog sprinted past Saeyoung, chasing a stick that had just been thrown. 

The dog reminded him of Elly. She always was willing to run around his feet happily as he played with her in Jumin’s apartment. He missed the white cat. It’d been far too long since he last saw her, and he mentally decided to schedule a time to break through his friend’s security to see the fluffy Persian again.

As he walked along, a flyer for a pet shop caught his eye. It was advertising a day to come play with the animals, both cats and dogs alike. As he stopped to read it more thoroughly, Saeyoung realized that if he headed to the shop right now he could get in at least an hour and a half with the cats (and maybe some dogs too). Now armed and ready with a plan of action, he set off with a purpose, striding quickly to the pet store.

As he neared it, he noticed that not many people were lingering around. Saeyoung realized that this must be one of the less popular pet shops and was sad to see that, especially because it looked very charming and quaint. As he pushed open the door, a bell above his head let out a quiet sound to alert an employee that someone had arrived.

Sure enough, a slightly frazzled-looking young man appeared. His hair was shaggy and black, long enough that it was falling into his eyes just slightly. The eyes in question were a stunning blue-green that Saeyoung wouldn’t mind looking into for a while. He tried to shake off that thought. He was here for cute cats, not cute people.

“How can I help you?” The guy asked, a small smile on his face. 

“I’m here to play with the cats. I saw a flyer saying that you guys had free time for that?”

“Oh, of course! Right this way. I think there’s only one other person in there, so it shouldn’t be that much of a crowd. Feel free to use any of the toys out. And don’t worry, the only one that scratches is our resident sourpuss, Yoshi.” The employee opened the door carefully and Saeyoung peered in, amazed at all the cats running around or napping. 

There was one girl sitting happily in the middle of the room, surrounded by cats. She had a dark skin tone and was wearing a pink skirt and what Saeyoung was pretty sure was a halter top. (How he knew that? Well, let’s just say that he had been considering one for cosplay for a long time.) When she turned to look at him, he spotted glasses and heterochromatic eyes. One brown, the other a bright blue. 

She’s cute, was his first thought. It only amplified when he realized that her hair had a piece sticking up that looked to be meticulously formed into a heart like you would see on a lovesick anime girl. Her dedication spoke volumes and he knew that he would probably end up liking this girl if they talked. 

He shook his head slightly. No, he couldn’t be thinking about that. Not today! He was here for cute cats, not cute girls or cute boys. His mind was set firmly on petting all the adorable creatures. 

So he walked past the girl, giving her a faint smile. She returned it with a glowing one that practically lit up her entire face, and Saeyoung had to hide how his heart pattered at the sight. He focused his eyes on a particularly cute orange cat that was napping peacefully in a ray of sunlight.

As he reached out to pet it carefully, the cat responded by purring softly, like this was everything it could have dreamed of. However, after a while it tired of his antics and scratched softly at his hand in warning. He chuckled and pulled his hand away, letting the feline relax by itself. His eyes scanned the room for another willing friend and they snagged on a little black and white kitten.

It was pawing at a toy, obviously bored. Saeyoung crawled over carefully and picked up the toy, which appeared to be a feather on a string. He bounced it around, and the kitten started to paw at it. It got into the game, eventually leaping at it until it tired itself out. 

Saeyoung made a “pspsps” noise, trying to attract the kitten to him. Its ears perked up and it headed over to his lap, where he petted it softly. The cat seemed like just the perfect companion, and if he could adopt a cat right now he would definitely consider this little guy as the one.

There was a quiet intake of breath over his shoulder, and Saeyoung looked back to see the girl gazing fondly at the kitten. As soon as she noticed his gaze, she colored, blushing slightly. “Ah! Sorry to bother you!”

“Oh, it’s not an issue,” he said, giving her a smile. “He’s a cute one, isn’t he?” He gestured to the kitten that had made itself comfortable in his lap. 

“Yes, he really is. I must admit, I may have been looking at him the entire time… but I got a little nervous he wouldn’t like me.” She looked away, seemingly embarrassed. 

“Well,” Saeyoung said, an idea coming to mind. “Let’s test that out, shall we?” With that, he scooped up the feline and plopped him directly in her lap. The cat seemed stunned at first, and Saeyoung worried that he would hiss and claw at the abrupt change. Instead, the cat sniffed at the girl and then settled in again, seemingly unconcerned by what had just happened. 

“Oh,” the girl said, smiling. “He’s lovely.” Her hands went to softly pet him. 

After a few minutes, she looked up. The cat was happily asleep in her lap, purring softly. She spoke again, her voice quiet so as to not disturb the kitten. “I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Jasmine, but you can call me Jas. It’s good to meet you…”

She trailed off, searching for a name. Saeyoung smiled at her before giving her his fake name. “I’m Luciel. It’s good to meet you as well, Jas. It seems like you’ve got a way with cats, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she said with a laugh. “I do love them though. Cats are some of the best animals, in my opinion.”

“You have a top-tier opinion then. I’m inclined to agree!”

“So I take it you’re a cat enthusiast as well, Luciel?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “I have a friend who has a gorgeous cat and that’s kind of what kickstarted my love for them.”

“Have you ever considered getting one?” She cocked her head, but her hands never left the black and white kitten.

“I’d be lying if I said no. But my job is kind of crazy, and I can honestly say that I don’t think a cat would be good for me right now. Someday soon, hopefully. What about you?”

“I actually came here today hoping to adopt. I’ve been looking for a while but I never found one that I really loved. Well, until today. But I’m still not completely sure…”

“Well the little guy loves you, I can tell that much. And if I’m wrong, which is not very likely, let me tell you, he’s the kind of cat that will always be able to find a new home.” Saeyoung stretched and winked at her.

“Well in that case… I guess I’ll need a name for him, huh?” She looked down with a smile. “Got any good ones?” Jasmine’s heterochromatic eyes twinkled with a hidden glee when Saeyoung’s face lit up. 

“Oh boy, do I! I’ve been saving up all sorts of names for this. Okay, there are the classics, like Fluffy, Batdude, Charles. Oh, and you can’t forget Toast!” His rambling list of (admittedly awful) cat names went on for a long time, leaving Jas halfway to tears with laughter as he continued. When he finally drew his list to a close, both of them had laughed so hard that the kitten had woken up and the employee had poked his head in to make sure that nothing bad was going on.

“Okay, okay,” Saeyoung said once he’d calmed down slightly, “any names catch your fancy?”

“I mean Fuzzbucket was a pretty good idea, but I think I decided on Tama.”

Saeyoung and Jas looked down at the same time to inspect the cat. The black and white kitten released a soft mewl and butted his head at Jas’ hand to request more pets. The two scheming partners in crime looked at each other and smiled. 

“Tama is perfect.” They both said at the same time, then blushed and looked away. Saeyoung swore that when he looked at her cradling the tiny cat next to her chest she seemed to glow with happiness.

Soon enough the time to play with cats was over and the employee was putting the animals back in their cages and thanking them for coming to play with the cats. Jas told him about her interest in adopting Tama, and the employee got her the forms she would need to sign before she could take the kitten home. Saeyoung stayed with her as she filled the forms out, the both of them laughing and chatting the entire time. When all was said and done, Jas hoisted the carrier that held Tama up and exited the building, Saeyoung holding the door for her.

Jas scanned the street, then took a deep breath in, steeling her nerves. “I had a really good time today, Luciel. I was wondering if you’d like to do it again some...time?” She turned around to see the man gone. Her brows furrowed as she swiveled her head to see where he’d gone. “Luciel?”

Saeyoung, who had darted behind a pillar beside the pet store, let out a quiet sigh of disappointment. He gritted his teeth together when he heard Jas whisper sadly to Tama that “he must not have wanted to talk anymore, huh?” 

He leaned his head against the pillar and stayed there until he heard the quiet clip-clop of her shoes walking away. Then he tore himself away from the pillar and walked towards home, hands shoved into his pockets, knowing that he would always remember the girl from the pet shop.

The sounds of music coming from a radio fill the kitchen. A black and white cat races around its owners’ feet as they try to dance. Laughter and pure contentment fill the air as the redhead twirls around the girl with one blue eye and one brown one. 

Years ago, when I was younger, I kinda liked a girl I knew. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” Jas asked, her skirt swinging wildly as Saeyoung spun her enthusiastically.

“How could I forget? That pet shop must be the most magical place on this Earth to me.”

She was mine, and we were sweethearts. That was then, but then it’s true.

“I was so upset when you disappeared, you know. I thought you’d gotten sick of me.”

“I was just as upset, trust me. But I thought I had to, because of the agency. And with Rika and the RFA… it just wasn’t a good time.” Saeyoung shook his head, but then pulled Jas closer to him as they waltzed across the floor.

I’m in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts. Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind, I’m already cursed.

“And then I showed up at Rika’s apartment a few weeks later. Crazy how fate works like that, huh?”

“Oh trust me, I was incredibly surprised to see you appear on the CCTV feed. If my life had a playlist of all the moments where I nearly fell out of my chair, that would definitely be on the top ten list.” 

“I was just as shocked as you were, trust me! I had told myself that I would never see you again, but then there you were!” Jas shook her head. “I had half-convinced myself you were some figment of my imagination.”

Every day we started fighting, but every night we fell in love. No one else could make me sadder, but no one else could lift me high above.

“I feel bad that I tried to push you away while we were both in the apartment. It was hard for me because you were the thing that made me happy and also frustrated me to no end. After all, I was sure I would hurt you.” 

“I wanted to punch you so much, I hope you know. I was at my wit’s end when you finally opened up a little bit!”

“But I did, and look at where we ended up. I opened up, got my brother back, and I got the privilege of having you in my life as my girlfriend and now fiancee.”

“I’m glad that it all worked out because there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my days with.”

“The same goes to you, Jas.”

“I love you, Saeyoung Choi. Bad cat names and all.” Jas said as the music started to slowly die down.

“And I love you, Jasmine Luna, no matter how much time you spend in the bathroom doing your hair.” Saeyoung responded, dipping Jas as she let out a quiet squeal.

The two laughed and continued dancing late into the night, Tama observing from his perch high above.

I’m in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts. Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind, I’m already cursed.

And there’s the fic!! Reminder to check out the awesome @thedum1 for their amazing art!!

#mysme reverse big bang #mysme rbb #mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #jasmine luna #cmc #saeyoung choi x mc #thischickwrites #my fic

[vydante]

Restart | 12

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: multiple)

A/N: Missed y'all. I don't think I'm officially off of my hiatus, but I somehow managed to pull a chapter out of my ass after months of radio silence. I really did back myself into a corner with the last chapter, but hey, this is my story and I get to pace it however I want.

Sorry if things are worded weirdly, I'm writing them but they're going through one ear and out the other when it comes to comprehending what I actually wrote. No one will remember what happened, but that's okay. God, I really need a beta-reader... Anyways. Love y'all. XOXO.

Also, sorry if any of the formattings seems off. HTML doesn't really translate well over certain sites. (Tumblr, Quotev, Wattpad, and AO3 are now my main places for posting my works. Anywhere else, that's not me nor was it permitted by me.)

If you want a recap: You're in the process of jumpstarting Project Renaissance after realizing that you've just been doing basically nothing ever since you woke up in your old body. You've also taken to making video logs to report down your progress, and in the last chapter (that was in the POV of multiple video logs), it ended on a cliffhanger with Barnes being discovered and moved to a safe house.

This chapter takes place roughly after the last one. 

If you're currently binge reading this story, this recap is only because last chapter was updated... Roughly more than 7 months before this chapter. So. Yeah. :D

Oh, and let's pretend that either A. Barnes doesn't have a tracking chip in his arm OR B. he did, but you got it out during the whole rescue-escapade. That's my bad, I straight up forgot about that possibility until I was like, close to 4000 words deep into this chapter. Now we're at roughly 8k+... Hehe. Whoops.

_______

You're not gonna call Barnes, Bucky.

There's a personal touch to the nickname that bothers you. How awful it sounds in your ears, to call the former husk of a man a name he no longer recognizes. There's history to that name, both on writing and in memory, though only in sparsity. Plus, it'll be difficult for you to associate Bucky to Barnes. A man with an identity to a man without.

So after the whole debacle of getting him out of the mini-Hulk playbox and into decent dry clothing, when he asks what his name is, you quietly debated to yourself what to tell him.

"... Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," you'd eventually reply.

He doesn't comment on the resignation in your tone, but you're confident that he certainly noticed it- surely, the ticks of being the Winter Soldier was still there, no matter how disoriented he must be. But whether courtesy was something that he hadn't forgotten whilst his brain was refried over and over like leftover KFC wings or he was simply too exhausted to ask, you didn't care.

Granted, for a man who should have a lot of questions on his mind, he's definitely proven himself to be a man of very few words.

An hour goes by, and in the midst of you trying your best to build a solid standing between the two of you, he's said so few words that you could probably count all of them on both of your hands.

If it weren't for the nods of affirmation, you'd think that his averted gaze from you would have meant that he wasn't paying attention at all, but honestly, you knew better than to judge him for that if he actually wasn't actually listening in the first place.

Hell, he could tear up the walls to the high heavens and you still wouldn't hold him against it, so you were just thankful that he was so docile, for someone who could snap your neck if he felt so inclined.

Though, as it turns out confusion and disorientation wasn't the actual reason why he was being so docile, you belatedly realize as you're stood in front of a blank-faced Barnes. You're in the middle of trying to give him a basic tour around the house when he quietly interrupted your monologuing.

"Mission parameters," you echoed his words, though mainly to yourself. He nods, and for once meets your eyes. There's neither confidence nor surrender in his eyes, and that makes your stomach churn. Chances are, he probably saw nothing wrong with asking such a thing.

"You want me to give you- mission parameters. Like- like your handlers would?" You laughed incredulously, but the humor was replaced with subdued hysterical horror.

You were aware of what they were. Aware of the types of hunts his Handlers- bastards- would sick him out on. Aware of what he did without a second thought. You saw those files, if only briefly. That was more than enough for you to see the type of expectations that came alongside "mission parameters".

He nods as if you were stating the obvious.

God.

You opened and closed your mouth, and for a split second, once you got past the horror of being asked to tell him what to do, a subtle realization crawled up your spine. In the midst of your impromptu introduction and briefing, you never really made a distinction as to what role you were supposed to play in all of this.

So it shouldn't be a surprise for Barnes to assume that you're his new- what? Handler? Caretaker? After all, as far as you can assume, that's probably all he knows; all he was conditioned to grow accustomed to, to expect his every move to be dictated by some outsider with no care to the wants or needs that Barnes has.

(Hell, if you were to make a reach right now, maybe Barnes thinks he doesn't have wants or needs. That he shouldn't.)

(In the background, a part of you simmer in silence.)

With your jaw clenched, you make an effort to make your voice as even as can be when you ask him, "You don't need mission parameters, Barnes. You're your own free man. You can- can make decisions on your own. You don't need me to tell you what you need to do."

Pray as you might, there's something about realizing that you said the wrong thing right after saying said words that make you wonder what you did to anger the higher powers that be to put yourself in the situation you're in right now.

Barnes doesn't say anything, but his eyes says it all. Confusion. Realization. Grief. Detachment. His metal hand clenches, and you're man enough to admit that it made your heart stutter in fear.

"I...", he mutters, "... don't understand."

You swallowed.

This...

This is gonna be tough.

_______

It's difficult to explain what self-autonomy and freedom meant to a man who is only capable of remembering being chained and held on a leash like a rabid dog.

Thankfully, it was your winter break, so you had a manageable excuse for being away from "home" for a few days, but you only had so long to try and establish to Barnes that you're not going to be able to be there with him as often as you are now (and even then, the time frame was too small to even make any sense of attachment).

You knew for sure you couldn't always be there for Barnes, so one thing was certain: he had to meet DAHLIA. And thankfully, since the whole safe house was yours, not even your father knew that DAHLIA, your own A.I., would be uploaded into the houses' built-in hardware.

(While the hardware was built with the intention of housing J.A.R.V.I.S. there as a standard, he ended up "moving out" the moment that the house became yours. Something about "not intruding on a teenager's privacy", but you're more than thankful for Tony's afterthought, even if you did end up taking slight advantage of his consideration.)

And surprisingly enough, Barnes wasn't really bothered by the concept of DAHLIA as much as you had initially expected. Of course, he didn't really talk to her, but it wasn't like he talked much in the first place.

(On a side note, it looks like DAHLIA seems to like the house, all things considered... So there's that.)

(The original DAHLIA was never installed here, instead she ended up "living" in a retirement house of sorts in a wooded area of New York. She never said anything about the house, so it's... Kind of endearing, to see that she actually might prefer this house instead. And mildly insulting, considering you personally decorated the other house.)

You ended up spending nearly the whole night trying to establish even the most basic of guidelines: use the bathroom whenever he needed to (you initially said phrased it as "wanted", but he promptly cut you off saying "The Asset does not have wants," which, rude, but also sad); whatever is in the kitchen is available for him to eat whenever, where ever; basic hygiene; and the most important one- if he had any questions, his first source would be you. And on the off-chance that you're not available, DAHLIA is always online and ready to help.

He gave a tentative nod, but you're somehow not confident that he might have interpreted it wrong. You're hoping he doesn't do anything to prove you right.

"Alright. So. Any questions?"

He stares at you for a beat too long before shaking his head.

He's still giving non-verbal answers for the most part, but it's better than nothing. You internally sighed and motioned him to follow you deeper into the safe house.

Considering that it was already pretty late by the time you managed to beat those guidelines into his head (maybe that should be worded better, but you never claimed to be a lyricist; it is what it is), he might be just as tired as you are from how long the day has been.

(Granted, this dude has been "asleep" for who knows how long, but it's the thought that counts.)

"You know where I'm taking you to?" you asked, not really expecting an answer from him.

"No," he responds from behind you. Color you surprised.

You turned into the hallway and stepped up to an unassuming door. You opened it to reveal an equally unassuming bedroom. Muted colors, modern design; it reeked Pepper's doing, knowing that Tony isn't as decoratively-inclined as she is.

Hah, bet she didn't expect that instead of housing you or your dad, it'll go to a super-solder that wasn't Steve instead.

(Not that Steve would ever have a reason to step foot in here, but in this line of work, you'd be stupid to be 100% sure about something.)

You motioned him to come into the room and tilted your head to the bed.

"This is your bedroom, pretty much where you'll be sleeping. There's a bathroom right over there," you motioned to the door adjacent to the entrance door, "and I'll be in the room right next to yours."

Barnes takes a second to process it all, and with a quick scan of the room with calculating eyes, he nods. You absentmindedly scratched the back of your neck.

"I mean, there's plenty of rooms here so if you don't like this one, just let me know and we'll probably move you to another room-" you rambled, secretly trying to get a move on so you'd finally get some shut-eye.

(What? You're not perfect, sleep is heavily slept on in this day and age. Hah.)

(God, you're definitely going to hell.)

"-and you know how to use a toilet, right?"

The raised eyebrow pointed at you definitely proves that that was a pretty stupid question, but hey, you can't take any chances. You shrugged, a tired smirk threatening to form on your lips.

"Well then. Can I leave it to you to settle down for the night, or...?" you left it open-ended.

He didn't say anything in response, only stared at the bed in front of him. There was a pregnant pause, but he nodded at you. There was a strange tilt to his eyes, but you didn't bother to think further into it as you were just thankful that you could finally rest.

"Well then, good night Barnes. I'll come by tomorrow morning and we'll continue to, er," you thought about it, "work, on your situation."

You made a swift exit out of his room and immediately into "your" room, which was literally right next to his. You immediately discarded your clothes and with a brisk shower and teeth brushing, you promptly dropped straight onto the bed with an audible grunt, wet hair soaking straight into the pillow.

Pulling the plush duvet to cover your body, you reached for your phone to check for any messages you might have gotten.

(3 from Tony; he asked where you were. You told him that you're staying at a safe house and that you needed a small break. It wasn't wrong, but definitely an omission of truth. A few days would be fine, right?)

(2 from Rhodey; it's a picture of a Goodwill's, and there's a silhouette in a nearby window of some guy. "This you?" he asks. "No ❤️," you sent back.)

(63 is from the group chat that the Avengers are in- ah, make that 64 and counting. It's just a bunch of nonsense from what you can gather, but you briefly scrolled through it anyways.)

Turning your phone off, you smushed your face into the pillow and sighed, a terrible knot forming at the pit of your stomach. With an open ear, you tried to hear any noise that could come from Barnes' room, but considering that the walls were reinforced and he was already quiet as it is, all you could hear was the AC running in the background.

"DAHLIA," you huffed, eyes drooping, "keep an eye on him, wake me up if anything happens."

"Got it," her voice echoes from the ceiling speakers.

You quietly tucked yourself in bed. As the exhaustion finally started settling in your body, the last thought that lingered in your head was "Man, I hope nothing bad happens tomorrow," before you drifted right off to dreamless slumber.

_______

The next day was, to say the least, a little disconcerting, but a bigger improvement to be sure.

Right after waking up, you begrudgingly put on some daytime appropriate clothes and stepped out into the hallway. You knocked on the door that was right next to yours, and gingerly opened it when you didn't hear much of a response.

"Good morning," you tentatively greeted. Barnes was sitting at the foot of the bed when you knocked on his door. He mumbled back a greeting and stands up to your eye level.

His clothes are still the same from last night, and judging by the clean state of his bed, he either woke up earlier than you expected or he was sat like that the whole night.

You're not too keen on finding out which was the case, but you had to.

"Sleep well?"

You stepped out of the doorway and motioned him to follow you. Briefly glancing down at your phone to see just a few messages waiting for you, you opted to ignore them for now.

"I slept."

He quietly stated from behind you. He avoided saying if he slept well or not, but at least the damn Terminator slept. You mentally deflated a little; the bar was set so low for him, you're not too sure who it's more insulting to- you or him.

(Of course, it's to him, that shouldn't be a question. Your feelings don't matter.)

"We're gonna have to wing this a little, but uh, here's the general gist of what's gonna happen."

Stepping into the kitchen, you're taken aback to last night as he tentatively stands across from you from the kitchen island. Really, you'd opt to go to the living room, but you both radiate too much nervous energy to really sit.

You opened the refrigerator and sighed when all that greeted you was water and non-perishables. Right. You just got here, it's not like there's gonna be freshly stocked food in here 24/7.

"DAHLIA, order some fresh food and get it delivered today. Charge it on my debit," you mumbled quietly.

DAHLIA doesn't say anything, but the refrigerator lights flicker a familiar green hue that keys you in that she heard you. You raised an impressed eyebrow; what an unnecessary feature for a refrigerator to have. You closed the door and turned around to face Barnes.

"I'm here to serve as, say, a guide for," you gestured to him, "your... rehabilitation, of sorts."

"For now, I can't really offer any... Professional help, on a technical level. I'm not- that's not my area of expertise. I'm an engineer at heart," actually, you really liked other things more than being an engineer, but your fate of becoming the CEO of SI was sealed the moment you decided to live with your dad, "so we're going to have to make a compromise on that."

You shook your head.

"If you were anyone else, I'd point you to a shrink," Barnes gives you a confused stare.

"Therapist," you clarified. He nods.

"But quite frankly," Zemo's face flashes in your memory, "I don't trust anyone to properly... Well, I don't trust anyone when it comes to the mental health of you, and the Avengers too, of course."

Pausing mid-rant, you raised an eyebrow at him.

"You... do know who the Avengers are, right?"

He nods and begins to rattle off a pre-scripted monologue. His eyes are blank as he started speaking.

"A group of top priority, compromised of highly skilled individuals, enhanced or otherwise specified. Threat priority ranges from 5 to 9. As of now, 6 active-duty members and 1 reserve member. The Asset is to not engage under any circumstance and reveal-"

"Alright alright, I get it- that's," you're a little offended that you're considered a "reserve member", but that's not technically wrong, "That's a lot to unpack there, but yeah. You- whew, you definitely know who the- we are."

(You've gotten into the habit of distancing yourself from the Avengers the moment that you had become CEO. You're still working on that, but the word "we" still feels wrong on your tongue.)

There's a little more life that came back to Barnes' eyes after you had snapped him out of it, and it's a bit surreal knowing that Barnes just kinda... runs on autopilot when prompted. The image of Barnes being strapped down in a chair and forced to learn and recite those kinds of things by heart is both horrifying and a little funny.

(Do you think they had a set curriculum he had to learn by?)

"So yeah. The Avengers gotta be careful when lookin' for shrinks, and so do you. There's just too many factors that go into gettin' a personal therapist. So for now," you shrugged, "you're stuck with me."

"What are they?"

"Hm?"

"The factors."

You shrugged.

"Well, for starters, you're- you were, HYDRA's prisoner," the muscle around his jaw visibly clenches when you mentioned HYDRA, but you powered through, "so they'll definitely be interested in getting their fight dog back. They're good at blending in and good at getting their musty little fingers into every nook and cranny. I wouldn't put it past them to have one of their agents go undercover as a therapist for hire. So that's one factor: trying to discern who is and isn't HYDRA."

You raised a finger.

"Then there's the fact that because you're such a... shall we say, top priority, er, asset," that word runs bitter on your tongue, "even if your shrink isn't HYDRA, they'll definitely be targeted by HYDRA if it ever came to light that they have a direct link to you. So there's reason number two: loose ends, and the risks that come with it."

You raised another finger. By now, Barnes has a hard but contemplative curl to his lips.

"And then not to mention how unique your case it. Barnes, you've been a POW for decades. Your brain- no offense buddy, but from what I can tell, it's been fried to hell and back. I don't even have to do any fancy brain scans to know. And that's not even including all the other stuff they probably did to you, only God knows."

You shook your head.

"There's too much at risk for you to get proper therapy right now. But. It's not impossible."

You think back to Shuri, and how she and the other Wakandan scientists were successful in both removing the trigger words and rehabilitating Barnes.

Well, you're not sure about the last part, since you never interacted with the Barnes of your time, but you'd assume that they did help with his subsequent mental health. You wouldn't really put it past them- T'Challa was a nice guy, from your limited interactions with him way into the future, and Shuri was buzzing with ideas and energy. If T'Challa's sympathy for Barnes wasn't enough, then Shuri's crave to help and experiment would supplement the balance plenty. Vice versa, too.

So yeah, future-Barnes' mental health was most likely addressed during his time in Wakanda. And it was almost guaranteed to have been a success.

So you're still gonna hold a torch for the possibility that Barnes' can come out of this as a relatively well-adjusted guy.

Not to mention B.A.R.F. As far as you know, the R&D team assigned to that was still progressing smoothly, but the only downside to that was that it wasn't going to be until a few more years before it's "perfected".

You were never really involved in any way with B.A.R.F. since you were both prepping for SI and finishing college. Your dad was definitely more involved in it than you were, but it's not like you could ask him to pull a few year's worths of experimentation and knowledge out of his ass and exponentially boost the rate of B.A.R.F.'s progress, so.

Helen Cho suddenly sprang to mind, but you quickly threw away that thought. Your- well, Barnes'- issue was neurological, Cho was all about cell regeneration and is a geneticist. So unless somehow the issue crosses over with Cho's line of work, she wasn't a possibility either. There was also Strange, but as far as you've heard the man was pretty... abrasive, even as a wizard. Hard to get a hold of, and very... Hard-headed.

Well, all of that was second hand since it came from Tony, but still. Maybe you could pull Tony in for some clout, but that'll just make him suspicious. God, maybe you shouldn't have kept the whole "I'm actually from the future" spiel a secret, otherwise you wouldn't have to be doing all this crap alone.

Oh well. In for a penny, out for a pound.

You sighed, already feeling the dull thump against your skull starting to form.

"So what now?" Barnes asks. He's less tentative than he was last night, but still soft-spoken when he talks.

"Well, you're stuck with me, bud. I'll do my best to get you prepped for the actual rehabilitation, but honestly, that might take a little longer than you'd expect. So, we'll just- well."

You eyed the outfit he was donning, which was literally your clothes- so it was a few sizes too small for him. He doesn't really seem bothered by it, and if it weren't for the fact that he's sort of proved himself to be neglectful of voicing his own preferences, you'd be a little more inclined to appreciate the view of one very, very beefy super-soldier.

But alas.

Life never really works in your favor, so.

"We'll need to get a few essential things out of the way. Food is already on its way, I assume you aren't allergic to anything?"

He pauses, and there goes that familiar glaze forming over his eyes. You sigh, knowing that he was probably searching through his mental "data-bases" for any allergies, but thankfully it's not long as he blinks back into attention.

"None."

"Yeah, I could'a figured, what with your super-soldier serum."

(You're pretty sure that also makes him immune to cancer, but maybe that's just you glorifying it.)

"So: the food situation is cleared. Now, we need to get you some new clothes because, uh, those don't look very comfortable."

"Comfort does not matter. I am adequately dressed."

You snorted. Maybe it's better that you don't tell Barnes that he's wearing a Sharknado tee and some sweats that have "Eat this!" printed on his behind.

(And maybe it's better that you didn't remember that yes, these are indeed still your clothes.)

"Comfort does matter, my guy. DAHLIA, take some quick measurements."

The kitchen light dims and brightens, shining lime green into the kitchen. It lingers and turns back into that white-blue that sometimes makes your eyes burn when you've been up for too late into the night.

"Seargent Barnes' measurements are now on file. You two want to see the available catalog?"

Right where the kitchen island was, a panel opens up to reveal a hologram of a bunch of articles of clothing, all of which has been adjusted to Barnes' size- or an approximate at least, since there's some that's labeled X or XL.

"Barnes? You got anything you want to do right now or...?"

You gestured to the hologram in front of you.

His face contorts a little, not too noticeable at a quick glance. He doesn't look uncomfortable per se, but judging by the downwards curl of his lips, he's definitely not excited to see the hologram.

You flicked your wrist and it disappeared just as quick as it appeared. Strangely enough, his expression doesn't loosen up as his eyes flicker upwards to yours.

"Hey, that's okay. If it's the hologram, that's no biggie, we'll just move over to the, uh, TV in the next room over. C'mon."

You jerked your head and motioned him to follow you. His face laxes and he walks behind you without a word.

_______

You two ended up getting a lot done all things considered.

Barnes seemed pretty bothered by how many clothing choices there are, but when you asked if he wanted you to just curate a list for him, he easily relented. He was hovering over you the whole time, but you weren't too bothered by it as you were too busy browsing for him.

You went from site to site searching for clothes that screamed "The Winter Soldier", but all that was coming up was clothes in fifty shades of black and with no pizzaz. You did pass by a few Avengers-related merch (especially yours), but he said nothing when you added two or three into your cart, so he probably doesn't care. You did show him a lot of clothes that you thought would fit him, and he nodded to pretty much all of them.

By the time you were done looking for clothes, the doorbell had rung.

("That was quick," you reminisced. DAHLIA was quick to respond.

"It came from a nearby Walmart."

"Huh.")

Barnes' head jerked as his eyes were trained on the entrance door. You patted his arm, and his eyes glance at you.

"Relax, it's just the food. DAHLIA ordered some groceries earlier."

You stood up to go answer the door, and Barnes followed suit. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't really seem like he's gonna back down anytime soon.

"You know... You can follow behind, but you're gonna have to be in the shadows or something 'cuz, you know... Just- if someone's still at the door, don't let them see you okay?"

He nods, almost mechanically so, and you turned around and walked to the entrance door.

Opening the door, you were greeted with a few big boxes. You raised an eyebrow and glanced out through the door; there are no cars nearby, and DAHLIA whispers in your ear that the clearing's safe- not a single life signature anywhere.

"Barnes, the coast's clear," you called out, already reaching down to grab one of the boxes. You grunt, adjusting your grip before you lifted and turned around.

Barnes, having already popped out of whatever dark corner he was in, is already a few feet behind you.

"Hey, you don't mind helping me bring in those boxes, will you?"

You were already walking past him, but you barely caught the briefest flash of furrowed eyebrows before you saw him walk over to the door. You mentally shrugged, but placed the box in the kitchen and went back over to the door to get the other one.

By the time you were done setting down the box, Barnes had already closed the door and was standing under the arch connecting the kitchen to the main hallway.

You motioned him over, and he complied.

"What is inside?"

You're almost proud that you didn't jump. He doesn't talk much, but when he does it always startles you.

"Groceries, but I don't know what specifically. DAHLIA chose all of it. And by the looks of it, she chose a lot. So. You're gonna help me unpack and we'll probably- well, I'll probably make some food. You can help if you want."

Your back was turned to him, and you started unloading the boxes and their contents. Barnes doesn't move for a hot moment, but he squats down next to you and starts unwrapping the smaller boxes that were inside it.

"You don't mind if I put on some music, right?"

You glanced at him.

"I... don't. Mind," he mumbles, tentatively glancing back at you. You gave him a brief thumbs up and turned your attention back to

"DAHLIA, play something chill. Low volume."

_______

Pretty much, the whole day consisted of unpacking all of the groceries that had been delivered. You ended up pausing, having gotten tired of being awake without food in your stomach, and made some food for the two of you.

You tried conversing with him, trying to get him to at least feel more comfortable, and it... kinda worked. There are a few touchy subjects that he doesn't really seem to like talking about (he doesn't really vocalize his discomfort, but his flinches, no matter how minute they were, spoke louder than words). HYDRA, obviously. Anything revolving the Avengers put him off as well, among other things.

Really, most of the eating consisted of small talk and eating noises, but at least some of the tension in his shoulders had lessened by the time that you two needed to get back to unpacking. Hell, by the time that was done, Barnes' clothes had arrived.

(Oh, the benefits of being insanely rich. Say it with me kids: Thank you, Tony!)

You're usually a little apprehensive about buying clothes online, but color you surprised when not only did all of them fit; Barnes didn't have a single problem with any of them.

"You like 'em?"

You whistled when Barnes came out of his bathroom, now back in your clothes that you had given him originally. He tried all of them on, and you ended up buying him so many clothes that a lot of time had passed by the time he was done. You just sat on his bed, slowly collecting all of the clothes and ripping off the tags, damned if he didn't like one of them; you'll just take it instead.

"They're adequate," he nodded. In his hand were the folded clothes (A camo tee and dark sweatpants), and he set them onto his bed with the other folded clothes.

"Did any of 'em uncomfortable? Too tight, any of the fabric feels wrong...?"

You left the question open-ended as you helped him dump it into a laundry bin. He doesn't respond right away as if he didn't hear you. His eyes flicker over to yours.

"... No. They- I..." the muscle under his eye spasms, "I liked them..."

You grinned, "Glad to hear that, guess we got lucky that none of these was a dud, huh?"

The ghost of a smile that was on his lips appeared briefly, but it was gone just as fast as it had appeared.

Really, that had basically been the peak of the day before things had started to mellow out a little bit. But that was okay, you took whatever it was that Barnes gave, and if it was just the smallest smile you've ever seen on a man, then so be it.

Afterward, the day somehow managed to blend together and pass along like an exhale. Not much happened, since you couldn't really- well, offer anything that could scientifically and medically help him. So you opted to just- try to get him up to date as much as possible.

Honestly, by the time that you had gotten through the first three decades (starting when he was born), it was already pretty late into the night.

(He had a lot of questions, and you really didn't blame him. Hell, most of the more personal information really came from DAHLIA, because as much as you sympathized with the man, you really didn't care to learn about his whole entire biography.

But, at least you answered most of the history related questions. If you had to go through a few history college classes back when you were in college, then you'll be damned if you didn't at least make an effort to learn and internalize them.)

Barnes didn't really show any signs of exhaustion if the casual leg bouncing wasn't enough, but you sure were pooped.

(What? Unlike your dad (and most of the Avengers) you actually had a normal internal clock. For the most part, anyway.)

"Well, as much as I liked talking about prehistoric times," you sounded sarcastic, but you actually did like it, "I gotta sleep, I don't run on super-soldier energy like you do bub."

You stood up, stretched, and saw that Barnes was now standing up as well.

"Should I...?"

Raising an eyebrow, you huffed in good nature, "Go to sleep? Yeah, probably. We're not done with the History101 crash course, and we'll probably be talking about other things tomorrow as well," especially about the fact that you're not gonna be at the safe house often soon, "so we both need the energy for that. So, go clean up and get some Z's, yeah?"

"Oh."

He looked a little lost but followed you back into your shared hallway. Stopping in your doorway, you turned your head to glance at Barnes.

"Good night, Barnes," you nodded, not waiting for a response as you headed into your room. It was quiet and almost inaudible, but you still heard it with your ears before you had closed the door shut.

"... Good night."

You stood in your room, a sudden wave of both exhaustion and dread flooding your body. You shook it off though; it was just the nervous jitters hitting you at an inopportune time.

But really, you trusted your guts almost as much as you trusted Tony.

So as you brushed your teeth and did your business in the bathroom, you tried to quell the anxiety that was building up in your chest.

"DAHLIA, keep an eye on him."

"Gotcha, doll."

You sighed, dropped onto your bed, and hoped that whatever it was that might happen, you'd be prepared for it.

_______

And lo and behold, it didn't even have to be the next morning before shit all hit the fan when DAHLIA wakes you up in the middle of the night (3 A.M., to be specific).

"-oll, wake up! Barnes is having a panic attack!"

It takes half a second to process the fear in DAHLIA's voice. It takes another to process her words.

Fuck.

Scrambling immediately out the bed, you thanked whatever higher being there is that you were sleeping with at least some sweatpants on as you booked it straight to your door and right through Barnes'.

(Maybe you should have joined the football team, because that would have been one wicked tackle. Ha, yeah right, you know nothing about football.)

The lights were on, most likely DAHLIA's doing, and his bedsheets were clearly mussed up. He's nowhere to be seen, so your eyes jump to the joined bathroom door, and lo and behold, there was light bleeding through the cracks.

You quickly approached the door and opened it, throwing away the worry that he might have been absolutely naked.

The good news was that he wasn't nude.

The bad news was that he was hunched over on the ground, right in front of the bathroom counter, and he's gripping his head so tightly you would have thought his skull would have caved in.

Terror shoots down your spine like a lightning bolt, and you immediately rushed to the curled over Barnes, adrenaline rushing through you as a million thoughts ran through your head.

"Barnes!"

He doesn't appear to hear you, groaning and panting as he further curled in on himself. His muscles spasm, hard, and you're at a loss at what to do. He's sickly pale, and the sheen on his skin makes you want to vomit. His panting is shallow, and if you weren't sure if the glint that shone in your eyes was the reflection off of the marble floors or a puddle of saliva coming from Barnes.

You're not sure if touching him right now is a good thing, but you'll be damned if he wasn't your responsibility now. You reach out to him, wrapping one arm around his hunched back and the other trying to pry at his wrists.

(Would you have touched him, if you didn't have the reassurance that DAHLIA has your back?)

(Shut up.)

Maybe you were tensing up for him to go all "Winter Soldier" mode on you, but he's the one that tenses, even more, when you touched him. Thankfully, he doesn't resist your pull as his arm is limp the moment you tried to pull it back, but it doesn't change the fact that he's shaking, badly, and your mind is frozen in limbo.

"DAHLIA, what-"

You're at a loss for words, but DAHLIA, sweet DAHLIA already knows what you were about to ask.

"Sergeant Barnes was displaying elevated levels of anxiety, however, it did not seem to warrant any mentions. I thought-"

She cuts herself off, almost as if she was worried that she had made a wrong call. You swallowed, knowing that despite being a baby A.I., she's never done wrong by you- both in the future and now.

"You thought what?"

You try to rub Barnes' back as if he was a dog that had needed soothing. He groans, but you're not sure if you should interpret that as a hurt groan or a relieved one. You paused and moved your hand away, hovering it just inches away from his back, and his breath hitches.

Your hand dropped onto his back once again, and you could feel the muscles on his muscles spasm a little; his whimpers aren't as loud and painful (though, they're still more than worrying).

So, on the very small bright side, back rubs don't seem to be hurting him either. It's a small win, but a win for sure.

"You- my visuals were clear in the conclusion that you saw it. His discomfort. Your body language and expression acknowledged it but you refrained from addressing it. I- acted under the assumption that it was all under control..."

Something in your mind pauses for a pregnant second before your eyes widened.

"What?"

DAHLIA doesn't even get the chance to reply as Barnes jerks his hands away from yours and pulls at his scalp again. You lurched forward.

"Hey! No!"

You bit back a growl as you grabbed his wrists once again. You yank them back down to his sides as his body jolts, a sob ripping through him. You placed a hand on his chest and tried to boost him back up so he'll have his back against the bathtub that's behind him.

He offers little to no resistance as his back makes contact with the bathtub, but he's slumped into himself. He pulls his knees forward and curls his head into them. For a super-soldier, it's almost cute how hard he's trying to take up as little space as possible if it weren't for the fact that your heart was absolutely breaking at the sight of him.

"Oh, Barnes..."

In shuddered breaths, he mumbles something incoherent.

"...-an't, I- I- I-.... -can't..."

He shakes his head, jolting as if someone had shocked him. You rubbed his arm, glancing down at what you can now confirm to be a puddle of saliva, and then over to the trash can right next to the toilet. You're not too sure if you should get it just in case he decides to vomit, but you're ready to lunge for it the moment Barnes shows any signs of gagging.

"DAHLIA," you spoke at a lower volume, "what- when was he, um, uncomfortable."

"Two nights ago, roughly 22:00, when you told Sargeant Barnes that he was his own free man. Yesterday morning, 08:00, when you asked if he wanted to do anything prior to browsing the available clothing catalog. Right after, he was also discomforted by the catalog, before you offered to buy clothes for him. At-"

"That's- that's enough," you breathlessly muttered. DAHLIA doesn't say anything else, but the air has suddenly become heavier than you remembered.

Your head was almost dizzy with not only how many instances Barnes had been anxious in such a short time, but also at how you remembered each and every instance with startling clarity.

Barnes was anxious at the idea of freedom, but you put it off and opted to just give him a nickel tour of the house.

Barnes was anxious when you asked if he wanted to do anything before looking at clothes, but looked too relieved when you brushed over it.

Barnes was anxious at the idea of shopping for fucking clothes but was okay after you took over for him.

The taste of stomach acid burned your tongue, as yesterday's dinner threaten to rise at the implication of all of this.

"DAHLIA," you mumbled, "the- the rest of those instances- do they..."

You trained your eyes on Barnes.

"Do they all- follow the same... The same- pattern?"

DAHLIA was always in tune with you, even after the time jump.

"... Yes," she lamented.

"God..."

Now, you're not sure who that trash can would be really for; you or Barnes.

"Barnes..."

You murmured quietly. He flinches, and his shaking hasn't gotten any better.

"What- what was it? Was it- was it all too much? God, I'm so sorry, it probably was, wasn't it? I should have- fuck, I should have taken it more slowly, I-"

Barnes shakes his head, stopping you in your rambling. You blinked rapidly.

"Then- was it..." you paused, "... Was it the choices?"

It's almost expected that he doesn't answer you straight away, but he nodded anyway.

"I... It was- it was too much- I couldn't- I don't know- I-"

His breath shuddered with each word as if it hurt him to just even speak right now. You shushed him, ignoring the intrusive thought that it was akin to shushing an animal.

"Hey, hey, it's- it's okay. You'll be okay."

It's not much, what you're saying to him, and it's no surprise that they didn't do much anyway.

Honestly, you didn't know what to say at this point. There didn't even seem to be any phrasing in the known English language that would be able to comfort a man with as much baggage on his shoulders as Barnes, and briefly, just briefly, you wished that you were literally anywhere in the world, but here.

You tried thinking about anything that came from your (albeit limited) interactions with him between the past days that would help ground him, before something jolts you from deep within.

("What are my mission parameters," Barnes asked from behind you.

You paused.

"Mission parameters?")

You didn't even realize that you had said that out loud, but Barnes had tensed up even more before you could even take it back. He held his breath, audibly swallowing.

("You don't need mission parameters, Barnes. You're your own free man. You can- can make decisions on your own. You don't need me to tell you what you need to do.")

("I... Don't understand...")

You spoke on impulse.

"You... You need them, don't you? Mission parameters."

Immediately, you regretted even speaking up just as those words left your mouth.

While every fiber in your being hoped that it wasn't true, there was a small inkling in your head that already knew the answer to your question. It was the only thing that was barely even logical enough to make sense.

His apprehension of making a choice.

How uncomfortable in his own skin he always appeared, despite it even being just a few days.

How relieved he always looks, when the choice was already made for him.

His body tenses underneath your hand, but it's the slight bob of his head that makes your stomach drop. You thought- what a fool you were- you thought he'd be okay without being ordered around, but that was nothing but wishful thinking.

(What was the saying? It's hard to teach an old dog a new trick, was it?)

(Yeah.)

Looking at how only a few days of what you had originally thought was Barnes' newfound freedom turned out to be much more of a nightmare for Barnes, it might just be better for the both of you to push aside your comfortability and start making an honest-to-God investment into Barnes' recovery, even if that means that you had to take a step backward.

A very, very risky step backward.

It was a shot in the dark, but it was the only thing that you could place your bets on for now.

You just hoped that your aim wouldn't fail you now.

"Okay, well... How about this, Barnes, here's your main- your main mission, okay? Become a free man. Hey, no, look at me," you swiveled his head so he could look at you. His eyes were panicked, crazed, and irredeemably sad, but you had to make sure nothing crossed through your face so he'd know that everything will be okay. Your grip on both sides of his face was firm as you pleaded with him.

"Your only 'mission' right now? Breathe," ironically, his breath hitched, "If not for your own sake, then for mine."

You swallowed, heart stuttering as you looked into his glassy eyes.

"Please," you let your desperate prayer lingered in the air.

Maybe it was being given a task to accomplish after days of trying to figure out what to do with his supposed new "freedom", or it was how non-labor intensive and just... simple, his new mission parameter was, but it was almost instantaneous how all of the tension in his body dissipated into thin air.

Witnessing the moment of mercy upon grief through Barnes, no matter how brief or temporary it may be, was almost cathartic.

Almost.

(Perhaps you shouldn't be looking for absolution vicariously. But you were never really a good person, were you?)

_______

A/N: I've read a lot of WinterIron fics. While I have read a lot of interpretations about how Barnes would have reacted when he was freshly freed from HYDRA, this is how I choose to interpret it- one that would best fit the story for now. Next chapter, since I couldn't fit it in this chapter, is a special, but it is very much important and related to the story, and Barnes as a character. If you're familiar with some WinterIron tropes, this won't be too foreign of an idea. Not too sure about other ships/ stories, but. Ah, I'm rambling. Anyways, see you next year lol.

_______

Masterlist 

_______

Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit @tonystanktheirondad @ludwigvonbaethoven @rspctot7 (if you’re not @/ fabledxmystery, so sorry for the mistag! LMK if it’s not you) @tolkoskott @klanceiscannon14 @deos-life (grr it won’t let me tag you) @kp1183 (kperla1183) @xyuriko-akamine (akabaneyuriko) @kettnerjanea​ @soldier-42 @daybreakmistakes @spnfanboy777 @crash-zite @jm-cy

#male reader #avengers x reader #avengers x male reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x male reader #bucky barnes x reader #restart #reader insert

[come-on-shitty-boys]

//Sickly Sweet. Sugawara Koushi//

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: Sugamama really is so precious who let him do this 

Eyes trained on your alarm clock, watching as the minutes changed.  Your head was killing you.  Your stomach was twisted into knots and it seemed like every breath you took was only combatted by a series of violent coughs.  You should’ve been at school by now, but when you had tried to get up earlier, you were welcomed by a wave of exhaustion and forced yourself to sit down.  You had simply crawled back into bed, deciding to stay home for the day.  

You buried your head under the covers, desperately trying to fall back asleep in an attempt to just sleep it off.  Just as your eyelids had started to grow heavy and sleep was pulling you into its dark embrace, the loud ding of your phone brought a low groan from your throat.  

              2 new messages: Suga baby <3

You unlocked your phone, going to your messages.  He had already texted you good morning so you weren’t really sure what he was texting you about now.  A small whine sounded from somewhere within you as you stared at his recently sent picture.  His big brown eyes looked so sad as they added to the already adorable pout that was set on his lips.  He was bundled up in his scarf and you could still see the faintest hints of white in the air from the chilly morning freezing his breath.  Daichi and Asahi stood over his shoulder, giving wide smiles for the camera. 

“He’s so cute,” you muttered to yourself, saving the image to your camera roll.

                                 7:47 a.m.

babyyy~ where are you?? i miss you :(

                I don’t feel good :( I’m just going to stay

                home today.  I miss you too, Koushi <3

awww get better okay? get lots of rest. 

i’ll come check on you after practice.

i love you!

                                                            I love you too :’)

He was absolutely too cute for words.  You didn’t know what you ever did to deserve to have the pleasure of calling Sugawara your boyfriend, but you were in no way complaining.  He was always so sweet and considerate, sending you cute texts or silly pictures, knowing they would make you smile.  You were both relatively reserved when it came to adventures, opting for a night in with your favorite snacks rather than going out to whatever parties were being held that weekend.  It’s part of why you two worked so well.

Smiling once more at the photo he sent you, you tug your blanket tightly around your shivering body.  You couldn’t wait for this to all be over, but Suga fawning all over you like the caring boyfriend he was- well, maybe you could be sick for a little while.

Hours passed, boredom overcoming you quickly.  You would rather be at school than laying in bed doing absolutely nothing.  Sure, you were miserable, but at least you wouldn’t be bored and miserable.  You groan, rolling over in bed, throwing the blanket off of you as another hot flash overtook you. 

A soft knock on your door makes your head turn excitedly towards the sound.  The school day had ended a while ago, so was it-

Your mom opened the door, a gentle smile on her face.  You whine a little, flopping back against your pillows, disappointed that it wasn’t Sugawara coming to keep you company.  “How are you feeling?” Your mother asks.

“Awful. . .”

“Oh, that’s too bad.  Should I just tell Suga that you’re too ill to see him then?”

You’re sitting straight up, eyes wide at the prospects that he’s here.  “Don’t you dare!”

The familiar laugh is heard just outside your room.  “Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” the voice says.  Sugawara passes by your mother and shuts the door as she leaves.  There’s a paper bag from the Sakanoshita store in his arms.  He sets the bag down on the bed, beginning to unpack everything.  “Okay.  I didn’t know what was wrong, so I just got a bunch of different stuff!  There’s cough syrup, decongestants, Tylenol to reduce your fever, I mean, if you have one.  Saltines and Sprite to settle your stomach.  Soup, that you- put in the microwave?  That doesn’t sound great, but that’s all they had.  Lots of water, because you need to hydrate!  Some orange juice, because I know you like it.  I don’t know if it’ll be good if you’re sick, but it can’t hurt, right?  I got your favorite candies and some chips and-” He rummages through his school bag and pulls out a little stuffed dog.  “This!  You can cuddle it while I’m at school and you’re lying in bed getting better!”

“Suga, you didn’t have to do all this.  We have most of this stuff here,” you say, looking at the massive pile of stuff that he just laid on your bed.  

“Well, now you have extra, just in case you run out.”  He puts his school bag on the ground and crawls into bed next to you.  Sugawara’s hand immediately finds your head, pulling it down to lean on his shoulder.  His fingers tangle in your hair, letting you snuggle close to him.  “You’re really warm,” he says absently.  “You should probably take some Tylenol.”

“What?  Suga, I’m fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have missed school today.”  His free hand reaches for the little bottle of medicine and a bottle of water.  He carefully reads the label, trying to find the recommended dosage.  “This says two tablets every four to six hours.  Have you had any of these today?”

“No, and I don’t need th-”

“Yes, you do.”  Suga shakes two of the little pills into his palm and hands them to you.  “Here.”

“I don’t want to,” you whine, staring at the medicine.  Taking medicine was hands down the worst part about being sick, but there was absolutely no way to get out of it with your boyfriend staring at you intently, waiting for you to swallow the pills.

“We can watch that show on Netflix that you’ve been really wanting to see once you take those.  Or don’t.”  He shrugged.  “But, if you don’t we’re just going to watch that sad whale documentary again.”  He looks at you with a sly smile on his angelic face.  He had won and he was very aware that the looming threat of that 

“You cannot put me through that again!  I do not want to spend another 2 hours crying!”

“Then take your medicine.”

Mock hate written all over your face, you swallow down the pills with water.  Your boyfriend leans over to reach your laptop, pulling up Netflix and finding the show that you had been begging him to watch with you for weeks.  He nestles down next to you, letting you lay your head on his chest as the opening scene begins to play.  

“Hey, Suga?”

“Yeah?”

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best boyfriend?”

“Thank you, baby.”  He plants a soft kiss to the top of your head, causing you to turn your head to look at him.  Sugawara couldn’t help but smile at how absolutely adorable you were, gazing up at him with wide eyes, mouth tucked in the cutest frown.  “What’s that for?”  He laughs, tangling his fingers in the soft strands of your hair. 

“I want to give you a kiss, but then you’ll get sick,” you huff, looking up at him with sad eyes.

Your boyfriend simply tilts his head, pulling you up his body so your face is next to his.  His lips feel soft and warm against your own and you can feel him smiling into the kiss as his hand goes to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to him.  Pulling away, he nuzzles his nose cutely against your cheek.  “You’re worth getting sick for.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #sugawara #Sugamama #sugawara koushi #koushi #suga #sugawara koshi x reader #imagines #x reader #fluff

[gallavictorious]

Fic: Foreign Country

For fuck’s sake... So I got an ask in response to this comment, wherein the lovely nonnie suggested that Ian and Mickey’s reaction to the Kash and Grab would be a reverse sort of situation, with that place holding very happy memories in spite of being a site of trauma (because Kash shot Mickey there). I’m paraphrasing here, obviously... And I spent over a week trying to write the fic that this ask (unintentionally) inspired and now when I posted it Tumblr was messing with the ‘Read more’ so I, stupid and/or tired bastard that I am, deleted the thing to repost it but of course that means the ask is gone aaaaand yeah. I AM SO SORRY NONNIE! :( Hope this one finds you all the same.

Anyway, here’s my resonse:

Ah, yes. Yes! Nonnie, I applaud your dedication to sparking joy and thank you for sharing this delightful reflection! <3 And, uh, it got me thinking about the Kash and Grab and its role as the site of so much that went down with Ian and Mickey in the early years, and yeah, now there’s a ficlet. It involves a trip down memory lane, some angst, some fluff, and a rather startling number of I love you:s. It’s also the reason why it took me so damned long to get back to you… Sorry about that!

Did you ask me to write this? No. Does it stay completely true to your observation rather than carelessly running with it? Also no, but with slightly more regret.  

---

Never returning had not been a conscious choice. Neither was going back.

---

Chicago, on a Thursday afternoon in early October, and the air is unusually crisp when Ian steps out from the ambulance station. He's been working the early shift and now he pauses on the sidewalk and turns his face towards the sun, considering. No one's expecting him for another few hours, and it's a fine day: maybe he needn't rush home. Maybe he could walk for a bit.

It's an idea. He's feeling restless, though not the sort of restless that heralds the on-set of a manic episode (or so he thinks, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye out for other signs, and maybe mention it to Mickey). But yeah. He could walk for a bit, then maybe find a station for the L when he tires.

So he walks. Walks and walks and doesn’t tire, and eventually he finds himself on a familiar street and outside a familiar store and he realizes with a start that he hasn't been here in years. Hadn't even known the store was still open, but the sign on the door proudly proclaims it so, and above it the name remains the same, white letters on red: Kash and Grab.

Huh. Without making a conscious decision to, he's stopped walking and is just standing there, staring at the store. The sight of it brings a strange jumble of emotions, and the quietly jarring mingle of familiarty and distance that comes from returning to a place where once you did belong, but belong no longer.

The last time he stood here was the day before he ran off to join the Army, leaving Linda with nothing more than a short message on her phone. That’s more than what his family got, so he hopes she wasn’t too upset. He never asked; never came back; never really thought back – until now.

He hesitates for a moment, then walks up to the door and steps inside. He’s running low on smokes anyway.

It's the smell that hits him first. It hasn't changed, and brings him back to the days when it would cling to his clothes and follow him home, a not unpleasant but distinctive whiff of frozen food and sweet spices.

The interior hasn't changed much either. There’s a kid behind the counter that looks to be in his early teens, and Ian wonders if it’s one of Kash’s sons, if Linda's still running the store. He could ask, but who knows what Linda's told her kids about the teenager who fucked their closeted father before he ran off?

He glances at the boy again – and yeah, he could be Kash's, there's something about the eyes and the chin – and wonders if he ever looked that young when he manned the register. Wonders if that's what he looked like to Mickey, when he'd come into the store to just take whatever the hell he wanted, wether it was chips or, later, Ian's fucking breath away.

Ian Gallagher. You messed with the wrong girl.

And just like that, it's like no time's passed, and he's 15 and 16 and 17 again; he's doing it with Kash and he thinks he loves him; he excels at ROTC and dreams of Westpoint; his mother is alive and he doesn’t yet know that Frank isn’t his father at all – it hardly matters anyhow, because Fiona is there, as she has always been there, as he still thinks she will always be.

She got out and good for her. If she'd stayed here, she'd never been free of her role as sister-mother – never free to be Fiona. And as for him... he'd mourned the army dream when it died, but knows now that it was an uninformed dream, one he would not have cared to live even if  given the opportunity.

Glancing at the counter where he used to open his trigonomy textbook he feels no regret, though perhaps a twinge of sadness for the loss of that optimistic, determined kid, who had not had an easy life by any means, but who had yet to take any real blows, any blows that truly mattered. Those had come later (had come in this very store, some of them) and standing here, where he'd spent so much time as a child and none as a man, he feels something of that kid returning. Remembers the weight of the hundreth can put on a shelf; feels the ghost of a (too) easy smile on his lips; sees himself as he moves between the backroom and counter and fridge.

And everywhere he looks, there is Mickey. Mickey, in a dirty coat or a security west, angry and rough and funny and sometimes with the briefest flash of something softer, sweeter. He is stealing and scaring of thieving kids and restocking the shelves and plotting to murder Frank and moaning as Ian pushes into him.

He is on the floor, too, cursing Kash but otherwise strangely unaffected by having been shot. Ian thinks he might have been more scared and upset than Mickey. It strikes him now as a moment of innocence lost; your lover shot by a jealous ex, a real gun and real blood and what if Kash had had better aim? This was a thing that happened in the world, and if that could happen – anything could.

It strikes him, too, as a turning point: Mickey going away could easily have spelled the end of their intense but brief affair. For all they knew each other's bodies they hadn't really know each other back then, and while Ian had been crushing hard he had not yet loved Mickey. Perhaps they might both have moved on, found other lives and loves. Perhaps that had still been possible, then.

Or perhaps not. It was the first time they were separated and the first time they found their way back to one another, but not the last. It's a dance of coming together and coming apart and coming together, again and again, and they've traced its steps for close to a decade, never once stopping, not truly.

Because even in the absences, Mickey had been, is; there, always, in the stretches of time when he was locked up in juvie; in the eager hours of wating for him to show up at the store; in the exact distance between them at any given time.

Ian can still feel the jolt, like a punch to his gut, like electricity, of looking up from stacking oranges and finding blue eyes staring straight into his.

He remembers the last time they were in here together, when him and his siblings had been taken away by the CPS and Mickey invited him to crash at his place. He remembers his giddy delight at the question, his excitement at the realization that Mickey wanted to spend time with him. He had been so nervous, and looking back, knowing what he now knows, he thinks that Mickey might have been fucking terrified, but there'd been such ease to that evening and night; such familiarty and tenderness. And oh, the sex had been fantastic.

He tries to remember only this, not what came after with the morning light and a door suddenly slammed open –

Mickey had never returned to the store after that, and a few months later Ian had left for the army. Not really for the army, though; what he'd been moving towards had not been nearly as important as what he was moving away from.

Stings, still, that memory; but less than it once did, and as he strolls down the aisles, noting where the pickled cucumber jars have been replaced with tins of tuna and where the small bottles of cheap olive oil still remain, he is surprised to find himself... okay. For a long time, so much of his past had been a painful, tangled thing he did his best to forget, and even after he made his peace with it, he made a point of looking forward rather than back. Now he thinks that maybe, if you're happy with where you ended up, the hardships of the road which led you there are easier to bear.

Doesn't make everything that happened right; just... yeah. Easier to bear.

He buys a pack of cigarettes. The kid behind the counter is eyeing him suspiciously, but Ian thinks that has more to do with him walking around the store and staring at random things rather than with the boy recognizing him from some lurid tale of Linda's. Ian almost asks him to say hello to her from him, but nah. Let old dogs lie.

Outside, twilight is coming on, and there's a slight chill to the air now that the sun is sinking. Ian lights a cigarette and sucks the smoke deep into his lungs. This, too, is familiar, and for a moment he feels unthethered, unsure of when he is, who he is.

Without really thinking about it, he picks up his phone. Mickey's still working but can't be too busy because he answers on the second signal: “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian says, and then he doesn't say anything else for long enough that Mickey asks him if he fucking wanted something or he's just being a creepy ass phone stalker.

It makes Ian smile. Grounds him. “I love you,” he says.

A beat. “You called me at fucking work to tell me that?” And Ian knows that the gruff disbelief is partially an attempt to cover Mickey's surprised delight at the proclamation.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he says. Waits for a moment, but Mickey is silent. “You gonna say it back?”

“You fucking serious?”

“Kinda need to hear it.” Because he gets to say that; gets to ask for that. They're not kids not anymore and they don't need to hide. They’re fucking married.

That is real. That is now.

“Jesus Christ, Ian.” But then Mickey, as Ian knew he would, relents. “I love you,” he says, and Ian doesn't know if he's already alone or if he just doesn't care who overhears him, because he doesn't lower his voice or take the time to move somewhere more private.

A brief silence as neither of them speak, but simply rest in the warmth of the words, the truth of them.

Then: “Are you okay?” There's a trace of real worry in Mickey's voice now, and there's a part of Ian's that immediately annoyed because he hates that people worry about him so easily – but a larger part of him has made his peace with it; knows and accepts the reason for it; loves that Mickey loves him enough to worry.

So he offers a brief smile, even though Mickey cannot see it. Hopes it translates into his voice.  “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I promise, it's just... I'll tell you when you get home, okay?”

“Okay.” And maybe Mickey isn't convinced but he takes Ian's word for it. Trust. That's another thing they've been doing better with. “I'll see you in maybe an hour then? I get off at five.”

”Yeah, I'll see you then.” And, because he can, because it's true: ”I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you fucking said that already.” A brief pause, then quietly: “I love you, too.”

They hang up. Throwing one last look at Kash and Grab before he walks off, Ian is pleased to realize that he feels nothing but a vague sense of affection for the place. Some things withered and was left here, sure, youthful dreams and ambitions and most of his naivite – but the best thing about it he kept, and Ian will see him soon and hold him soon, and this time he will neither leave nor let him go. Their new dance will move to a different beat.

#asks #gallavich #i am so mad at myself and tumblr right now #also the use of semicolons in this one is absurd #sorry not sorry #fic #my stuff

[tippenfunkaport]

Fic: Kyle convinces Lonnie and Rogelio to go back to get Imp.

I was warming up for my writing night and accidentally wrote a short fic about how Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio ended up with Imp, sorry, I don’t know how these things happen!

You can read it all after the jump, but it's also on ff.net and Ao3 (links I'm bio).

"Hey Kyle! You'll never believe who we ran into while bartering for supplies." Lonnie paused. "Kyle?" Nothing. Did that little idiot go and get himself killed or chipped or something because, swear to God, if she had to worry about getting him back with everything else--  She was just about to start freaking out in earnest when she saw him leaning against the back wall, snoring away. She kicked his foot. "Seriously, Kyle? You were supposed to be guarding the truck!"

---

Lonnie followed Rogelio into the stolen Horde transport they'd been living in here at the Crimson Waste, her arms filled with all the rations and materials they'd been able to get.

"What? I'm awake!" He jumped to his feet and adopted a battle ready pose which was would have been more impressive if there wasn't still drool coming down his face. He was such an idiot.

Rogelio made some judgemental lizard noises and shook his head. He set down his packages, took Lonnie's and started organizing their supplies.

"You're useless, Kyle. Hordak should have ground you down into ration bars years ago." Lonnie punched him in the arm. He rubbed it. At least, he wasn't dead or chipped or whatever.

"Wait. Was that really what the ration bars were made of?" Kyle started moving the stuff Rogelio was organizing around and got his hand smacked away.

"You never wondered what happened to the cadets that didn't make the cut?" Lonnie kicked off her boots and started dumping the sand out of them. This place wasn't half bad if it wasn't for all the freaking sand. She leaned conspiratorially over to Kyle. "They say the grey ones... are bones!"

"Are you... are you joking right now? This is a joke right?" Kyle laughed nervously as Lonnie and Rogelio completely cracked up. Man, alien invasion, sand in every crack, everything sucked but there was literally nothing better than messing with Kyle.

"Anyway, I was trying to tell you. We ran into Octavia. She's down here too. Says the Fright Zone's trashed now, total ghost town. Hordak, Catra, everybody's gone. The only thing still there is Imp and the thing's gone half feral. Looks like we got out just in time!" She dusted the sand from her boots outside the open door which they propped open during the day. There. It wasn't much, but it wasn't bad either. The open door gave them a little awning and they'd found a couple of chairs and a table they'd set up there for playing games and stuff. From a kid who grew up in the Fright Zone, it was almost as good as a beach vacation.

"Hold on, Imp is still there? All alone?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. You got sand worms in your ears again?"

"But.. He's only a baby!"

"Uh, a freaky little evil demon baby."

"A baby is a baby, Lonnie! You were pretty freaky looking when you were little too!"

"Hey!" Like he was one to talk?

Rogelio made a noise of agreement. Oh, she was going to have to kick both their asses right now.

"I'm just saying, we were all babies when we were abandoned. That makes Imp like... our little brother!"

Lonnie sighed. "Isn't it just like a failed clone of Horak's or whatever?"

Kyle was shaking his head. Damn, he was really riled up about this. "So? Hordak was like our terrible adopted dad so that just makes Imp our... uncle or cousin or something. That's still family!"

"So, what are you saying? It's not our problem. We got out of there when the getting was good." She looked over to Rogelio for support but he was looking at Kyle with those gooey eyes he got sometimes. Come on, not you too. She should really just ditch the two of them, head out on her own. She'd do a lot better without these two dumbasses holding her back, that's for sure. She sighed. "Well, what do you want us to do? Go and get it? Be realistic, Kyle! The planet's been invaded, nowhere is safe. And what the hell are we going to do with a baby? We've barely got enough for ourselves out here." 

Rogelio put a clawed hand on her shoulder and made a long series of compelling lizard noises. She didn't have a single clue what he was saying but she knew him long enough to get the message. Damn it. Now they were both gonna obsess over this and there was no hope of getting out of it.

"Come on, Lonnie, please?" Kyle was doing the puppy dog eyes. She hated when he did that. It was like, you just had to do whatever he wanted or he'd keep making them until you had choice but to punch his face in for his own good.

"Great. Just great. I already got my hands full keeping keeping you idiots alive and now I'm going to have to worry about some freaky demon baby." They'd need fuel, for one, and weapons in case they found trouble on the way to the Fright Zone. She'd seen most of what they'd need today, it wouldn't be too much trouble to get. Maybe some toys or something. Baby crap? Did Imp even play with toys? Might be kinda fun to teach him some of their old games. Oh, who was she kidding, this was going to be a disaster. "We're happy here. Free to do whatever for the first time in our lives and THIS is what you want to do." She shook her head. "I can't believe we've gotta go steal a damn baby."

"Woohoo!" Kyle cheered and he and Rogelio starting jumping around the transport. Lonnie couldn't help but smile. What a bunch of dumbasses her boys were. "Thanks, Lonnie!"

Kyle pulled her into a hug and she allowed him a solid three seconds before she shoved him off. "Yeah, whatever. Get off me." Rogelio held out a fist for a bump.That’s better. At least somebody knew how to act around here. "Alright, fine, then I guess we're doing this."

As long as they did it together, that wouldn't be so bad. They did alright together. And, hell, maybe it might even be kinda fun.

#spop #spop fanfic #lonnie #kyle #rogelio #repkyle #Horde kids #she-ra #shera #imp #hordak #she ra #she-ra and the princesses of power #she-ra season 5 #she ra and the princesses of power #spop kyle #spop rogelio #spop lonnie #shera fanfic #tippen's fics

[seriouslyhooked]

When We Collide (Part 1)

Emma Swan has always known one thing: trust no one but yourself. Unfortunately she forgot her one rule and now she’s paying for it. One bad decision led her to the monstrous ‘Crocodile’ a mobster in New York who goes by the name Gold. Hope seems lost until she meets another person in this underworld, Killian Jones. Despite the place they find each other, a true love blossoms, and they manage to get away. But what will happen when Emma discovers who Killian really is? Will love prevail? Um, yeah, I’m writing this, so duh – it’s all love all the time. Fic features motorcycles, hot guys in leather cuts, and a bit of action/drama. Will end happily, and despite the first chapter, will be light on angst. Available on FanFiction Here and AO3 Here. 

A/N: Hey everyone! Surprise! There’s a new fic I’m here to share with you all, and full disclosure, it is very different than my usual fare. You will be able to tell that from this first chapter, and for some of my readers it might be a bit too much. Not to worry, this is just a prologue of sorts, and next chapter will start in a brighter, more hopeful place (we will flash forward in time). Be advised that there is no graphic violence or anything like that, but the premise of this story involves Emma owing a debt to Gold (a mob boss in New York) that she has to pay. She’s working it off in a bar, but she’s not exactly free to go as she does. That’s a lot angstier of a situation than I ever like to deal with, so it’s temporary, but want to give you all the heads up just so you know. I suspect a lot of you will read this and think it’s not that bad, but I figure it’s best to give everyone the heads up. Anyway, I promise that this story will eventually be just as fluffy and feels-filled as my other stories, and I hope you’ll give it a try, even if you decide to skip this chapter and just join for the next. Also, just to shout out the excellent song that partially inspired this fic, you should all listen to the song ‘Collide’ by Tiana Major9 & EARTHGANG. It’s a really beautiful song, and I hope the fic can embody the feel of it as it continues to unfold. Thanks so much for reading, and hope you enjoy!

Maybe I’ll get lucky and everyone will forget I’m back here, Emma thought to herself as she counted up the bottles on the shelves, taking a quick inventory of what they had for the bar out front.

She also needed to keep this count to protect herself. She’d learned a few days into this gig that Gold’s men loved their liquor and they had a tendency to come back here and take it. Instead of letting them do that and then allowing her and her coworkers to take the blame, Emma came up with a system including locks on the door and an electronic documentation of what they had and when. There was no wifi hook up, obviously, as Gold made sure to keep a strict lock on their surroundings, but it did provide an timestamped trail that proved she was taking nothing from this place. Every night she cashed in her tips with Sydney, the bar’s ‘owner’ but really just Gold’s front man and lap dog, and she watched as the debt she owed grew smaller and smaller. In six more months she’d be free of this and she was doing anything and everything she could to shorten that time.

Thinking about her debt made a flare of anger rise in her belly. Truth was this wasn’t even her fucking debt, it was Lily’s, a woman Emma believed to be her friend. They’d met when they were still kids, both of them runaways, and though time had driven them apart, they reconnected when they realized they were both living in New York. Emma had managed to get steady, honest work and was doing her best to claw up from the nothing that she’d started with in life, and she thought Lily was doing the same. Boy had she been wrong.

It turned out that Lily didn’t pay her part of the rent with anything resembling clean money. She’d worked for Gold, and then she fucked him over and ran, leaving Emma none the wiser and thrust into the fallout of a crime she’d never committed. When that moment came Gold gave her two choices: pay off the money he was owed, or suffer a bit before accepting and still paying, but in a less desirable way. Emma chose the former, and she gave everything she had to the man, but it still wasn’t enough. Lily had managed to get off with almost 50k, and while that was chump change to Gold, it was more than double Emma’s savings. Still she’d promised to get him the money, to give him every paycheck she could, save for her rent and food expenses. But it didn’t satisfy the Crocodile, as people were prone to calling him. Gold decreed that she’d work in the bar and that was that. She’d also been ‘moved’ to one of the apartments above the place. But none of her actual belongings ever arrived. All she had was work uniforms and bare essentials. There was no TV, no phone, no nothing. She’d been graced with tattered linens, the most basic of household essentials (as in one plate, one fork, one of everything) and a bunch of dusty books on ranging topics left from tenants past. She also had a chip on her shoulder, created from the unjustness of this whole situation, pushing her to get out of this shit as fast as she could.

“Yo, Emma, you coming back at some point?” A voice asked from the doorway. It was one of her coworkers, a guy named August who she’d never had much to do with. He seemed pretty okay, but then again, he was here working for Gold and he didn’t even seem to have the whole debt-pay off factor going. That was a huge red flag, and one of the reasons Emma never trusted him much. “We got customers.”

“One minute,” she said, and waited until the door swung closed again. Knowing she was along she closed her eyes and took some steadying breaths, gearing up for what would no doubt be a terrible night.

It’s temporary. You just have a few more months. You’ve survived worse. You can survive this too.

When she felt strong enough to put her mask in place and face the raucous debauchery that awaited her outside, Emma squared her shoulders and headed out. Her eyes had to adjust quickly to the dimness of the lighting, and she took in the stronger scents of stale cigar smoke and piss that always clung to this place. No matter how much they cleaned after hours, there was no getting rid of the odor or the grime. This bar was better off burned to the ground and completely built over, but to the men who frequented it, this place was the closest thing they had to home. The Lair, as the neon sign outside advertised, was a total dive, and it was filled to the brim with low-rate mobsters and criminals.

This was one of those places that Hollywood constantly tried ripping off to no avail. In some ways it was completely corny and predictable, and so blatant in its criminal ties that it felt like a joke that everyone was in on. But the embellishments and adornments here were over the top and gaudy, too tacky even for a Las Vegas casino. Gold’s namesake was splashed everywhere, from the countertops to the barstools to the curtains on the back walls. When the finishing got gross and dirty, they’d be replaced, but the style was dated and straight out of the 70s. It was a mobster hideaway with no pretensions, and Emma always thought to herself that the cops should be busting in every night. This was an obvious den of misconduct, but no cops ever came. The reality was that Gold had half the police force in his pocket, and the other half were too scared to cross him for fear of what he’d bring down on them. Gold might be ridiculous and over the top, but he was powerful, and more than that he was smart, so smart Emma knew better than to ever try to run and think she could get away with it.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t you lookin good tonight, sweetheart?”

Emma fought the instinct to roll her eyes at the slurred and shouted words that crossed the bar top over to where she was standing. Two months into her captivity here, and Emma knew better than to let her baser instincts win out. Despite how gross this man was, and how underwhelming he was on any metric of attractiveness, Emma couldn’t cave to her want to blow him off. Doing so was a risk, and if she had any chance of surviving this hell hole, she could not afford to take those.

“What can I get you, Mr. Black?” Emma asked, ignoring the stench of sweat and booze that mingled with the man’s cheap aftershave. She looked at him for only a second before looking down again, knowing her best bet was to try and blend into the background and let these men set their sights on the women who actually wanted to be here.

“I’ll take a night in bed with you, darlin’.” Emma chocked down a gag but flashed an insincere smile as she shook her head.

“You know the rules, Black. I work for Gold in a strictly drink-serving capacity.”

“Damn waste if you ask me, putting talent like you up in the bar.”

A waste? Emma considered it a small miracle. Since the day that Gold’s men had swarmed her apartment with guns drawn, looking for Lily, Emma had been completely at the will of a monster. She knew from the second they apprehended her and brought her back here that she could be destined for anything. People talked about Gold in this city and there was no crime he was too good to partake in. He had brothels all over the place and a stake in the skin trade. He ran drugs and guns, made people disappear and black mailed anyone he could. He had no moral restrictions, and no love greater than the one had for money and control. He owned this city in almost every single way, and if he chose to, he could make her life even worse than it was now. So much worse. It sent a shiver up her spine to even contemplate some of the things she’d heard whispered about. But Gold, as dark and twisted as he was, did have a code, and he’d briefly explained it to her the night she was brought in.

“I’m a man who collects his debts, Miss Swan, but I am also a man who sees a whole story. You had nothing to do with Lily’s betrayal, I know this. You’re collateral damage, a source of collection through no fault of your own. The debt must be payed, but since you yourself have never wronged me, I’ll be good to you. You even think of crossing me, however, and you’ll live to regret it.”

Emma knew the truth when she heard it. Her gut was never wrong. Even with Lily, the problem wasn’t that Emma had missed her true colors, she’d just chosen to ignore the telltale signs of a problem person because she really had no other friends. She hoped that Lily may come around, that she’d get better and really try and make a go of things in an above board way, but with Gold there was no doubt as to the veracity of his threat. If he felt Emma was disloyal, he’d punish her, and if at the end of this there was any doubt that she’d turn on him, she would never be free. She had to be picture perfect in her actions. A pretty, polite prisoner who served their time and then kept silent. She was ready to do that, she just had to stick to her plan and keep her head up in the meantime.

As she made Mr. Black’s drink and got caught into the flow of the bar, serving men their beer and liquor until they all got drunk as hell, Emma counted down the seconds until the night would be over. She gathered her measly tips, and kept them guarded close, and she knew that tonight would be like every other. She was trapped here, in this darkness, destined to be unhappy but determined to survive. When she was free of this she’d go as far away from Gold’s hold as she could. She’d find a cabin somewhere, live a quiet kind of life, and she’d never put herself in this kind of position again. Her lesson had been learned – she could trust no one but herself, and though that was a totally lonely sensation, she had to try and accept it or risk hurting herself all over again down the line.

Suddenly, in the midst of the normal night’s activities, the front door blew open and Emma felt a tingling of anticipation when it did. She hadn’t looked in that direction all night long, never liking the people who would dare to enter here, but her instincts were screaming at her to turn around and look. She had no idea why, but when she obeyed the internal command, she was shocked into stillness, caught up in the sight of the man who’d just walked in.

Tall, dark, and fiercely handsome, this man was sin personified and so much better looking than the other thugs that came here every night. He didn’t look out of place though, aside from his attractiveness. The clothes he wore were made of leather and spoke to some dangerous intent. He made no show to hide the side arms he was carrying, one on his hip and one strapped across his chest, and the scowl on his face made him seem hard and unapproachable. For a moment, Emma had the chance to take him in, and despite the fierceness of his expression, she felt a flutter low in her stomach.

His chiseled jaw with the well-trimmed beard he had was hot, as was the symmetry of his features and the way his broad body clenched and she could see his muscles. But if someone were to ask her what stood out most about this mystery man it was his eyes. They were blue, like the ocean in places she’d only read about. They weren’t icy or cold, but warm somehow and so thoroughly enticing. She felt herself lost in them, and then he looked at her, their gazes connecting, and that sensation grew so much stronger. She felt a kind of pang echo through her ribcage the moment he took her in, and she watched as the hardness of his face shifted ever so slightly. It was a small tell, most people wouldn’t have noticed, but Emma did, and she knew that he felt this too. Whatever the hell this was – the man who’d just arrived was just as captive to it as she was.

“Ah, Captain, you’re here!” One of the regulars said, laughing and flailing about as only truly drunk men did. “Didn’t think we’d ever get you to The Lair. Thought you was too good for us.”

The man they called ‘Captain’ tore his gaze from Emma and moved over to the man who’d called him over. His stride was measured and almost graceful, and Emma couldn’t help but follow him with her eyes. This was so unlike her. She made it her business not to watch anyone too closely. The less she knew about what everyone was really up to the better, but she was intrigued by this newcomer in a way she’d never been before.

“Boss wants to see you, Alvin. Something about the McManus shipment.” Alvin blanched at the comment and swallowed harshly and Emma knew for certain that this man was in trouble with Gold. She didn’t have much sympathy for Alvin, and in fact most of her intention was focused on this stranger, who had the touch of an accent she couldn’t quite place. His voice was silky and low, tantalizing in a way, and she wanted to hear more of it. “Perhaps you’d like a drink for the road. Not sure when you’ll have the chance for another.”

“Bring them this,” Sydney said, materializing from nowhere next to Emma. She jumped at the unexpected intrusion into her thoughts, and looked at the two glasses.

“Is this rum?” she asked dumbly and Sydney nodded.

“The best. Captain likes the good stuff.”

“Right,” Emma said, moving over with the tray to the table where both men sat. When she got there, she was struck speechless again. Being so close to this man only added to the allure. He was even more interesting close up, and she lost her head a little bit at the sight of him, but tried to pull herself together as best he could. “Your drinks, gentlemen.”

Alvin took the drink and downed in, but the stranger took his time, glancing at her over the glass and nodding. He didn’t smile, but his eyes conveyed a warmth he’d shared with no one else here. “Thank you, love.”

Knowing she couldn’t linger, Emma moved back to the other tables, continuing her work, but when she noticed Alvin and the mysterious man standing up to go a few minutes later, she felt a dash of disappointment. He was leaving, and she didn’t even know his name.

Okay, seriously? What the hell Emma? He’s one of them. He works for Gold. You don’t care about him. You can’t care.

The voice in her head scolded her for her fanciful thinking and this completely mistimed attraction. It was so foolish to think of him as anything but a threat, but her heart lurched at the thought. She was overcome with these weird feelings. Being so drawn to a man so quickly had never been her style. Certainly not now when she was in survival mode. But as she turned around to fill a tray with empty glasses on one of the far tables, she felt a presence behind her. She whipped around too quickly, only to run into him, and if it hadn’t been for his steadying hands, one on her arm and the other on her tray, the glasses would have shattered.

“You all right, love?”

“Um,” she licked her lips as her eyes darted up to and she nodded once. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Good. Just wanted to give you this,” he said, handing her a tip. It was generous. Like a couple hundred-dollar bills generous. It was way more than their drinks had been and way way more than she could ever accept. It felt wrong, but there was a part of her that was desperate to keep it. This would put her that much closer to freedom. It was almost a week she wouldn’t have to work. Still she pushed it back at him.

“I can’t. It’s too much.”

“It’s hardly enough,” he replied ardently and her brow furrowed as she looked at his face, the earnestness on it clear as day to her. “I know these men, love. There’s no way they give you what you’ve earned. Not tonight, not ever. So please, take it.”

“Okay,” she agreed after a moment’s hesitation, feeling gratified by the fact that she had earned this, even if he wasn’t the one who should have to pay. “Thanks…”

“Killian,” he filled in before she could decide to use the nickname that Alvin had called him by.

“Killian,” she repeated, tasting the name on her tongue and loving the way it felt as it passed through her lips. “I’m Emma, by the way.”

“Emma,” he replied with a grin that was there and gone so quickly she would have missed it as she blinked. As it was, she knew she saw it, and that look was even more breathtaking than the rest of him. No one had a right to be that sexy. No one. “Well, until next time, Emma.”

With that, he turned and walked away, cold and composed once more as he led Alvin out of the bar and headed off into the night. And though Emma knew very little about him, she had a feeling she’d just met someone very important. Through the mist of all the new emotions and excitement, she sensed, deep down, that this man – Killian – mattered, and that somehow, someway, their fates were intertwined, destined to lead them back to each other in one way or another.

Post-Note: So there we have it! This is a short glimpse into the fic, kind of like a prologue if you will. Next chapter will flash forward a bit, because this honestly was angsty enough for me to write. I do not want to dwell in the bad circumstances Emma finds herself in, and instead want to get us to a fluffier, if still a bit wilder place than I am used to. As the description says this will be an MC (motorcycle club) romance, and we’ll reveal how that will come to pass in the next few chapters. In the meantime, I would love to hear what you all think! This is a break away from my usual fare, and pretty much the opposite of the other fic I am currently writing, but I have wanted to write a story like this for a really long time. I’m eager to share the rest of this fic with you all, and hope you will join me on this fun new journey. Anyway, thanks for reading and hope you have a great rest of your day!

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan au #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs angst #cs au #cs mc au #cs motorcycle club au #emma swan #killian jones #gold is a bad guy #the whole storybrooke gang #ouat au #when we collide #when we collide au

[briefololtragedy]

Of menus and audio-books

Pairing Kakashi Sakura

Rating M

Summary: Sakura and Kakashi both want their dinner date, but Sakura's work keeps getting in the way. Sakura asks for Kakashi's help with tasting the menu, lets see what happens. The coffee shop saga continues

also posted to AO3 , follow up to Pakkun’s plan and Frazzled Friday

Sakura couldn’t believe the last two weeks she has had. Two weeks ago she was supposed to have dinner with Kakashi, but she kept having to put it off for work. She really needed to make a note to never cater ever again. She thought nothing could be worse than catering for that 16th birthday party, a shiver ran up her spine thinking of all the pink and sparkles. Hana, Sakura loved her to death, but between her changing her mind about the menu every other day and then Kiba constantly showing up in the coffee shop, Sakura was on her last shred of sanity. Kakashi still visited with Pakkun, but for not as long and his visits were what was getting her through this hell. She knew that Kakashi wasn’t fully comfortable talking with her when Kbia was present. 

Burning...something was burning! She looked around and realized it was her muffins that she put into the oven. Sakura made a mad dash to the kitchen, smoke was billowing out of her oven. The muffins were beyond saving. Throwing the tray into the sink she couldn’t help but let out a frustrated yell. The shop wasn’t open yet, not for another 30 minutes, so there were not any customers to scare away. 

And it was just at this moment her phone decided to ding. Not even two seconds later the phone was flying across the kitchen. Yep...here come the tears. She didn’t know anymore if they were out of frustration or actual sadness. Hana changed her mind again and wanted to go into a different direction. Sakura already decided that this day sucked. She just wanted to crawl back into bed and cuddle up with a good book. Silver flashed across her mind, cheeks flushed. She wouldn’t mind cuddling with him either. 

Sakura didn’t know what to make of their relationship. He was more than a customer, but she wasn’t sure what he wanted. She wanted to get to know him more, wanted to see him outside of these stupid walls. She wanted to shave her legs, do her hair and makeup, and wear a dress for him, well more for her, but she wanted him to be there to appreciate her. A small voice said she also wanted to appreciate him, take that scarf and more off of him. 

After her 10 minute freak out she got up from the floor, retrieved her phone and went to work. She was on the phone with Hana when he came in, he was earlier than usual (very odd). After talking Hana down from the edge, no she would not do German Russian fusion, what even the hell was that! She will handle the menu and told Hana to not worry about it. She couldn’t help the flutter in her chest when watching her favorite duo take a seat. She thanked whatever deity was looking out for her since Kiba was nowhere in sight. 

“I think someone played a prank on you and messed with your clocks. You do know that it is 9am?” Kakashi was yet again hard at work on his laptop, Pakkun at his feet. She sat across from him, well she more like flopped into the seat, but it was a long day and it was only 9am! 

“Hmm, maybe I just really wanted to see you.” Kakashi felt worn down, he didn’t want to beat around the bush. He was here finally when Sakura wasn’t busy with a certain customer. It was over a month since he had started to frequent Sakura’s coffee shop and he really wanted that dinner date. It didn’t help that Genma started talking about the pretty pink haired coffee shop owner when he was drunk the other night. Images flashing through his mind. He also wanted to take her up on her offer of helping him with his audiobook debacle. Kakashi decided that today would be the day, they would set the actual day for their date.

“I’m sure a busy editor like yourself has better things to do.” Sakura took a pause. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to get our dinner together. This catering event has been a huge headache. You and this little guy have been so helpful.” Why couldn’t they seem to get out of these four stupid walls. 

“I’m never too busy for coffee or your dessert of the day.” Sakura couldn’t help but smile, it was then she decided to throw her shoulders back and give herself a mental pep talk. “So my client changed the menu again, this is a short notice, but how would you feel about testing out the menu I came up with tonight?” It felt like an eternity as she waited for his answer. 

Kakashi wanted to jump up and cheer, but he was not Gai. “Tonight would work.” His palms were not sweaty, he was not a teenager anymore. However, he felt himself melt at that wide dazzling smile. “Perfect! I’ll send you my address. Does 8 work?” 

“8 sounds good.” He would have made sure that it worked. Kakashi watched her walk away and couldn’t help but chuckle at the flour she had on the back of her jeans, highlighting her amazing backside asset. Eight couldn’t come fast enough. 

Sakura couldn’t help the extra pep in her step throughout the rest of the day. Mei looked at her like she grew a second head when she was giving customers free upgrades on their coffee orders. Sakura even had time during her break to make a menu and grocery list. She would have plenty of time to get what she needed, exercise (cause of her sugar addiction), and start preparing the food. She felt good, she hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Sakura had decided on a simple green fit n flare dress that came to her mid thigh, hair was in a messy bun, and just a little bit of makeup. 

A knock on her door brought her back down to earth. She froze and was at a loss for words at the sight before her. Kakashi was wearing dark loose fitting jeans and a light grey henley shirt. She could see part of a tribal tattoo peeking out from under his right sleeve. Then there was his scarf, or more importantly the lack of a scarf. Internally she started to whimper, it wasn’t far for him to look like that. 

“Kakashi please come in. I’m not making everything that I was thinking of serving for the event, but wanted to do a variety. You wouldn’t mind giving me your opinion on the other foods too?” Sakura felt more comfortable talking about food or more work related topics. She didn’t trust herself with him. Previous boyfriends didn’t like it when she was more “aggressive.” 

“Sounds good.” Kakashi couldn’t help, but appreciate Sakura’s appearance. She always looked stunning, but now...  He could see her muscular thighs, small waist, toned arms, and her rear. He had admired one of her best assets earlier today and couldn’t help stare as she led him through her house.  

“Here is the menu I wrote up. Whatcha think?” Sakura was leaning over her kitchen island resting on her elbows. 

Kakashi looked at the menu in front of him: Short Rib Crostini with Cambozola Cheese and Cherry Jam. Kimchi deviled eggs. Apple stuffed pork tenderloin wrapped in bacon. Butternut squash soup, tomato soup with mini grilled cheese crouton. Caramelized onion, goat cheese, and mushroom flatbread. Teriyaki salmon mini burgers. Medley of roasted vegetables Desserts in a shot glass: Tarrimsu, white chocolate blueberry cheesecake, lemon meringue. Trio of hot chocolate and cookies 

“There will also be fruit and vegetables, fresh dip...Oh and some homemade crackers. I was thinking of baked brie with apricot jam. There were fresh apricots at the store and couldn’t help making some jam.” Before he could speak his stomach decided to join the conversation. 

“Hmm , maybe I should stop talking about food and we should go to the eating part. I made the deviled eggs, flatbread, vegetables, tomato soup and grilled cheese. Then the hot chocolate and either chocolate chip or snickerdoodle cookies.” All of the smells that hit him when he first walked in all made sense now. He could smell the cookies, but really caught his attention was the eggplant in the mix of roasted vegetables. 

“That sounds like a perfect plan. I forgot to ask if it would be alright to take you up on your offer from a couple of weeks ago, and have you listen to me read?” He had tried reading for Jiraya earlier, but all he got was a sour face from the man. 

“It's the least I can do. Let’s eat!”  Sakura found the conversation was easy. Kakashi gave some comments on the food, she noticed how he went back for more eggplant. She also had to pat herself on her back for not being too awkward. She found herself talking about Naruto and Jiraiya. Along with stories of Ino. Kakashi shared about his dogs, how he rescued them, he had more than just Pakkun. He had been in the army, but left after 5 years. He found himself settling into the publishing business with his passion for books. 

Kakashi had settled into her sofa, while she decided to clean the kitchen before dessert. Guilt overtook him while he watched her do the dishes and clean off the counters. He found himself making his way to help her, she seemed shocked when he pushed her over to dry while he washed. It seemed like her friends didn’t volunteer often to help her clean. 

The dish water had gotten his shirt slightly damp on the front, allowing for it to cling just enough to get an outline of his abs. It was getting hotter in her kitchen and the oven was off. She was taken out of her thoughts when she felt an arm grazing her back. “Sorry, I finished washing and decided to help with drying, the only other towel was to your right. You were lost in thought I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

“Sorry for zoning out. Let me get the hot chocolate ready. Do you want white, milk, or dark chocolate? Also cookie choice.” She had decided on white chocolate and snickerdoodle, hmm this sugar was going to go straight to her ass. 

“I’m starting to think you are made out of sugar. I will have dark chocolate. Hmm I think I’ll try both, I’ve been a good boy.” Sakura felt warm again, how was she going to get through him reading one of those stupid books. 

“The night is still young, hope you stay a good boy. Lets go to the living room for your contribution to the evening.” Kakashi was having second thoughts. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to practice?” He didn’t want her to run away or ruin what relationship they had.

“Kakashi it's the least I can do! You have been so much help with all of this, have a seat.” Kakashi went back to sitting on the sofa, placing his hot chocolate on the end table. The chocolate chip cookie was already gone. Sakura made herself comfortable on the other end of the sofa, she was sitting facing him, one of her legs under her, she was sipping on her drink and occasionally dunking her cookie into it. 

“Alright here goes nothing.” Kakahi cleared his throat as he started to read. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Maalik.” Elena looks forlorn. The wind blows her chestnut hair in front of her face obscuring her crystal clear blue eyes. They are meeting in their safe haven, far from the eyes of their families. A small stream flowed through the area, wildflowers surrounding. The trees provided shade from the gruling sun. A ray of light had cut through the trees and onto Elena, it was their oasis.. Maalik couldn’t help but give pause. She was beauty, nothing could compare. He could feel his palms become sweaty and his heart race as he looked at her. 

Kakashi noticed that Sakura was adjusting in her seat. She was cupping her mug with both hands staring at him intently. He continued on. 

“You say that everytime we meet, my love.” Maalik’s smoky voice penetrated through the air. He couldn’t help, but bring his hand to her face making her look him in the eyes. Elena’s heart was beating so fast it felt like it would come out of her chest. All thoughts vanished from her mind as she looked into his brown eyes. His arm went to wrap around her waist, pulling her to him. Elena’s hand was resting on his chest and she could feel his heart beating like a drum in his chest. 

Sakura could feel some discomfort between her legs grow. She wanted to rub them together. It should not be allowed to have his deep baritone voice so smooth, warming her all the way to her bones. 

“Every time I see you I can’t help but feel like your beauty grows, it puts the flowers to shame.” He couldn’t help but bring their lips together. It had been weeks since they last saw each other. Elena was hesitant at first, but wasted no time to deepen the kiss. They both were acting like people dying of thirst getting water for the first time. Before Elena knew it she was laying on the grass, Maalik hovering over her. Their kiss never broke. 

Kakashi’s heart was beating fast. He was sure he was blushing. Sakura’s eyes had started to glaze over. He wanted to reach out and move that strand of hair from her face. 

“Please...Please Maalik it's been too long. I need you.” Maalik didn’t have to be told twice as he ventured down Elena’s body leaving wet trails as he made it to his destination. 

“Sakura… are you alright?” She had been fidgeting in her seat. “I...” All self control had abandoned her and she lunged. She shoved the book out of his hands as she settled herself on his lap. Sakura cupped his face in her hands and went in for the kiss. She could taste the lingering chocolate and cinnamon from dessert. Part of her wondered if he would pull away, but once she felt him deepening the kiss with hands going to her hips she cheered internally. 

Kakashi was wondering if he was dreaming. The slight nip on his lip assured him this was reality. He couldn’t help, but to slide his hands up her thighs to her hips. He took note of the ripple of her muscles with his touch. Kakashi pulled her closer to him. A low moan escaped him as Sakura started to slowly circle her hips against him. The small whine she created when he had to pull away broke part of him. They both were panting heavy just from their kiss. 

“I have wanted to kiss you since the first time I met you. Do you know how much I desired to pull that stupid scarf off of you? “ Sakura’s voice had taken a husky quality to it, while they had stopped their current activity she continued to stay on his lap. 

“Sakura you are no better, with those tight jeans and aprons you wear. How a baker has this great of an ass I will never know.” To emphasize his point one of his hands went to squeeze her ass lovenly. This time it was Kakashi initiating their heated lip lock. His hair was so soft between her fingers. A pleasant sensation ran up her spine as he rubbed small circles on her hip. She wanted to explore more of him. 

Sakura found her right hand venturing downward, tracing the outlines of his pectorals, down his abdominal muscles, to rest just above his jeans. She slowly pulled away from him, resting her forehead on his, as she slowly unbuttoned his jeans to slide her hand to her goal. The moan and bucking of his hips was the only sign she needed to continue. She could feel Kakashi’s lips on her neck, him lightly biting at times. Sakura almost had to give pause once she had his sizable member in her hands. She licked her lips as she started to slowly work up and down his shaft. Her position was slightly awkward as her hand was between both their bodies. She wanted to move with him and found herself circing her hips with his rhythm. 

Kakashi felt like he was in overload at the moment. The taste of her neck and mouth still lingering, then the feel of Sakura’s hand as she worked him, and then her hips grinding against him it was almost too much. Before he could speak he found himself standing up with her in his arms. The small squeak she let out was adorable, but it was her wrapping her legs around him that he focused on. 

“Bedroom?” At his question Sakura pointed her head in the direction of her hallway. As he made his way to his destination he couldn’t help but kick off his jeans as they fell down. Once he found the right door on his own. Sakura had decided to start licking and biting at his neck, hands wondering. At least she had released her hold on little Kakashi because he didn’t think he would have the self control to not take her against the wall. 

He made quick work of his shirt after laying her down, while Sakura made quick work of her dress. 

Sakura started to feel self conscious as she looked at the greek god in front of her. The tattoo that she saw earlier extended up his shoulder and over his right pec. She was so wrapped up on her thoughts she didn’t notice Kakashi staring. 

While Sakura made some of the most delicious desserts they didn’t make his mouth water as much as the woman in front of him. Her breasts were covered by a white lace bra, but looked like they would fit perfectly in his hands. His eyes trailed down her flat stomach to her matching pair of white panties. It was time for his second dessert. 

Sakura felt her bed dip as Kakashi joined her. Her arms locking around his neck as he started to kiss her. She couldn’t help but to rub her legs together as one of his hands went to her breast, messaging it. He started to trail down her with kisses. Him making quick work of her bra as he latched onto one of her nipples, while he messaged the other. After a few minutes he switched. The pressure between her legs was building and she couldn’t help her whimpers and moans. She wanted more. 

As if hearing her thoughts he ventured down her stomach pausing where her underwear started, then it was gone. His thumb started to rub circles over her clit before he replaced it with his mouth. He started sucking gently at first then the pressure started to build, especially once he placed two finger into her pumping at a lazy rhythm at first. Her back arched and she was coming. 

Kakashi came back up to kiss her and she could taste herself. She wasted no time in wrapping her legs around him as he positioned himself. Finally he slid inside, stretching her deliciously. 

____________________________________________

They laid intertwined both exhausted from their multiple rounds. 

“You don’t like my scarf?” Sakura rolled her eyes as she nestled into him more. “Shut up and don’t make me regret spending my day off with you.” 

Extra- Pakkun's thoughts:

Pakkun thought all was well 2 weeks ago, yet his owner can't seal the deal with the pretty shop owner. Pakkun has his life set and Kakashi had to ruin it. Tonight just takes the cake! Kakashi left him! Kakashi had looked like a nervous teenager when he left, mumbling to himself as he walked out the door. It almost sounded like he was giving himself a pep talk. Pakkun looks to the sofa where the other human is sitting, sipping a beer, while having a toothpick in his mouth, why was this guy even here! Pakkun had become accustomed to tuning out this human. he vaguely hears a ding of the phone. "Well peanut looks like it will be just us. Kakashi wont be back tonight, lucky dog." Genma has a smirk on his face.

Pakkun doesn't want to be with Genma and he also sees his hopes of a belly full of dog biscuits crumble. Surely if Kakashi was visiting Sakura he would have taken Pakkun along.

#kakasaku #Sakura x Kakashi #Sakura Haruno #Kakashi Hatake #naruto #fanfic #drabble

[storybycorey]

The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet

(Full Version, A-Z)

author: @storybycorey

rating: R

word count: approx. 8000

summary: The ABC’s, as told by Fox Mulder.

For those of you looking only for part Z, just scroll a bit more than halfway down!  (or take a read back through the whole thing- there are references back to the first 25 letters in the final installment!)

A is for Apple

She brings her lunch from home most days.  Well-balanced, just as he’d expect— portions of protein, fruit, and grains—while he grazes a bit less elegantly on a plethora of offerings from the upstairs vending machine.

She packs an apple once, eats it right in front of him.  Red and juicy, but not nearly as red and juicy as her lips, or at least the way he’s imagined her lips to be after nearly seven years of imagining such things.  He wonders whether, if he ever works up the nerve to kiss her, he’ll taste her on his mouth afterwards, the way you taste an apple—tart and sweet and lingering there. 

He realizes he’s staring, goes quickly back to his bag of Funyuns (Onions, Scully! They’re vegetables!). Later, when she throws her apple core in the trash, he feels a sudden urge to retrieve it, as a reminder of things he wants but probably doesn’t deserve to have.

B is for Basketball

She beats him at basketball one day. Unbelievably.  Finds him in the gym one evening after an endless day of seminars. She knows how to find him the way a dog finds its bone—even when he’s buried, even when he’s mangled and chewed-upon and disgusting.  On this day though, he’s none of those things; instead he’s just plain bored.

In her black suit and heels, she stands out like a sharp smear of ink, poignantly distinct amidst the wooden floors and the bleachers. He doesn’t expect a response to his hey Scullz, wanna go one-on-one?, but she lifts her eyebrow in challenge and slips off her blazer.  The tank top hidden beneath is tight and it’s blue (and made of a soft, shiny material his fingers ache to touch). 

He could say he lets her win, but honestly, imagining that mystery material sandwiched between his palm and her skin leaves him much too distracted to pay attention to the game.

C is for Candles

He’ll forever associate candle-light with her pale and trembling back.  With a maroon satin robe and hair that curls up sweetly in the rain (she’d never allow that now). 

Before that night, the only candles he owned were a melted-down cluster from some birthday or another, remnants of a relationship he’d rather forget. He owns an assortment now though, scented and not, but all at the ready should the opportunity arise.  His greatest want is to see the rest of her body lit by that warm, amber glow, to trail his fingertips across more than just her back, to chase the soft shadows around her curves as her breath hitches with desire.

He and the candles are prepared; they’ve been prepared for seven years now. She and her curves and her shadows? He thinks they're getting there. He hopes anyway.

D is for Dana

Her first name is a secretive, foreign thing to him these days.  Scully is Scully—strong, competent, loyal.  But Dana is an enigma.  He catches glimpses of Dana sometimes—a woman, a girl—and he wonders whether she’s fighting to break free.  It saddens him to think he may have stolen that girlish part away from her, filed her inside a metal cabinet down in a basement office like everything else that crosses his path. 

Sometimes he whispers it and it gives him a small thrill, like there’s a hidden part of her he has yet to know.  He imagines saying it intimately, with his mouth pressed to her ear, but can’t decide whether it feels terribly wrong or perfectly, undeniably right. He only know that his lips are ready, should he ever earn the chance to try.

E is for Earrings

He almost buys her earrings once. Foolish, really.  But while waiting for a watch battery to be replaced, he can’t help but browse.  The sapphires would match her eyes so stunningly.  Has he ever seen her in anything but small diamond studs or pearls?  Anything but a business suit or hotel room pajamas?  He wonders whether she likes dressing up, whether she stands before her mirror and admires herself, deciding between this evening gown or that one, holding earrings up next to her cheek.  

He stands at the counter and looks at the earrings for ten minutes, picturing the delicate arc of her neck and the auburn of her hair and those earrings sparkling between.  He’d be lying if he doesn’t also admit to imagining his tongue tracing around them and his teeth scraping against them and the moan he’s sure would slip from her throat while he plays. 

A pushy saleswoman interrupts his thoughts, asks “For your wife?  Girlfriend?”  

He shakes his head, “Neither.”

He leaves with a hard-on and a working watch, but the earrings stay behind for someone with a little more courage.

F is for Friends

They use the term friends sometimes.  Usually it’s partners, occasionally colleagues, coworkers, but really, none of those words does their relationship the slightest bit of justice.  He couldn’t define it to a stranger (should one ask) if he tried.  Hell, he can’t even define it to himself.

How do you define someone so ingrained in your bones, you taste marrow at the back of your throat each time she walks away?  Webster would be hard-pressed to condense that into a single word, he’s sure. Even best friend feels trite and inadequate where Scully’s concerned. She’s not just a friend, not just a partner, not just a lover (even in his most daring of fantasies)—she’s not just anything. 

She’s Scully, and she’s everything.  

G is for Globe

He used to play a game with Samantha.  Spin the Globe it was called.  They played it when their parents were fighting, when they wanted nothing more than to be far, far away.  He tells Scully about it once, when he can tell she can’t get out of her head.  Luckily, amidst the files and slides and mess of the office, he happens to have a globe.

“Spin it, Scully.  Close your eyes and point, and I’ll take you on an adventure wherever your finger lands.”

She rolls her eyes, but plays along, extending her French-tipped fingernail to land upon the spinning globe.  Antarctica. 

“Spin again,” he murmurs quickly, “That one didn’t count,” but she stops him with a hand curled around his like a comma.

“You found me, Mulder.  That was more extraordinary than any adventure.”

H is for Hands

Once on a stakeout, he holds her hand. 

Hours in a darkened car breed strange and wonderful things sometimes—discussions and games that only boredom can inspire.  He tells her he can read palms (he’s lying, of course, but at least it’s something to do), and she scoffs, but then surprisingly offers her hand.  It’s really too dark to see, but he tickles her palm and bullshits his way through, blathering about wealth and fate until her giggle makes his heart stand still.

“According to your palm…,” he says softly, “…true love awaits…as soon as you’re ready.”

She’s silent at first, and he worries he’s ruined things— ruined seven years’ worth of things in the span of a minute. 

But then, in a quiet voice he’s never heard before, she responds, “I’ll be ready… soon.” 

He holds her hand until their shift is over.

I is for Ice Cream

Her favorite ice cream flavor is Mint Chocolate Chip.  He knows this (even though she doesn’t know he knows this), and once, during a rough case, he brings her some. He sneaks from his room after dinner, stops at three different gas stations before finding his prize. Sylvia’s Sundries and Smokes perhaps wouldn’t have been his first choice of establishments, but beggars can’t be choosers where ice cream’s concerned.

Surprise in hand, he knocks on Scully’s door and, with flourish, whips two plastic spoons from his pocket.  The nice thing about it?  She doesn’t even pretend not to want it.  She smiles a shy little smile and invites him in.  They climb up onto her bed where they scoop big whopping spoonfuls right out of the tub.  She’s full after only a few bites but sits with him while he finishes, lays her head on his shoulder. They watch the Late Late Show until it’s late late late, until it isn’t even the same day anymore.

J is for Jacket

Her suit jackets (he supposes they’re probably technically called blazers) have shrunk over the years.  Dana Scully of the plaid and boxy, of the oversized shoulder-pads, is now Dana Scully of the sleek and fitted, of the black and stylish and sexy.   He finds himself tugging his collar from his overheated neck sometimes. More than sometimes.

He wonders when things changed, because he can’t quite place a pin on it, when she went from a woman he loves to a woman he lusts after as well. Or maybe it’s unclear because he’s always done a little of both where Scully’s concerned. 

She left a jacket (blazer, whatever) at his apartment last year and he keeps forgetting to tell her he found it.  It hangs now in his closet next to pairs of pressed dress slacks.  He catches a glimpse of it sometimes, stands there wondering how soon ‘soon’ will come.

K is for Kiss

Back in the 60s, the 70s, when the turn of the millennium seemed ridiculously far away, Fox Mulder fantasized about the future. His comic books predicted: In the year 2000, there will be flying cars, teleportation devices, vacations on the moon and Mars... 

He imagined the party awaiting him on New Year’s Eve, complete with robot wait staff and space-age hors d’oeuvres.  Never would he have guessed he’d actually spend the evening in a hospital corridor, arm in a sling, nary a party nor robot in sight.

They were wrong about more than just the robots though, dead wrong, because not a single one of those comic books predicted this:  In the year 2000, there will be Dana Scully and her flame-red hair, Dana Scully and her skeptical sighs, Dana Scully and the world not ending while she presses her lips to his for the very first time. 

To think that at one time he wanted robots and jetpacks.  It’s laughable really, to have ever wanted anything on this earth (or on the moon, or on Mars) but Dana Katherine Scully.

L is for Lists

He arrives earlier than usual one morning, finds Scully’s open notebook lying flat on the desk. The beginnings of a list, he’s sure.  Scully loves lists. Books to Read, Articles to Write, Times Mulder Has Driven Me Crazy… He hasn’t physically seen that last one, but he’s sure it exists, somewhere in her purse or briefcase, or maybe just hidden away in her head.  

A quick glance confirms his suspicions. Personal Goals.  

He’s taken aback; he’d expected something trivial. Pros and Cons of Sunflower Seeds perhaps, but this…

He stalls, waits a minute, maybe two, but in the end is much too intrigued not to peek.  

1. Call Mom more often

2. Reach out to Bill

3. Volunteer at the church

They’re all so wonderfully Scully.  He’s not sure what else he expected.  Curiosity satisfied, he’s about to turn away when:

15. Stop being afraid of my feelings

and below that:

16. Mulder

He stands stunned. He’s joked about appearing on Scully’s lists, but never like this, never as #16, never as a personal goal.  

He makes a list himself that night, condenses every one of his own goals down into just six letters.

1. Scully

2. Scully

3. Scully…

372. Scully…

1049. Scully…

He types her name until dawn has broken, until the printed ‘S’ has all but disappeared off his keyboard.

M is for Maybe

Maybe tomorrow’s the day.  He’ll toss her an innuendo, and instead of just catching it, she’ll throw one back herself.

The sun’ll come out tomorrow, isn’t that how the song goes?  Good things happen in the darkness, too, though—cemetery downpours, X-marked stretches of highway where her hair grows wavy from the rain. He and Scully manage just fine with no sun at all; they thrive in the darkness, no matter what the song says.

He packs up his things on a Friday afternoon, grabs his coat and offers his usual weekend farewell. But instead of Have a nice weekend, Mulder, she stops him, hand to his forearm, “It’s supposed to be beautiful tomorrow… Do you wanna… Maybe...”

Her cheeks are pink as she ducks her chin to her chest, and it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah,” he interrupts quickly, “Yeah, I do.”   He’s a bit too enthusiastic probably, but maybe tomorrows don’t actually happen that often for him on Friday afternoons.  

She smiles, cheeks still flushed, “Okay, then.  Tomorrow...”

On his way out the door he finds himself humming. Maybe the forecast for tomorrow is sunny after all, and not just because a little orphan girl told him so.

N is for No

He's scared of the word no, its finality. No, Mulder, it would never work. No, Mulder, we’re better as friends. No, Mulder, I don’t love… The word no could mean the end of everything. Of all he's seen, how absurd that two small letters could paralyze him like that. 

He walks through Violent Crimes once, overhears Scully talking to another agent from across the room. Rick Channing could be a television news anchor—hair coiffed and teeth so white they sparkle.

Mulder rolls his eyes. Scully doesn’t roll her eyes though; instead, she smiles as they talk.  She giggles.  Bile rises in his throat.

No, Mulder, I’ve fallen for someone else…

He should leave, but Channing’s next words stop him cold. “How about drinks, Dana? Maybe dinner?”  

She blushes, flustered, before scanning the room, eyes finding Mulder’s despite the way he hides halfway behind a partition.  

“Thank you, Rick, but no. I’m already…”  She smiles gently at him—him Mulder, not him Rick— “No,” she says again, then excuses herself down the hall.  

He stands there, rooted in place, decides no is the most beautiful word he’s ever heard.

O is for Opal

His birthstone is opal.  Not that he’d ever have cared, but one Christmas, he and Samantha received birthstone gifts—a topaz necklace for Sam and an opal-inlaid pocketknife for him. He still has that pocketknife, has rubbed his thumb across the smooth, cool handle countless times over the years.

Scully’s skin reminds him of that handle—the soft blue of her veins beneath translucent pink skin. She glows. He knows she’d scoff if he told her that, tell him human beings can’t glow, don’t be ridiculous. But she does—she glows just like an opal.

The pearly finish of his pocketknife is worn-down and soft by now, but her skin, he knows, is infinitely softer.  Her hand, her cheek—the safe parts of her body he’s been allowed to touch—they don’t even compare to the decades-old trinket.  He can’t imagine how much softer the more dangerous parts of her body must be.  The thought keeps him up at night, much more consistently than his nightmares do.

P is for Plum

Scully goes on kicks sometimes—bee pollen, yogurt, one month she sprinkled wheat germ into everything she got her hands on, his coffee included.

Fresh fruit is her latest. Oranges, nectarines, plums, oh, plums. There’s no neat way to eat a plum, though she tries, napkin laid out beneath her at the desk. The juice though. Drippy and sticky on her chin—his eyes try their best not to ogle, but usually fail.  

She walks around sometimes, cupping a hand to catch the drips, and once, as she reaches across his body for a book, a drop splashes directly onto his forearm.

“Sorry!” she exclaims, quickly swiping at his skin with her thumb.  How that same thumb winds up being sucked between his lips is a mystery, though probably has something to do with the way he acts sometimes before thinking. His tongue traces the sweetened ridges of her thumbprint as she chokes out a gasp, half-eaten plum forgotten.  

“No takebacks, Scully,” he mumbles as a joke, trying to laugh it off as he comes to his senses and releases her. Her cheeks stay pink for a good twenty minutes after that, and parts of him stay hard for an even better twenty beyond that.

Q is for Quest

This job of theirs, it’s more than a job.  More than a career path.  It’s a downright quest.  

He feels a bit like Don Quixote at times, Scully his faithful Sancho Panza, the two of them out there dreaming the impossible dream, fighting the unbeatable foe. There’s a sort of nobility to what they do, and he likes that.  

Sometimes though, he wonders whether the aliens are really windmills, whether the consortium is nothing but a barber’s basin balanced on his much too gullible head. Whether Scully is not Sancho, but Dulcinea— out-of-reach and much too beautiful for his files and his basement, his second-hand coffee table and his worn leather couch.  

He sometimes can’t believe she’s still here, chasing windmills, slaying bad guys, at times even taking the time to clean out his fridge. She deserves the most elegant of thrones, yet sits happily beside him on that old leather couch, Monday nights, Tuesday nights, sometimes even weekends.  It astounds him really.  

And when she nudges his knee with her own, smiles at him with that smile that makes him think soon isn’t so far away, that’s when he really believes—that being with her is not such an impossible dream after all.

R is for Rebel

Dana Scully is a rebel.  She tries to hide it, acts all prim and proper, but beneath her stern, pursed lips and buttoned-up suits, there’s a troublemaker lurking.  It’s what endeared him to her on their very first case, the way she laughed with him in the rain, the way, regardless of her orders, she listened to him and formed her own opinion.

He sees glimpses of that rebel from time to time, when she scarfs down pizza in a Motel 6 despite her no-carb diet, when she gets that gleam in her eye as they sneak onto restricted government property.

His favorite bit of rebelliousness though is her new stance on hotel-room consorting. They’ve fallen into a routine lately, of watching movies together on polyester bedspreads, of dropping off before the credits roll, of pretending I’m too tired to go back to my room is a perfectly reasonable and acceptable excuse to stay.  

Each time it happens, the morning sun finds them a bit closer together than the last— hands touching, next toes and shins, most recently her hair brushed his cheek as she snuggled against the pillow.

His rumpled, sleepy little rebel.  She’s a rebel on her own terms though, he knows this. And he’s being as patient as he can be.

S is for Sexy

She’s sexy, unbelievably so. It took him a while to admit that to himself.  For the longest time, he blamed his body’s reaction to her on their constant proximity, her perfume, the fact that he was suffering a longer-than-usual dry spell… But no, what it really comes down to is that Dana Katherine Scully is sexy as hell.

Even back in the beginning, when her suits hid her body and her hair did that swoop-y sort of thing up near the front.  Even in the middle, when she was thinner than she should’ve been, when cancer stole her color but didn’t steal her soul. And then there’s today. Today when there’s no mistaking the black lace of her lingerie each time she leans across the desk, not two but three buttons undone at her clavicle. Today when she murmurs thoughtfully, “I think you may be right, Mulder,” tongue wetting her lips as she reads aloud from his book on mystical apparitions.

What really gets him though, is that despite her hair or her lips or even her lingerie, the sexiest part of her isn’t on the outside at all; it’s what lies beneath—that intangible something that makes her Scully. That’s the part he fell in love with, shoulder pads and all.

T is for Toes

She’s got cute little toes.  She’s got cute little everything really, but her toes are especially cute, pale pink polish adorning each one.  She sits one night, curled on his couch, those cute little toes just inches from his leg.

“Wanna stretch out?” he asks, patting his thighs, and amazingly, within seconds, there are two small feet lying warm in his lap.

He gives them a tickle, but she kicks at his hand. He tries again, this time pressing a thumb to her arch. No kick, only an appreciative hum.  It’s all the encouragement he needs. He begins massaging in earnest.  

Her eyes slip shut, her head tilts back, a low groan rumbles from her throat. He massages her cute little toes for an hour, counts each contented sigh that slips from her lips (thirty-four to be exact). The movie they’d been watching fades slowly to black, and she ends things finally, with a shy, quiet chuckle and an I should probably get going.  

As she heads down the hall, he jokes from his doorway, “The masseuse is available every night, double sessions on weekends…”

She rewards him with an arched brow, murmuring, “Careful, I may just take you up on that…” before stepping onto the elevator.

U is for Umpteen

“Umpteen’s not a word, Mulder,” she tells him, eyes rolling, “It has no specified value.”  

She’s got a point of course.  They don’t have umpteen case summaries to submit; they have twelve.  But umpteen is most definitely a word.  

Umpteen’s how many times he’s forgotten his point because her lips are too distracting.  Umpteen’s how many fantasies he’s had about sliding his hands through her hair.  Umpteen’s how many times she’s walked out the door, how many times he’s kept from going after her, how many times he’s sat in his car beneath her window and longed for her with a ferocity that scares him shitless. Umpteen’s how many times he’s wanted to kiss her.  It’s also how many times he hasn’t…

He chuckles, dipping his chin, “You’re right, Scully. We’ve got twelve summaries to do, not umpteen...”

Umpteen is how many times he’s said her name, it’s how many times what he’s really wanted to say was I love you.

V is for Volume

They fight over the volume control in cars. He likes louder, she likes softer (I can’t think over the noise she says).  He usually lets her win. 

Their relationship has its own volume control, he’s realized.  There are times when it’s loud, blaring even, arguments at every turn.  Other times it’s low—murmurs in a conference room, end of the day farewells in a darkened parking garage. Mostly it’s somewhere between.  They talk and they banter and they discuss, in basements, in rental cars, in random police stations across America. 

Sometimes though, lately especially, she lowers the dial even further, turns it all the way over to the left.  Soft.  The very softest. His name on her lips those rare times he holds her. Her blush and shy murmured stop when he pays her a compliment. The slight gasp he feels more than hears when his fingertips brush over her arm, her cheek, the curve of her hip.

It makes him want to do away with loud altogether, to turn off the music and the voices and the noise and listen only to the sound of her breathing, to tell her "It's quiet now, Scully. I’m ready when you are."

W is for Wristwatch

This job has done a number on his wardrobe.  Jackets, slacks, shoes—all gone the way of the incinerator—either damaged beyond acceptable FBI standards or outright destroyed.  Scully’s hasn’t fared much better (she still pouts over a favorite pair of heels ruined two years ago). All part of the territory, he reasons.

His shattered wristwatch on a recent case was a blow though; he loved that watch.  

There’s a package on his desk the day after, wrapped so precisely, he needn’t even guess whom it’s from.  

“Scully,” he protests, but she stops him.

“Just open it, Mulder.”

It’s a watch—of course it’s a watch—a beautiful one, silver links and a detailed, intricate face. “You didn’t need—” he begins, but she interrupts him again.  

“It was my father’s,” she states matter-of-factly, but then her voice softens, “I’ve held onto it since… Here, let me.” She takes the watch, fastens it around his wrist. There are tears in her eyes.

“It looks good,” she whispers, “It brings out your… It looks nice—you’ve got nice forearms, Mulder, and this accentuates—”

He takes hold of her hand, gives it a squeeze until she meets his eyes.  “Thank you,” he tells her, “I love it.”  

There’s no way this watch lands in the incinerator. He’ll protect it with his life if he has to.

X is for XFiles

The basement office often feels more like home to him than home does.  It’s his secret hideaway, and despite the odds, he thinks it’s become hers, too.  They’ve created their own little world down here—a cozy, paranormal universe—and Scully’s as much a part of that universe as he is.

She shines like the sun, trails glittery stardust behind her like a comet. His beautiful, perplexing riddle of a partner.  It’s funny really, but despite the hundreds of files that surround them, Scully remains his biggest mystery.  She’s the very definition of an X-File.  It floors him that she chooses this life, that she’s willing to be his sun, his moon, his whole damn galaxy, day after day after day.

There was a time he couldn’t have imagined not seeking the truth.  These days though? These days he’s beginning to believe he’s been searching in all the wrong places.  

The truth can’t be found in Bellefleur, Oregon or in Kroner, Kansas, in forests or in sewers or in fields.  The truth—the real truth— exists in ink-blue eyes and rosebud lips, in the skeptical arch of an eyebrow and the soft, shy murmur of his name.

It exists right down here in the basement office, sitting not two feet across the desk from him.

Y is for Yawn

She yawns as he speaks, but it doesn’t bother him. Things feel sleepy—dreamy— tonight.

It’s been an odd few days apart from one another, he across the pond and she…He’s not even sure what she’s been doing, doesn’t know that he wants to.  All he knows is that she’s here, now, pressed to his side and yawning, proving to him once again how fate works.

It’s hard not to babble when he feels this good; he’s drunk on the smell of her, on the heaviness of her thigh pressed to his.

“And that says a lot… a lot, a lot, a lot…” Babbling, more babbling, until he feels the smallest, sweetest weight at his shoulder, sees lashes splayed softly against warm, flushed cheeks. The perfection of the moment strikes him, of her here on his couch instead of in a hospital room, instead of in a temple, instead of anywhere else she could be at this point in her life.  

He touches her hair—he can’t bear not to—covers her with a blanket to keep away the chill.  Allowing himself one last glance, he counts slowly to ten (slowly, so slowly), before making his own sleepy way to the bedroom.

Z is for Zipper

He’s awoken by the sound of her skirt zipper, the dip of the mattress as she sits on the bed.

“Scully?” He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but the stillness in the air and a new moon slanting through the blinds suggest hours.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, “I tried not to wake you...” He’s never heard her voice in his bedroom this late at night. It’s softer than he’d imagined. Younger. “It’s late.  I’m not sure I should drive.  Do you mind if I—” 

“Sure, yeah.” He props up on an elbow. “Do you want me to…” He motions toward the living room, still half-asleep but awake enough not to assume anything he shouldn’t. Hotel room sleepovers (which they’ve partaken in) are in a different category than apartment room sleepovers (which they haven’t), and he knows this.

“I don’t mind,” she answers in silhouette, slipping off her skirt, “…not if you don’t.”  She’s stolen her way beneath the sheets before he has the presence of mind to offer her something to wear. 

“Of course not.”  He can’t think of anything he’d mind less than Scully lying beside him in his bed, near enough he can smell this morning’s perfume still on her skin.

She settles, and is so close, her breaths tickle his bare shoulder. Once, twice, three times.  He shudders. 

They’re quiet.  He listens to her nighttime sounds—the swish of her hair against the pillow, the cadence of her breaths, the occasional wet slide of her tongue across her lips. He wishes he had his little recorder on the nightstand. He’d make a mixtape, label it Sounds of Scully and play it every night for the rest of his life.  

He longs to touch her.  A hand, a foot, even just the tip of a finger. 

They lie there long enough and silently enough he thinks she may have fallen asleep, but then she shifts. Or he shifts. Or maybe they both shift, but out of nowhere her still sweater-clad back spoons perfectly against his chest.

A quiet gasp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t readjust. Neither of them breathes.

“Is this… okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah, it’s…” The heel of her foot brushes his shin. “It’s nice.” 

Quiet again. His arm finds a place to rest wrapped around her waist.  His thighs nudge her bottom.  Her skirt is off, and possibly her nylons, too, but he thinks instead about her hair tickling his nose, her sweater against his belly.  He doesn’t think of other things—won’t let himself.

It’s nice was an understatement though. It’s so much more than nice.  He’s needed this, wanted this, for such a long time.  Even if this is all it is—the two of them spooned together in his bed until morning.

She snuggles a bit closer, slips a small, cold foot between his legs. He thinks about her pale pink toenails, he thinks about Dulcinea, he thinks about being number sixteen on a list he’s sure he was never meant to read.  He adds to his mixtape the sound of her hum when his thumb brushes the rose-petal skin of her arm.

“Foxtrot,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Hmmm?” He nudges the back of her head with his nose.

“Nothing,” she chuckles, “Just a passing thought...”

“Can’t have passing thoughts without sharing.  Bedroom rules.”  It’s strange how natural this feels, bantering with her in his bedroom, pretending this sort of thing happens often enough that rules have been made.

“Oh, in that case, maybe I’ll…” She makes to leave, pushing away covers and beginning to pull from his arms.

“Don’t you dare,” he threatens, tugging her back, wasting no time in snuggling her in even closer, wrapping himself around her like a question mark, which seems almost comically apropos on a night like this. She giggles, just barely, but it’s perfection, the sound of Scully giggling in his bed late at night.

“No, it was just…,” she continues, turned serious again.  “My father was obsessed with the military phonetic alphabet—Alpha, Bravo, etcetera...  He named my brother Charlie.  It just occurred to me that if your father had been the same, maybe you’d be Foxtrot instead of Fox.”

He chuckles. “Guess I should count myself lucky then.  Would’ve been a lot to live up to in the ballroom classes my mother made me take…”  She hums in amusement, and the vibration travels all the way through to his chest.  “Sounds like you’re a bit lucky, too.  Unless I’m mistaken, it was Dana, not Delta, who snuck into my bed tonight...”

“Hmm,” she ponders, “Maybe Delta's not as brave as Dana is....” He sometimes thinks nobody’s as brave as Dana Scully is, least of all himself. “Frankly,” she adds, “I always fancied Juliet anyway.”

“Juliet—I like it.”  He pictures her out on a balcony, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing, lover’s name tumbling from her lips.  “You’d need a Romeo…”  He doubts Wherefore art thou, Mulder is quite what Shakespeare had in mind.  

“Who says I haven’t got one?” she flirts.  Her hand rests just inches from his own, and he twines their fingers together, curls them against her abdomen. He sometimes wonders how his heart can possibly contain the amount of love he feels for her. People die of broken hearts; do they ever die of ones so full, they’re overflowing?  

“Hey,” he murmurs into her hair, “What’s got you thinking about all this at…,” he tilts back his head to squint at the clock, “…one o’clock AM?” Her body is warm and impossibly perfect against him.

“I guess…,” she says, a contemplative tone to her voice, “I don’t know. These last few days have been a lot.  I’ve been forced to consider things I haven’t thought about in years. My past, the way things used to be... What I used to assume my future looked like.”

“How’d it look?” They’re both nearing that point these days, where their paths can’t just keep continuing in the same straight line. They’re nearing a fork, he can feel it.  Question is, will they both continue in the same direction?

“When I was a little girl,” she begins, “I was surrounded by Navy men, Navy wives, Navy families.  We were taught call letters before learning our ABC’s.  I always felt that sort of life was expected of me, too.” His air conditioner kicks on, fills the room with a gentle whirr.  She burrows even closer. “It’s just funny how far we stray from what’s expected…”

“No more call letters, huh?” His lips catch on her hair as he talks.  It’s wonderful.

“No, I guess not…To be honest, I sort of miss them.  Things were simpler then.  There were right choices and wrong choices, or at least it seemed that way.”

He realizes as they lie there that this moment is the fork in his path.  That though the line between right and wrong choices may be blurred these days, there’s one choice he’s never once questioned.  Dana Scully is the rightest choice he’s ever made.  With her mouth full of questions and her head full of answers, her ever-arched eyebrow and her ever-open heart—she’s been his choice, his only choice, from the very beginning.  

Scully is the Juliet to his Romeo—hell, she’s the Delta to his Foxtrot.    

“Scully,” he murmurs, heart beating bravely in his chest, “Have I ever told you about the Fox Mulder alphabet?”

“Hmm, let me guess...” There’s humor in her voice, that wry Scully humor he adores. “A is for Alien, B is for Bounty Hunter, C is for….  Am I close?” Christ, but he loves this woman.

He pokes her gently in admonishment, answers, “Good try, smartypants, but no… No, you’re actually not close at all.”

“Tell me then, Mulder.” She pulls their hands up to rest beneath her cheek. “Tell me about your alphabet.”  

And so he does. He takes a deep breath and he does.

He begins at the beginning. A is for Apple.

He tells her how watching her eat an apple once made him ache for her, how he can’t bite into a Red Delicious, or a Fuji, or even a Grannysmith anymore without thinking about her lips.

It scares him, being this honest, but there’s something in the air tonight, something in her mood, in the way she slipped off her skirt and climbed into his bed after falling asleep on his couch.

She’s quiet while he speaks, still—eerily so. Her breaths fall quickly against his hand. He’s sure he can feel her heart beating, or maybe that’s just his own, pounding much too dramatically within his chest. There’s a lump in his throat as he finishes, the No that’s terrified him for close to seven years dangling above like an anvil from some misguided Loony Tunes short.  

He waits.  And he waits.  And is about to apologize for assumptions he shouldn’t have made when—

“More,” she breathes.

Not no.  More.

He burrows his nose in her hair, presses a kiss of relief to her ear.

He gives her more, he gives her everything—he pours his entire heart out into silly little stories about a basketball game, about candlelight illuminating the skin of her back. The words spill out more quickly than he intends them to, but the dam has been breached; he cannot stop it.

She’s quiet through the basketball game, quiet again through the candles. Her little body doesn’t move. He understands. He knows it’s a lot to take in—the flood-like musings of Fox Mulder’s mind.  Her ears are all he asks of her tonight.

By the time he’s reached D though, she gives him more than her ears. “D is for Dana,” he begins softly. And instead of more silence, she whispers his name.  

By E, there are tears at her cheek. He wonders for an instant whether that long-ago jewelry store could possibly still be open, whether she’d wait for him here while he makes a quick trip.  

By F, she’s pressing barely-there kisses to his knuckles. Friends don’t do that, he’s sure.  Their relationship may be uncertain, but friends don’t press kisses to knuckles, they don’t lie in beds at one in the morning, tell stories in hushed whispers with backs pressed to chests.

By G, she’s murmuring my God against his palm, Mulder against each of his fingertips. His basement globe spins and it spins. Never could it have predicted an adventure like this.

H… I… J... Her toes slide along his shins, they follow the curves of his arches. Her long-lost jacket hangs nestled in his closet not ten feet away.

K... “New Year’s Eve, Scully… That kiss…”  He tells her she’s all he could want from this millennium, or the next, or even the next (that’s illogical, Mulder, he expects her to say).  She doesn’t though. She doesn’t say that.  Instead, she turns in his arms, raises big, wet eyes up to his.

“Keep going…,” she urges him on when he pauses, “Please, Mulder, keep going.” Her fingers tremble as they move across his chest.

And so he keeps going. L... (“Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully, Scully,” he breathes)… M… N… With each new letter, her touches grow surer—small, gentle hands find his ribs, his shoulders, the wildly-beating pulse at his neck.  By O, those same hands are in his hair, they’re cradling his cheekbones, they’re fingering the soft, curved shells of his ears.

P... “That plum,” he whispers, “…the juice…your thumb...” Her thumb (the same one he sucked into his mouth so many months ago) skims over his stubbled chin, makes its tentative way to his lips. His tongue steals out for a taste, and she sucks in a breath, her eyes fluttering shut. She drags her hand away before he can swallow her whole.

Q... (“Dulcinayyy-uhhh,” he sings quietly)… R… The heat of her breath hits his neck, hovers beneath his jawline until he can barely speak. “Don’t stop,” she whispers when he falters.  Her mouth slides against his throat and he groans.

S… T...  By U, he can’t keep from touching her.  A hand tangles finally in her hair, the other slips beneath her sweater and molds to the warmth of her back. She whimpers, her body arching sharply against him.  Umpteen is the number of times this very scenario has played itself out in his dreams.

By V, his lips are at her temple, “V is for Volume” spoken directly against her skin. She turns the dial all the way to the left, sighs so softly he almost misses it.

W and X fall between kisses, his lips on her eyelids, at her jaw, wrapped around the lobes of her ears. Barely-there whimpers slip from the back of her throat, and he reaches for that imaginary recorder, adds them to his mixtape as well.  Her legs tangle with his and he pulls her even closer.

“Y is for Yawn,” he murmurs against her hairline, “Tonight, out there, while we sat on the couch…”

“I’m not…,” her voice is low and husky, so close to his ear that he shivers, “…m’not yawning now, Mulder…”

He shifts, rests his forehead against her own.  Hot, ragged breaths collect on the pillow between them.  He can hardly believe a few hours ago, they were out on his couch drinking tea, a few years ago, they were meeting in the basement for the very first time.

“What about…,” she breathes, the tip of her nose nudging his, “What about Z?”  Their hands roam freely now, sensuous and slow.  She angles her pelvis against his, presses softly.

“Z…,” he barely gets out, “…is for Zipper.” She’s trembling against him, and it’s the sexiest thing in the world.  “The zipper from your skirt that woke me half an hour ago, the zipper that—”

She swallows the rest of his words with a kiss, open-mouthed and desperate, body melting against his.

Her lips, her tongue, the flutter of her fingers at his cheek… He forgets about candles, about earrings, about Rick Channing and Don Quixote and even about the wristwatch lying just across the room on the dresser.  He forgets about everything in the world except Scully and her mouth, about the way she kisses him with her whole damn body, with hands in his hair and toes flexed at his shins and hips arched so divinely against his, he worries he’ll faint.

As her sweater slides over her head, he marvels at the way everything has fallen into place, how a crisp, juicy apple led to a basketball game, how sleepy, sexy yawns led to the undoing of zippers, how all of it combined led to them being here, now, discovering each other for the very first time.

Their lovemaking is slow, achingly so.  It’s the Standard English Alphabet, the Military Phonetic Alphabet, and the Fox Mulder Alphabet combined—whimpers and sighs and Romeo and Juliet and ice cream and globes and… Amazingly, in the end, it all makes perfect, wonderful sense.

As they move together, the beginnings of a new alphabet emerge in his head—A for the arc of her hips as they rise; B for her short, quickened breaths; C for her cries, for her moans, for her whines; D for the softest derriere he’s ever held in his palms; E for her elbows, laid either side of his ears; F for fuck, for oh holy fuck, Scully, sweetheart, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…

“It’s crazy really, isn’t it?” he murmurs afterwards, Scully tucked beneath his arm, her leg slung sweetly over his sweat-damp thigh.

“Hmm?”  Her fingers play at his lips, trace over and around and between.  

“That it took us seven years…,” he mumbles around a pinky, “…when in the end, it really was as easy as learning our ABC’s.”

She hums, presses a kiss to his chest right above a nipple. “You could have had me all the way back at C if you’d wanted to, Mulder...”

He smiles, pulling her impossibly closer.  Her breasts are soft against his chest and her chin rests at his shoulder, and for a moment, all is right in their windmill-riddled, impossible dream of a world.  

“I think Z was perfect,” he says, kissing the disheveled part of her hair, “Absolutely perfect.”

#I hate it I love it I don't even know anymore #but it's here #I hope it was worth the wait guys! #The Fox Mulder Phonetic Alphabet #my fic

[niall-is-my-dream]

Something Beautiful - Part Two

2035 words

Monty was driving you crazy. He would not leave those stupid fucking ducks alone. You were sure if anyone from the council saw you near them you'd be banned for life for harassment.

You called Monty away from the lake and crossed over the bridge towards a more open space. Throwing the ball you watched Monty race across the Common, he was a lively young pup who needed his daily exercise even if it did look like rain was due any minute.

Watching him chase the ball across the Common you had an overwhelming sense that someone was watching you. 

And you were right.

Niall came walking over the bridge you had just come over, a baseball camp covering his thick wavy hair. The weather had been warming up as it neared the end of March but with rain imminent you were confused to see Niall wearing navy shorts. However, he still teamed it with a grey hoodie that looked incredibly cosy.

He smiled and waved when he saw you looking his way. How long had you been staring at him?

Who knows, but you needed to close your mouth which was surely wide open in shock at how gorgeous he could look while dressed so casual.

 "Hey." He said as he approached you.

 "Hey stalker." You joked.

 "Hardly stalking when you told me where you were going to be!" He smiled.

 "You asked me what I was up to today, I thought you were just making conversation." You smiled back.

Things were awkward between you.

Since you'd sprained your ankle five weeks ago, you had been texting back and forth, but he had ignored your last message that you sent nearly two weeks ago. He had been joking about something and you had replied with 'you're so cute." A completely innocent message, but it has obviously scared him off.

Niall had been all over the place attending some meetings for work, so you hadn't actually seen him in person since he left your flat the day you sprained your ankle. You had been annoyed, upset and embarrassed that he hadn't replied to your text. However, you were a big girl and had been ghosted before, you'd even done the ghosting. So you'd brushed it off and tried to forget about him. But earlier on this morning he had randomly messaged and asked what you were up to today and you had replied politely that you were off to the Common to walk Monty. You hadn't the heart to just ignore his message. You suppose you were clinging onto the hope that he might start messaging you again, as pathetic as that sounds.

It was a busy Saturday morning, lots of people were out walking their dogs or riding their bikes despite the imminent rain. So it surprised you to see Niall so casually seeking you out while you were walking Monty.

"I fancied getting out for a bit. Tried your flat but when there was no answer I assumed you were already here."

"So you are stalking me?!" You smiled politely but inside you were still confused by his appearance.

"Maybe...." He smiled back.

The text messages you had been sharing over the last few weeks were light hearted and full of banter and general conversation. He had messaged you initially a few hours after he left yours, checking to make sure you were ok. You had squealed so loud that you had scared Monty who had been asleep on the arm chair. Since that day you had got over the shock of speaking with him, he was a really humble and down to earth guy. But his radio silence had bugged you, he'd clearly had someone else's attention the last few weeks and you had been tossed aside. As positive as you had tried to be about the ghosting, it had hurt you. Your heart had ached a little at the thought of not speaking to him again.

"So, what are you up to today then?" You asked trying to make polite conversation.

"Well that depends." He replied not reaching your eyes.

Was he blushing?

Now he was making you nervous.

He had ignored you for two weeks and was now acting all coy?

"On?" You nervously asked him.

"If you're free? I have the weekend off and I wondered if you wanted to hang out?" He asked before leaning down and picking up the ball that Monty had dropped at his feet. Niall threw it across the Common and Monty ran off to retrieve it, both of you watching him and not saying anything.

"So do you wanna maybe hang out, if you're free obviously?"

Inside you were screaming yes, but you didn't want him to think you'd drop everything to spend time with him considering that he had been ignoring you. As attracted to Niall as you were, you weren't up for being someone he could pick and choose to converse with whenever he fancied or when he was bored. If he wanted to be your friend he could at least answer your message rather than leaving you on read.

"I have a few things to catch up on today at home, kind of neglected the house stuff while I was recovering from my ankle sprain."

This wasn't actually a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth.

"Oh ok, yeah sure." He replied looking disappointed.

You nervously gave him a half smile before turning to look across the Common to spot Monty. He came bounding over to you and you reached down and attached his lead.

"I should probably get going before the rain comes." You said to Niall as you looked up in the sky. The dark grey clouds were moving closer to where you were and you didn't plan on getting soaked.

"Yeah, probably a good idea." He replied sounding deflated.

Now he was making you feel guilty.

You weren't going to cave and invite him for a coffee at yours though.

"Right come on Monty, let's go." You said leaning down to your suddenly obedient black and grey cocker spaniel. "Bye Niall."

"Bye Alex."

You weren't quite sure how you managed to walk across the Common without looking behind you. The pull you felt towards Niall was still there, even though he had ghosted you these last few weeks. 

When he had left your flat that day you had instantly called your best friend Charlotte to tell her what had happened. She hadn't been able to stop laughing at the thought of you making a fool of yourself when you fell over Monty's lead. She was also the person you had told about your texting over the weeks with him and she was also the one who had listened to you moan about him not replying to you.

As soon as you walked in the living room back at your flat you made yourself a coffee and decided to call her. Charlotte was always the voice of reason.

"Hi Alex."

"Hi Char. Got a minute?"

"Yeah, of course. What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong. Um Niall text me this morning."

"And?!"

"He asked me what I was up to and I said I was off to walk Monty."

"Oh so you replied, I really thought your stubborn arse would ignore him."

"Didn't have the heart to ignore him to be honest."

"So what did he reply?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?! What an arsehole!"

"He came to the Common to find me instead."

 "Really?! What a fucking sweetheart!" 

"He was an arsehole a second ago!" You cried down the phone.

"Yeah, well coming to meet you in the park is super romantic! So what did he say when he came over to you?!" She said a little bit too excited.

"He asked me if I was free as he had the weekend off and wanted to hang out."

"So are you hanging out later? Are you ringing for dating advice because I'm not sure I'm qualified any more. Luke and I have been together for five years now."

"I told him I was busy." You mumbled.

"What the ...... fuck?! What? Why would you do that?!"

"Because he's been ignoring me for two weeks and then just shows up?!"

"Alexandra Fellows...... What the fuck am I going to do with you?! Niall Horan just asked you to hang out with him and you told him you were busy!!! BUSY! FUCKING BUSY!"

"Stop shouting woman!"

"He saw you fall over Monty's dog lead and twist your ankle like an idiot and yet he still helped you home and asked for your number!"

"But he's been ghosting me." You said trying to justify why you blew him off.

"He's a worldwide famous musician Alex, he's a busy guy. Luke said he also does something with golf too."

"So you think I should just accept that he ghosted me?!"

"Not accept it but just get past it. Come on, he came to meet you to ask you out."

"I don't think it was for a date, just to hang out."

"It was for a date." You heard Lewis say.

"Am I on speaker phone?!"

"Yep!" You heard them both answer.

"Oh god! Are you in bed?! Did I interrupt something?!" You asked.

"Yes we are in bed, but no you didn't interrupt anything." Charlotte replied. "We are just having a lie in. Some people sleep in at the weekend Alex."

"Well some people don't have a crazy arse cocker spaniel like Monty!" 

"Look Alex, just text him and say something like it looks like you'll be free later. That way you don't look stupid by saying you were busy today." She said.

"And text us and let us know what he says." Luke chipped in.

"Ok, I will. I can do this."

"Yeah you can!" Charlotte said a bit too enthusiastically.

"Ok, love you guys. Speak to you later."

"Love you to!" They both said in unison.

"Oh and don't say anything to anyone."

"We won't."

You ended the call and took a deep breath.

If you called him now it would be obvious you had lied about being busy and would look a little desperate. So you made yourself a coffee and began tidying up your flat. You cleaned the bathroom, put on a load of washing on and hovered through out. Monty had moved around the flat avoiding you as you worked, he just wanted to snooze without being interrupted.

The rain lashing against the window was loud as you stood in the kitchen composing your text. Deleting it for the third time you contemplated calling him instead. You were interrupted by the doorbell ringing, Monty didn't even bother to move. That was until he heard Niall's voice when you answered the door.

Niall was stood in the doorway of your flat, he'd clearly walked to yours as he was soaked from the rain. He pulled off his wet hat and ran his fingers through his hair. You felt the heat rise on your cheeks at his actions and knew he would notice.

"I'm sorry for being a dick." He blurted out.

"What....what are you talking about?"

"I know the reason you didn't want to hang out with me today was because I haven't message you in a few weeks. My cousin told me I was a dick and that I should apologise."

"Niall it's fine, honestly. I just had loads of stuff to do that's all."

"No, I could tell it was an excuse straight away but it took my cousin telling me what I'd done wrong for me to realise. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to just not text or anything. I'm not even sure why I didn't, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I first saw you in the pub that afternoon."

You stood there in silence at his confession.

"Um do you um want to come in and dry off?" You managed to ask him.

He breathed a sigh of relief and moved to step over the threshold. Pressing you up against the wall his lips met yours and you didn't hesitate to kiss him back. 

"I'm sorry, truly I am." He whispered against your lips.

Tag list

@ihearthemcallingforyou​

#Niall #Niall Horan #Niall Horan fan fic #Niall Horan fan fiction #Niall fan fic #Niall fluff #Niall smut #solo Niall #Emily writes

[lvllns]

confectioners sugar (1/?)

welcome to the neighborhood | fenris x penelope hawke. modern au. 2.4k words.

additional notes: both hawke and fenris are demi, just throwing that out there right now. background relationships will be added to the tags as they become relevant. this is kind of a messy first chapter but it’s gotta start somewhere, yeah?

[read on ao3]

Meeting Fenris for the first time goes like this: Penelope isn’t paying attention to her surroundings and she opens a door right into his face.

It isn’t her fault, not entirely. Her phone is going off in her back pocket, a near constant stream of dings, and she is going to murder everyone when she sees them tomorrow night. The constant notifications paired with the fact that she’s juggling a ridiculous number of bags that are mostly filled with canned pumpkin means Penelope is only half paying attention when she kicks the door to her apartment complex open.

There’s a muffled oof and she squeaks. Looks up and finds herself face-to-face with an elf who is gingerly touching his nose.

“Oh fuck,” she says. “Sorry, are you alright?”

He blinks at her and his eyes are very green. Muted green. Green like pines in the winter, when everything is a little bit foggy and desaturated and soft.

“I, yes, I am alright,” he wiggles his nose, eyes crossing as he looks down before he clears his throat and meets her gaze. “Are you alright?”

She was not expecting that voice from him. It’s deep, a little rough around the edges, and it seems to rumble from his chest when he speaks.

Penelope’s phone dings again. “Fine, fine, I’m just planning on how to best murder my friends,” she grins wide and his eyes drop to her mouth. More likely her teeth. The canines a little too sharp to be human, not sharp enough to be elven. Her smile dims a little and she shakes her head.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he takes a step back, holds the door so she can move by him and actually get into the building. “But the elevator is broken.”

“Of course it is,” she sets the bags down on the ground. Pinches the bridge of her nose and groans. “It was working when I left, damn it.”

He moves and she looks over. Watches as he kicks a leg up on the wall, folds his arms over his chest and cocks his head. He’s not much taller than she is, an inch or two maybe. Strands of chalk-white hair poke out from underneath a beanie, which sits above his ears. His skin is dark, freckles dust his cheeks like stars, and there are silvery lines on his chin that drip down his neck.

He rolls his shoulders. “What floor do you live on?”

“Six,” she groans, head tipping forward.

Hawke’s phone dings again.

He chuckles, a soft thing that hardly breaks the silence.

“Hand me a bag or two,” he reaches out a hand, palm down. There are bright lines along the back of it, twisting around tendons.

“I — What?”

He huffs a breath through his nose. “I will carry some of those ridiculous bags full of canned pumpkin, if you’d like the help.”

“Oh, I, are you sure?” He nods, one corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s just, I kind of kicked a door open into your face…”

He shrugs broad shoulders. “No harm done,” he pauses. Seems to consider something and his gaze cuts away from her to the wall at her back. “Ah, unless...I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Penelope folds her fingers up. Clenches her hands into fists until her nails prick at her palms. “You don’t, it’s fine, I just,” now it’s her turn to shrug. “Don’t want to impose, I guess.”

One dark brow quirks. “I did offer.”

“That you did,” she laughs. “Alright,” picks up a couple bags and offers them to him. His fingers touch hers, just for a moment, barely long enough to register that he is exceptionally cold, and then the sensation is gone. A gust of breath on the wind. She smiles. “I’m Hawke, by the way.”

He hums and places himself half a step behind her as they head up the stairs. “An interesting name,” he smiles, a small thing, and Penelope finds herself matching it. “I am Fenris.”

“Well Fenris, it’s lovely to meet you even if it’s because I almost broke your nose.”

He snorts. “You do kick hard Hawke.”

Penelope laughs and winks at him. “When did you move in?”

“Three days ago.”

They pass two more flights bouncing between casual conversation and companionable silence. It’s easier, carrying only two bags full of ingredients, and neither of them falter. Her phone dings four times in rapid succession and she snorts. Fenris glances at her, eyes curious. Penelope remembers she has a free hand now and reaches back to slip her phone from the pocket of her jeans.

“Group chat, although the last dozen texts seem to all be from Isabela,” she mutters and clicks her phone onto silent before tucking it away again.

“I assume that has something to do with all the pumpkin you bought?”

“Peripherally, kind of,” Hawke shrugs. “It’s...my brother is a firefighter and he finally has time off, him and his,” she cuts herself off. Looks at Fenris and then turns her eyes forward. “Him and his partner,” she watches out of the corner of her eye but Fenris just nods. A little bit of tension slithers from between her shoulder blades. “Anyway, they both love my pumpkin pie bars and so I’m going to make them a few huge trays to bring them tomorrow,” he hums. “It all connects because my brother, Carver, said he was looking forward to tomorrow night and now I guess Isabela has taken it upon herself to blow up the group chat.”

“Does she do that frequently?”

“Yes,” Hawke groans and shakes her head.

“And you do not have it set to do not disturb because…?”

Penelope gasps in mock offense. Stops walking so she can place a hand over her heart. “Fenris, are you sassing me?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I would never.”

They stand there, looking at each other for another minute before Hawke breaks into giggles. Fenris chuckles, the sound warm and welcome in the otherwise frigid stairwell.

“Come on, we still have three flights of stairs left,” she says, her voice thick with mirth.

He sighs and looks up. “I would hate to have you kick a door open into my nose after you climb all these stairs.”

Penelope laughs again, louder this time, and decides that she rather likes Fenris.

—

They reach the sixth floor and Fenris holds the door open for her. The hallway is only slightly warmer than the stairwell and he is glad for the beanie on his head. This Maker forsaken Marcher state is a far cry from the warmth of Tevinter and he doubts he will ever grow accustomed to it. Hawke, however, is in jeans, boots, and a light sweater like she was born for this weather.

She is...something. Fenris thinks that striking is the best word. Her face is all high cheekbones and a sharp jaw and a nose that has a bump in the middle of the bridge like it can’t quite decide if it wants to be elven or not. Her eyes are large and grey, almost silver, but there’s something under them, hidden behind layers, and he knows enough about loss and guilt to recognize it. Freckles cover the entirety of exposed skin, neck included. The rest of her is hidden by clothes but he thinks there is a solid, easy strength cloaked under the layers if the impact of the door to his face is anything to go by.

They get a few steps down the hall when Hawke freezes.

Fenris narrowly avoids crashing into her back by catching himself with a hand on her shoulder. He removes it as soon as he stops stumbling forward. “Hawke?”

“How are you with dogs?” She asks, head tilting.

He scratches at his jaw and shrugs. “I do not mind them, though I am more of a cat person.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Me too,” a nod and then she is walking again. He follows. “I only ask because Theodore may still be here, I don’t know if Carver has picked him up yet.”

“Theodore is your brother’s dog?”

She flashes him a grin over her shoulder, those shining eyes of hers glittering. “Theodore is my brother’s purebred mabari,” Fenris cocks his head. “I watch him when Carver’s at the station and then he picks him up when he’s got days off. Sometimes Bethany will watch him if she’s out of school.”

They stop walking right outside her door and she sets her bags down to rummage around for her keys. The door clicks, unlocks, and there’s no noise. Everything remains silent until he chuckles.

“I assume the lack of noise and drool means Theodore is gone?”

“Yeah, we’d both be knocked down already otherwise.”

Fenris follows her into the small apartment and he is immediately overwhelmed with the smell of lavender and sugar.

There are bookshelves tucked away up against the walls and they’re overflowing with books and trinkets. Mostly crystals, from what Fenris can see, but a few glass birds catch his eye. Plants sit tidily along windowsills and on the coffee table and on an end table. Fenris realizes, rather suddenly, that it feels like a home. His own apartment is bare, both from not having unpacked entirely yet and just not having a lot to his name, but Hawke’s...it’s warm and inviting. His nerves settle a little, a soft sigh chases tension from his shoulders as he follows behind her.

Her kitchen is small, like his own, and when they lay out all the bags on the counter, there’s almost no space left. She pulls her hoodie off and throws it over the back of a chair. His eyes catch on her arms and the freckles that cover them almost completely. They’re strong arms, muscle under skin and fat, and they confirm the easy strength. Fenris wonders if she lifts or if it’s something else entirely. Archery or just genetics maybe.

“There are cookies in those jars,” she points and he jerks his eyes from her biceps to the counter. “Biggest one is chocolate chip because all my friends are godless heathens,” Fenris laughs. Hawke smiles wide enough to show her teeth. “Medium jar is, uh, double chocolate chunk. However, it may be empty since Carver was already here. Smallest jar is shortbread.”

Fenris heads straight for the littlest jar.

“Finally, someone with good fucking taste!” Hawke says as she begins removing cans of pumpkin from bags.

“You don’t care for chocolate?” He pops a cookie in his mouth, holds it between his teeth, and steps in to help.

“Dark chocolate is okay in moderation but that’s it,” she says. “Shortbread is the best, not as sweet.”

He nods and sets cans of pumpkin on the counter until all the bags are empty. He finds they settle into an easy enough rhythm, they bump on occasion but the contact does not dig thorns into his hands or spine. Something about Hawke settles whatever anxiety he had about offering to help her. There is a wariness in his bones that will most likely always stick with him, but it fades to a manageable level as he watches her move around her kitchen.

“Well,” she places her hands on her hips. Looks from the bowls to Fenris. “You’re welcome to stay but if I’m keeping you from anything…”

He shakes his head. “You are not, I had just arrived back when you kicked the door at me.”

Hawke groans and tips her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m never going to live that down.”

“You are not.”

“Maker’s balls,” she chuckles. “Right, if you’re gonna stay, hand me that measuring cup?”

Fenris obliges.

And promptly loses track of time.

Hawke puts on some classical music, something he can’t put a name to, and they talk. About simple things. He learns that she also has a sister, Bethany, who is Carver’s twin. That they’re from Ferelden and they’ve only been in Kirkwall for five years. She mentions a mother and an uncle and grandparents but no father. Fenris changes the subject when he hears her voice go a little bit distant.

He tells her that he is here for work. Which isn’t entirely a lie. It’s just that he can work from anywhere, Kirkwall just happens to be where he’s stopped for the time being. Somehow they end up on the subject of languages and when Hawke finds out he’s fluent in six, she goes bug eyed and makes him promise to teach her how to swear in at least four of them.

They start talking about books and authors and Genitivi’s works until there are three trays of pumpkin pie bars on the counter and Hawke is making yet another. Fenris can feel his energy flagging. This has been more socializing than he’s done in quite some time and, while the company is more than good, it’s beginning to chip away at him.

“This has been enjoyable, but I believe I will take my leave Hawke,” he says and he offers her a smile when she looks up at him from the dough she’s mixing.

“It was wonderful meeting you, even if it did take me kicking a door into your face,” she grins and he chuckles. “I — Fenris, if you aren’t busy tomorrow, drop by The Hanged Man. We’ll all be there around eight.”

He frowns, brows pulling together. “I would not want to impose on —“

She flicks flour at him, a spray of powder off her fingertips that makes him dance away. “You wouldn’t be. We’re all gathering to eat and play cards and probably listen to Varric whine about the next bit of the campaign, but look,” she turns to face him, gaze going serious. “It’s all friends and I’m inviting you because, well, I’d say we’re friends now.”

She makes it sound so simple and maybe it is but Fenris has only had two years to shake off a past that clings to him like spiderwebs between branches.

“You hardly know me,” is what he says instead of the acceptance of her offer that scrapes at the back of his tongue.

“That’s rather the point of inviting you to game night. To get to know you more,” her face falls a little. “I really don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you to do anything but, the invitation stands.”

If he had any doubts that she was not genuine in her desire to simply befriend him for the sake of friendship, they vanish as she speaks. So simple, so easy. No chilled creek of water under inches of frozen ice. No, nothing sinister or double edged at all.

“I will consider it,” he smiles, a little wider this time, and says his goodbyes and leaves Hawke’s apartment feeling lighter than he has in months.

#dragon age #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #fenris x f!hawke #what the FUCK are the tags #caiti.txt #writing tag #work: confectioners sugar #au: thedas but make it modern #welcome to the modern au where i write fenris as soft as fucking possible enjoy your stay

[the-headbop-wraith]

2_23 Stray Far

The numerous gloomy windows were long boarded up, some still glittered with tiny teeth not yet decayed out of the many gaping maws of each flat side.  Tall trees shimmered under the moonlight, thin gray branches unruly and overgrown reached skyward; while across the cracked and gray layers of stone, vines tangle and wind up the walls of the separate levels of the buildings surface.  One could almost mistake then structure to have been grown from the earth, rather carved from brick and wood.  

A multitude of tall spires stick from the rooftops edge glint briefly under the sheen of moonlight, spilling down from behind a thick swell of clouds prowling patiently across the black sky.  The mellow wind crooned through crevices along cracked rock walls and wood fences, built between brick walls that divide the sections of the building, its sleek cement foundation ends on the edge of a weed infested lawn.

The hospital seemed to loom now in the night, larger; even inviting the unwise explorer into its endless interior.

“All right, let’s splint up!” Vivi announced, rather dramatically.  She brought the finger she had directed skyward, and turned to indicate Arthur at her shoulder.  “You and Mystery.”  The dog at her feet yapped at the decision, Mystery’s red eyes flashed behind his spectacles.  He fully agreed.  “And I’ll keep an eye on Lewis.”  Arthur glanced behind Vivi toward the taller figure, as Lewis removed his sunglasses and stuck them into the jackets breast pocket.

“Still don’t trust me on my own yet?” Lewis inquired.  He caught the sideways smirk Arthur sent him.

“That’s part of it,” Vivi responds.  She spun on heel and returned to the back of the van, the doors left open from earlier when Arthur had climbed out.  

The small camping lamp sat between two backpacks, one was left open and stuffed with electronics.  Vivi opened up the other bag and reevaluated the supplies set inside, nothing remarkable by her personal standards – the walkie-talkie, some sage bundles, an EKG reader, and a few other items that probably wouldn’t get used on this investigation.

For this particular ‘adventure,’ the van was parked in the back loading zone of the hospital where equipment and patients would be received. The hospital had been built in the budding new center of town, but its surrounding cousin buildings had been reduced to new structures, offices, and the hospital itself was abandoned in its bubble of time and forgotten setting.  Its entire acreage of property was surrounded by a broken and haphazard chain-link fence set up after vandals began to break into the condemned structure, which as of yet had not received a date for demolition.  The fence was more of a deterrent than a barrier and the group had no problem unbinding the metal twine that connected the two sections of the fence, and prying them open so the van could be moved through.  Currently, the van was parked under the archway that stretched over the back entrance, concealed by shadows and nothing more.

“We probably won’t find much,” Lewis explained to Arthur, while Vivi poked around the supply bags.  “But with hospitals, you never know.”

Arthur glanced to the wood plywood shoved into the main entrance doors, the dingy moist air from within hovered in the cold fresh air of the night.  “Never know,” Arthur murmured, under his breath.  “Hospitals always have bad energy,” he went on.  “Why couldn’t we just check out that haunted hotel?  At least we’d have an idea about what lurks there.”

Lewis smirked.  “How ‘bout tomorrow night?  Hey Vi, what about the Lakeview tomorrow?  Arthur’s down with that.”  Arthur scoffed at that and made his way over to the aged wood.  In the poor light, he could already discern that there was a gap between the doors frame and the plywood.  “I’m only joshin’ you.”  Lewis followed Arthur.

“I read that loud and clear,” Arthur retorts.  “Even in the daylight, hospitals are creepy.  No matter how long they’ve been left.”  He pressed his good hand against the wood and felt brittle splinters twist under his fingers.

“What’s your gear?” Vivi broke in.  The subdued glow of light flashed under their gaze as Mystery padded by, carrying the camping lamp.  She gave Lewis a mild glare as she stepped between him and Arthur, she held her bag low for the crouched Arthur to see into.  “We shouldn’t need much.  Better safe than sorry.”

Arthur takes his time answering as he ponders over the inventory. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small container of gum in the little tin packets and cuts two free. The flavor is rough and not very pleasant but it helps.  “The sage and my lock picks.  The chalk too,” Arthur says, half distracted as he tests the tension of the board with a slight push.  “And maybe an air freshener.”  Maybe Lewis didn’t want to understand a lot of things, but Arthur would bring it up later if he was up to it.  There was a lot of material they skipped over whenever they talked, a lot of it was too soon for Arthur.  Later. “Thanks Mystery.”  Arthur gave Mystery’s head a rub and took the lamp from his teeth.  “The dust right here’s been disturbed.  Looks recent.”

Vivi knelt beside Arthur and touched the greasy layer of muck left in the doorway.  “We’ll be extra cautious.  It could just be the homeless.”  She glanced back up at Lewis, and the silhouette with his bright eyes bobbed.  “I doubt there’s some sort of cult in there.”

Arthur chuckled.  “But I’m here, so anything can happen.”  Vivi took the lamp from Arthur and returned to the van, leaving him and Lewis in the dull gloom.

“Just holler and I’ll be there,” Lewis encouraged.

“What you always say,” Arthur said.  “It’s not like I never do.”  Lewis shifted beside him, and Arthur almost recognized the movement but the familiar touch didn’t come.  The odd gap in reflex caught Arthur off-guard, but he thought Lewis had nearly recoiled. Or had Arthur been the one to jerk away? He brushed the sensation off and merely reached over to rub at his bad shoulder.  “Look after Vivi if I fuck up.”

“Language,” Lewis rattled.  Despite himself, Arthur snickered.  That at last sounded like Lewis.

Hospitals had potential.  It was hard to find a hospital that didn’t have some amount of activity, unless it was brand new and not built upon some sacred burial ground. The rooms and halls were intended to receive the ill and dying, new life and soon lost life; they were built in response to a wide scale of accidents, tragedy.  The roof concealed joy and sorrow and the walls were filled with regrets and miracles, and back in the day before modern medicine, the ratio of those brought in to enlighten ‘revolutionary’ medical practice sped up the rate of destruction rather than make comfortable those beyond healing redemption.  They were built to organize the placement of the doomed, before they were constructed to heal.

For Arthur, they held different significance.  Warped and terrible memories, sensations, but he kept this to himself.  Endurance was his advantage, concealment was his strength.

“Don’t get separated from Mystery,” Lewis reminded, as the group divided.  “He’ll keep you from getting lost.”  It was more of an assurance rather than a reminder.

Arthur clicked on his flashlight and turned the soft yellow beam onto Mystery’s bright pelt.  “I got it,” he called back.  “I’ll catch up in a few.”  Mystery led the way, and took immediate interest in an open hall that ran beside the corroded set of steps across from the carved wood receptionists desk; or what Arthur took as the receptionists desk, he wasn’t sure.

The light from Vivi’s flashlight was already darting up the set of steps that Arthur had bypassed.  “We’ll hit the higher floors, and work our way down,” Vivi hailed down. She motioned to Lewis and was gone, hurrying up the steps and around a corner.  Lewis called after Vivi with exasperation as she raced away.

Arthur paused to listen to Vivi’s thudding steps and tracked their progress from below.  Mystery’s sudden yap caused Arthur to wince, and at the involuntary reaction, the dog brought his sounds back into softer whimpers.  He forgot how jumpy Arthur could be, though the hospital felt quiet enough.  Mystery couldn’t be too sure.  

“I’m a lil tense,” Arthur admitted.  The light cut over the dust coated floor and alit on his partner for the evening, still giving small grumbles of apology.  “I’ll be okay.  Once we get moving I’ll feel better.  It’s not like we’re gonna find anything, huh?”

Mystery stiffened and perked his ears up.  When Arthur’s light nearly reached his face, the mutt wrenched away and began padding further down the corridor.  He put his nose down and distracted himself with tracking, his concerns set at ease while Arthur’s flashlight draped around his shoulders and bleached out the old chipped wood.

“We’re not gonna run into anything here, are we?” Arthur pressed again.  

A low ‘urf’ was Mystery’s response.  Nothing dangerous.  The dog’s well-worn toenails clicked with each step in a steady rhythm, thick silt grit between his dark toes.  Arthur’s steps were barely audible, cautious. At the halls end a set of doors had been left pried open, one had snapped off its hinge and lay slanted beside the wall.

Yellow light made pale blues appear moldy and drab.  Maybe the doors had always been depressing, maybe the hospital didn’t rely on optimistic colors to raise the mood of those that rolled through them.  Arthur reached out and rests a gentle hand on the edge of the door.  A loud Rrrr! sent him stumbling back from the door when it skid over the floor, only a fraction.  The wall rumbled at Arthur’s collision and the entire building, from the foundation to the roof seemed to shudder in irritation at the sudden disruption of placid rot.  Arthur pants and pressed the torch against his chest, as his breath heaved.

Mystery sprang in place and performed a complete three-sixty to face Arthur, eyes wide and white fur bristled on his shoulders.  

“Sorry,” Arthur spat.  “Old door, rickety treacherous door.”  He peeled himself from the wall and gave the door a light kick on passing, yet this caused the door to snap off its last hinge fully and crash onto the floor. Arthur charged out into the open room and away from the treacherous door, nearly running over Mystery in the process. “Damnit!”

More barks and half snarls choked in Mystery’s throat as he hastened away from Arthur’s legs.  Are you trying to bring this place down?  Mystery trotted from his path and leapt upon the springs of a bed, half fallen sideways from a broken leg.

“I think something’s really out to get me!”  Arthur crept between the rows of beds, his light reached to the furthest side of the room.  Somehow this was good news, there was no constraining presence gnawing at the edges of the light he cast.  

Mystery just shook his head and dropped to the floor.  He padded up beside Arthur.  There is nothing here out to get you.  The dog snorted and bumped his shoulder beside Arthur’s leg. He did this again, this time without Arthur flinching from the touch.  I’m here for you.

“Thanks,” Arthur hummed.  “I got the heebie-jeebies something bad.  This place is just creepy, I don’t care if it is haunted or not, it’s flat out creepy.  You can’t change that about hospitals.  Even lived in ones.  I HATE hospitals, but here we are.  Why?  ‘Oh Arthur, c’mon,’” he gushed, with a not so feminine voice.  “‘We should at least use the equipment.  It’s been sitting for too long, and the schools so nice for providing it.’  As if they care about our research.”

Mystery barked, his voice echoing through the open and long room. He didn’t recall it happening that way.

It was a ward, a dozen or so beds lined the walls, some of the grungy metal frames were shoved across their path.  The tall canopy rods, curtain less and naked, stood around or crumpled to the walls in vague metal heaps.  The floor was littered with metal, decayed and melted cables, piles of moldering cloth. Mystery pulled a front paw back when his toes poked into something smelly, but the texture he could not place. He flinched when Arthur blew a bubble, and popped suddenly.

Arthur leaned low when they reached the next large set of doors that led out, into a short corridor with another set of doors at its end.  It was a dark and small intersection, unnaturally so, and very cold.  Arthur pushed the torch into his metal hand and reached his flesh knuckles up to his lips and breathed into them.  It had stopped raining at least, but it was still cold.

There wasn’t much of the connecting hall, aside from some graffiti and a crushed can of beer.  Arthur poked it with his foot but couldn’t read the labeling, but he judged it would be decades old, probably.  Mystery stayed closed as they reached the dark and imposing duo doors.  Light shimmered through the circular window where the glass had been shattered, a few murky shards still stuck within the frame like ragged teeth.  Arthur gulped, nearly swallowing his gum, as he shuffled forward and pressed one of the doors open ajar.

Mystery didn’t wait for Arthur to get a good look in.  Once the door was open a fraction, Mystery slipped on through and examined the expanse of the moonlight washed room.  Arthur hissed something at the dogs tail, before he too gave up and followed into the small room.

Ruble cluttered most of the floor with large portions of wood and some steel.  The ceiling was low and as Arthur moved his beam across the slanted pieces of timber, he came to the conclusion the shape reminded him of a straw hat sloping and twisting.  There were no windows in the room itself, the light came from the upper floor where the windows were lined, a few shattered but most had been boarded up long ago. Through the open window, the branches of a tree shuddered in a frail breeze.

Arthur froze when Mystery gave a warning snarl.  At the edge of the floor above, a dark face peered down. Before Mystery could bark a warning Arthur had taken off, feet hammering at the wood floors.  Mystery followed, a shrill bark clapped out in their retreat.

__

The rooms were filled with interesting shadows, old equipment and glass bottles, the kind once filled with fluid and blood; all of it now shattered and scattered.  Many of the doors that had once sheltered the rooms from disturbance were gone, torn off their hinges or removed completely to elsewhere doors go when buildings are abandoned to vandals.

Vivi coughed at the dust that scattered about as she moved quickly, to the next room then the one across from it.  She tested the doorknob and pressed the bent steel panel inward when it opened.  The EKG clicked dully as she passed it along the walls, one wall had been shattered and chunks of plaster lay around the broken bed frame it crumbled over.

“Should have ordered a warm tea to go,” she grumbled.  She was annoyed the device had not keyed in on anything interesting, not even a plug socket.  Briefly, she wondered how Arthur was fairing, if he had remembered to use his equipment at all.  But he was always weird about breaking the free stuff.  “Still no readings.”

Lewis passed his hand along the doorframe as he followed her in, at a distance.  “Are you sure you changed the batteries?” he asked, as if that would contribute in some way.  He jerked back when Vivi spun on him and raised the black box with its forked prongs facing him.  Lewis frowned at Vivi’s bright smirk.

“It works on you,” Vivi chimed.  As she whisked away, Lewis caught the bright lights flashing along its base before the reader flat lined, and resumed its default state.  “I couldn’t resist.”

“You lasted longer than I thought,” he mentioned.  Lewis followed her towards the lone window of the room and peered out, onto the courtyard in the hospitals center below.  “You know Art and I had this bet going.”

“Ooh?” she hummed, staring out the window at the dry fountain and the overgrown paths carving through the jungle of a garden.  “Lemme guess, Arthur won?”

Lewis scowled at the top of her head.  “Ouch, that hurt.”

There was no point in having the EKG reader on with Lewis right beside her, so Vivi shut it off and leaned against his arm.  “Was I right?” she posed.

“Nailed it.  I owe him a week’s worth of coffees.”  Lewis put his arm around Vivi’s shoulders and she looped her arm around his lower back. “Can I borrow a lot of money?”

“How ‘bout I just pay you what you’ve earned,” she suggests. “We’ll work out the details later, don’t worry about it.”

“I gotta worry,” Lewis groaned, his voice a little scratchy but not in a bad way.  “I think I went broke the moment you mentioned ‘pay.’”  Vivi laughed and pressed her face into the sleeve of his jacket. The conversation ended there, and Lewis just watched the soft tones of the foliage below while Vivi focused on a blank space of wall, where her light didn’t reach.  At length Lewis says, “This is nice.”

Vivi hums out a sound.  She untangles from his arm and turns the reader back on.  With a few steps between them she checks the dial face for change, a fluctuation.  “We won’t spend the whole night here, if we’re not finding anything,” she says. Vivi pulls her backpack from her backside and opens the side.  By the time she and Lewis exit the room, she’s located her walkie-talkie and has it exchanged for the paranormal seeking instrument.

“Hey Arthur—?  Damn.” It was sending but as usual, the other end was not receiving.  Vivi pulls the transmitter away from her ear, and she slips the straps of the backpack over one shoulder.  Some habits…. “He shut it off.”

Lewis grimaced.  “He still does that?”  He was only half surprised.

“He got better at not doing it.”  She’d keep the walkie-talkie in case Arthur needed to get in contact with them, but she doubted it.  Mystery was with him.  Vivi adjusted the backpacks straps over her shoulders as they resumed walking.  “He might’ve forgotten to turn it on in the first place,” Vivi said, and she kept muttering under her breath as she continued along the hall.  “I swear we need alphabet magnets to attach reminders onto his arm.”

That soft almost familiar laugh came from Lewis as he followed. “Won’t that mess up his arm?”  

“He’ll have to learn fast,” she grumbled.  They came to the end of the hall and Vivi raised her flashlight to examine the cracked plaster, the remains of a picture frame still clinging to a nail by its broken wire.  A hallway extended to the right and left, but from their poise she couldn’t judge where the stairs were located.  The air was clogged with chill and the murky reek of old books and the memory of alcohol.  “How do we get down to the lower floor?”

“To the right,” Lewis deduces.  He placed his chin between his fingers and followed Vivi’s light, down the left hall.  “Yeah. If my sense of direction hasn’t failed me, we head to the center of the hospital.  There’ll be stairs, or an empty elevator shaft?  Maybe.”  His feet had risen from the floor in anticipation, eager to move on or scout or something.

“Right it is then.  Right?” Vivi piped, and aimed her cool blue torch ahead for the path.  Lewis drifted a few feet, small flashes of magenta embers flare up at his heels after him. Vivi slowed her pace and watched, Lewis was probably not aware he was gliding.  In any case it was fun to watch, and she didn’t want to ruin it for Lewis.  He was so self-conscious of his spiritual manifestations, but Vivi had not come up with a method to consult Lewis over it.  The time would come but not now, not until—

She pulled up short and peered through a door opened part way, and movement – she was certain it was movement and not a trick of the light – as it ducked into a door.  “Lew, wait,” she hailed.  “I think I saw something.  It might be Art.”  She followed the small halo as it identified shapes and loose spaces in the floor.

“Hold on Vi!”  Lewis kicked off to the wall, intending to cut through and meet her, but recalls immediately his jacket wouldn’t allow this.  His voice grated as he cursed, and skipped beside the wall until he reached the corridor Vivi had disappeared into.  “Hey Vi?  Vivi?” He began trying the door handles along the way, most were unlocked but some rooms had no doors and no evidence of Vivi.  It upset and alarmed him, how could they get lost this fast?  His eyes had been off her for a half second, it didn’t make sense. “Vivi!  I lost track of you, where’d you go?”

Through his searching of every room available, he finally reached the end of the corridor.  But Lewis knew that Vivi would have come back once it was apparent she had lost him, and this conclusion only panicked him more.  How was it possible to lose track of someone in one long hall?

“Vivi!  Vii!?” Lewis set his feet upon the floor and looked between the left and right halls, and it occurred to him how similar the two halls looked, almost identical to the ones they had pondered over before electing the right hand direction.  Did he even leave those halls behind, or had he someone gotten turned around?  Lewis spun in place and stared into the long dark corridor he had sprinted through, the many doors shimmering with moonlight. One side of the rooms faced the courtyard, but the others didn’t.  Was there even a courtyard?  No, don’t get turned around.

“If you’re there and you’re watching,” Lewis hissed, bright flames crackling over his clenched fingertips.  “I want you to know that I will find you.”  He swept through the nearest doorway and slammed his arm across the half rusted steel.  The door thunked against his arm and cracked off its hinges, it skipped halfway across the ruble strewn floor before crashing into the shattered remains of a bed frame.  Lewis swooped through the room and alit before the window, peering through broken glass into a night saturated with gray and black.

__

The people walked with a slow, liquid pace.  Everything felt very blurry, there was something akin to dislocation about the hazy light and the sharp glisten of metal as it moved. Even the sounds were wrong.  A voice buzzed through the old microphone attached to the upper corner of the room.

“Dr. Fredrick.  Please report to Ward 9.  Dr. Fredrick….” The dull voice became garbled, as if the speaker had begun speaking through a hole in their throat.

Each room was filled with people, usually two or three.  Most the doors were kept closed but some were open, and she could see them in their beds covered with sheets.  It was very warm, almost unbearable.  A nurse exited one room, dressed in her skirt and hat. Vivi staggered back and pressed herself into the wall as the woman walked by, without a glance or any indication that she had detected Vivi.

“I should have the reader out,” Vivi thought, but she didn’t move to retrieve it.  In part in fear that whatever she was witnessing would dissolve, in part that she was too stunned to do more than stare and absorb.  She continued along the wall and examined the rooms that came up in turn.  The same scene in each, nothing about it struck her as odd or unusual.  A hospital, a hospital trapped in a time frame somewhere long distant and past, left behind in time.  A surreal place to be lost.

Near the corner of the halls end was one more door left open, and inside a man sat on a bed as another spoke to him.  What she identified as a doctor held a clipboard to his chest and nodded his head, but his expression could only be described as contemplative. ‘Treatment’ and ‘high risk’ floated to her, but much of his words were lost in the wavering, distortions of vaporous sight.

“I’ll leave you alone to consider your options.”  The doctor turned from the man seated on the bed and looked up, directly at Vivi.  She stared back, situated right in the center of the doorframe where she had stopped. Vivi frowned when the doctor made no further movement, through the people around them began to fade, melting away, trailing gooey mirages of color as they vanished.

“Good evening,” the doctor said.

“Hey,” Vivi answered.  She raised a hand to wave, but never dropped her eyes from his.  “Um….”

“Remain calm,” he says, and he peers at Vivi carefully.  “What are you doing on this side?”

Vivi chokes on her words.  Other side?  “I… uh, I got lost,” she sputtered, taking her eyes from the doctor as she backed away. Which way should she go? Where?  How did she get out of here?  “I was with a friend.”  She bumps into the wall behind her and jerks her head back to the doctor, as he steps out of the room after her.  “I… um, I….”

“A friend?” he asks.  He’s not as tall as Lewis, but she still stares up at him when he snatches at her wrist.  “Do you mind? You look rather pale.”  Vivi shakes her head.  He looks down to his own wrist and the watch there as he presses his thumb into the niche of her wrist.  “Just relax a bit.  You say you’re here with a friend?  Is he in the other ward?”

He looked human, but none of this is real.  Vivi shakes her head, he’s pressing too tightly on her wrist. “We were looking around.”

“I see,” he murmurs, still focused on his watch and silently counting.  “You shouldn’t do that.  The hospital is no place to get lost.”  He goes quiet, before he releases her wrist and steps back.  “You should come with me for a moment.”  Vivi doesn’t move, in fact she’s inching away.  “It won’t take long.  I’m concerned for your health.  You see, by law I’m not supposed to care after non-colored patients, but maybe if you don’t mind, an exception could be made?”  He motions the now empty room he had exited.

Vivi stares at him for a moment, before it registers in her mind. “Oh.  Oh, I’m sorry.  Uh… I can only stay for a little bit.”

“This won’t take long,” he assures, and steps into the open room. “I’m Dr. Salazar.  What can I call you, miss?”

“Vivi.  Just Vivi,” she says.  She goes to the other bed that had been empty upon first examination of the room, and plopped down on the stiff mattress.  She watches as the Dr. Salazar takes a notepad from his white coat pocket and sets it onto the clipboard.  “Have you been working here long?”

“Hmm,” he says.  Dr. Salazar takes a light from his coat pocket and shines it in front of her face. “Follow the light, please.  Not very long, give or take.  I’m gonna listen to your heart.”  He takes the stethoscope from around his neck and takes the circular piece and presses it to Vivi’s neck.  “Are you getting enough sun, miss Vivi?”

“Just Vivi,” she answers.  “And yes.  Plenty.” She rolls her eyes.  He is a classic doctor.

He moves the listening piece to her backside.  “Cough.”  Vivi coughs a few times, and he asks her to stop.  “What about your diet?  Eating plenty of veggies, fruits?  Protein.”

“Yes?”  Vivi tilts her head down and tries to sound convincing, but even she knows a questioning tone is not assuring.  Dr. Salazar writes down on his clipboard, or the notepad set there.

“Ah-huh,” he humphs.  “Do I need to show you a food pyramid?”  Dr. Salazar puts his hands to his hips and Vivi wrinkles her nose at him.

“I know what one looks like.”  She set the flashlight in her lap and fiddled with the edge of her skirt.

“Somehow I doubt that.  How many hours sleep do you get each night?”

Vivi groaned.  “Five.” She looks at the finger directed at her.

“No.  Double that,” Dr. Salazar enforces.  He resumes writing on the notepad.  “More variety in your diet, more sun….”

“I don’t like the sun,” Vivi grumbled.

“Well, you need it regardless your preference,” the doctor mutters, still writing.  “My abilities fall short of whether or not my patients are willing to cooperate.  Understand? But you’re young.  And don’t work so hard.”  Dr. Salazar paused to gesture around them.  “This isn’t good for you, all of this.”

This catches Vivi’s critical attention, and she frowns at the doctor.  “Wait. What?”

“Here.  Try and follow this list,” he answers, and hands over the page from his small notepad. Vivi scans over it briefly, and feels her pride is wounded in some rude way.  “And lay down, try to get some rest.”  Dr. Salazar steps away from Vivi and moves to the open door.  The intercom gurgles with another message, for a Dr. Hemmington, or someone with ‘Ing-on’ on the end of their name.

“Wait a second.”  Vivi leaps up from the bed and charges after the doctor, the little wad of paper clutched tightly in her hand.  “Hold on! I have some more—”

When Vivi reached out to touch his white coat, the hall was dark, the walls ugly and broken.  The foul wall of dust and mildew crashed into her sinuses, and she gagged a she stumbled from the open room.  Her mind reeled, what had happened?  Everything had decayed, she could scarcely recall what the hospital had been like in its prime.  The years and years melted away fresh plaster, and scorched the once finely polished wood of the floors.  It took a few seconds for her mind to reacquaint with the current, true, state of the hospital, and accept that the illusion or whatever it was, had faded completely.  Everything was gone, but not completely.  It was too dark to see, but in her hand she felt the brittle paper the doctor had given. No doubt it was scrawled with her prescription, but Vivi wondered what he had written precisely.

Once she had recovered from the transition, she raised the flashlight… the flashlight was completely drained and its plastic shell was icy in her palm.  Vivi sighed and crouched on the floor, she brought forth the backpack and dug through its pockets seeking out the spare batteries.  The paper she couldn’t examine it, and she really wanted to, but not by candle flame.  She elected one of her notebooks and pressed the note flat within it, and stashed it away safely.  The notebook wouldn’t be needed, this she was certain.

All the fresh batteries fell to the bottom of the bag.  This was the law of gravity and inconvenience.  To add onto this, none of the batteries worked in the flashlight.  One set after the next and Vivi was growing increasingly impatient when it became apparent, that all of the new batteries packed and even the EKG had been drained of power. She crouched and fumbled in the dark with the ends of the batteries, this was not a new task and she was certain the replacements were end to end and should work.

“That’s just great,” she hissed.  She raised back a fist to throw aside the last pair of drained cells, but decide better.  The hospital was trashed and she didn’t need to add to it.  She dumped the batteries into the backpack and hunted for a lighter but even that was a long shot, Vivi didn’t recall packing it this time.  “Who packs candles and forgets the lighter?” she muttered.  “Me, that’s who.  This is perfect, absolutely brilliant.  If Art finds out, he’ll never let me live this down.”  She slung the backpacks straps back over her shoulders and reached out, touched the wall to her side and teetered forward.  The only light that present was at the halls furthest end, in the vague outline of a doorway.  

“Lew!”  There was no answer, aside from the creak of the floorboards when she took a step.  She hesitates, Vivi couldn’t see at all and the building had been condemned for a half century, maybe longer ago.  Even during the day it would be dangerous exploring through without a reliable light source, the halls were too twisted, too deep. “Arthur?  Mystery?”  She shivered. “Is anyone…  Hello?”

A loud crunch came not far from where she stood, and Vivi backpedaled from it.  “Who’s there?” she croaked.  A dark shape shoved something across her path, it sounded like a door or part of the wall had been wrenched loose.  The only distinguishing bits were the glinting eyes and the bleached surface of the knuckles, its hands still raised.  “Lew?”

“Vivi,” Lewis gasped, as if a spirit could pant.  “Are you okay?  I couldn’t find you!  I got turned around, and you were just… Gone!”  Vivi went limp when he stooped forward and wrapped her up in his arms, she was almost certain they were suspended in midair.  “I couldn’t find you,” he repeated, voice trembling in her chest. “I thought you were lost.”

“I was,” she whispered.  “Not intentionally, I got tangled up in something.”  Vivi exhaled a heavy breath and closed her eyes.  A rest didn’t sound too bad.  “It wasn’t hostile.”

“It could’ve been,” Lewis rumbled.  She could see the flames flash along his neck and reflect over the drab walls.

“Don’t ruin your jacket,” she burbled.  Lewis dithered, calmed, and the flames fade from his shoulders. She would check for damage later. “We’re still looking for Arthur.”

Lewis was still tense, but he leans down and releases Vivi to stand on her own feet.  “Yeah. I can’t believe he didn’t hear the commotion I raised up here.”  This was another reason for Lewis’ agitation, Vivi knew.

“No time to waste, then.”  She spun around, but recalls the drained torch left her at a disadvantage.  “I can’t see.”  She scoots back, her heel skimming over some thin, slick bar on the floor and nearly caused her to fall.  Lewis had moved, the glimmer of his eyes descending low to her height.

“How about we not take the chance of getting separated again?” he offered.

It wasn’t difficult to make out where Lewis’ shoulders were in the dark, with his eyes gleaming right above them.  Vivi released her flashlight when he tugged it from her hand.  She touched the edge of his jacket, but paused. “You didn’t burn up the walls looking for me, did you?”  Lewis smelled smoky, but not like scorched leather.  Scorched leather wasn’t a pleasant smell, so it was unlikely he went blazing through a wall in a fit of rage. The sight of that would’ve been endearing, if not frightening in another setting.

“No,” he defended.  Lewis eyes vanished as he twisted his face away.  “I got a little warmed up, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything reckless unless I knew for sure you were actually hurt, or something.”

Vivi climbed onto his back and looped her arms around his collar. “I can take care of myself, thank you,” she said.  Lewis raised up, stood up or hovers up, she couldn’t tell.  “And don’t you dare deny that.”

“I won’t,” Lewis whimpered. On the contrary, it felt like she was the one protecting him when times turned rough.

#msa #mystery skulls animated #msa fanfic #mystery skulls fanfic #msa fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa lewis #msa mystery #msa arthur #msa vivi #fanfiction #msa ghost

[cozycryptidcorner]

The Unlikely Alliance

This was commissioned by a user who wishes to remain anonymous. The story is about her two original characters; Sally, a budding artist, and a werewolf bodyguard that had been hired by her rich father.

The sounds of the ceramics cracking together almost send Sally into cardiac arrest, only once she looks over the plates to make sure there are no breaks or chips in the glaze does she breathe a sigh of frustrated relief. Be careful, she silently scolds herself, disgruntled at her own clumsiness but a little too angry to put in much more thought in it. Some random man is supposed to show up on her doorstep today, a person her father picked with none of her input, and her rage at the unfairness of it all seems to be clouding some of her judgment in other areas.

She almost finishes stacking the plates into the dishwasher when someone knocks on her door, loudly and suddenly enough that she nearly drops a drinking glass. With as much poise and grace as she can muster, Sally places the glass carefully in the metallic shelf, spins around, and marches calmly to the door. All that she can make out of the distorted peephole view is a splash of tan skin, and maybe a flash of bright yellow eyes? Something must be off with the hallways lighting because the only people who have that bright a color for eyes are… they are….

The door creaks loudly as it always does, the hinges almost rusted shut. While Sally kind of regrets not harassing the landlord a little more about having them fixed, the grating noise at least makes the bodyguard’s eye twitch ever so slightly, so she suddenly doesn't mind it so much. She stands there, in the doorway of her apartment, mouth in a firmly shut line as she looks this werewolf up and down, though for what exactly, she doesn’t know. It’s not as though she can sniff out any weaknesses like her father, but maybe she thinks that the ability will just show up one day for her to continuously try.

He’s an imposing figure, that’s for sure. His head barely misses the door frame as he steps inside, completely uninvited, mind you, and takes a look around, bright golden eyes dancing from one corner of the living room to the next. His hair is dark, either dark brown or black, Sally can’t tell in this lighting, an old leather jacket just barely large enough to fit those massive biceps, and a belt, decidedly free of any holsters or weapons at his waist. Something about the way he strolls in like he owns the place sends a bitter little zing up Sally’s spine.

“What, no gun?” She asks, hands on hips, a glare growing in her eyes.

“I don’t need them.” His voice is low, but not in a way that makes her nervous, or put off, the way most of her father’s ‘buddies’ tend to make her feel. In any case, Sally isn’t certain whether or not that statement is to reassure her, but there is certainly no feeling of relief.

After a pause, she says, “Well, I’m Sally.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even pretend to tolerate any brief, yet polite introductions.

Another moment of silence, during which Sally feels a ping of annoyance. “And what am I supposed to call you?”

The werewolf shrugs, but at Sally’s calm and withering stare, responds with, “Ronan.”

“Ronan,” she echoes, picking at the underside of her nails. “I can’t say that it’s nice to meet you, Ronan, but I understand that there isn’t much either of us can do about that matter.”

“No, there’s not,” he agrees, “and it would be much easier on the both of us if you don’t put up any fuss. At least until the job is over, then I guess you can complain and hiss as much as you want.”

Sally takes a sharp breath of frustration at the caricature he describes but manages to keep her cool maintained. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of arguing, she steps aside, back towards her dishwasher and begins to set it up for the cycle. “Ground rules,” she says, stacking three bowls by each other. “One, don’t touch the art. You don’t know what is drying and what is finished. In fact, just don’t touch anything.”

“I make the rules here, not you.” He stands his full height, crossing his arms, and gave her a glare just icy enough that it could save the world from global warming. “And I don’t care about you or your feelings or your friends, what I say will go. Anything short of that will have consequences.”

“Rule two,” she continues loudly, ignoring his statement, only glancing over her shoulder to make sure he is at least listening. “The last bodyguard I’ve had seemed fine with leaving messes wherever he went, and I certainly hope you won’t have the same issue.”

He makes a sound, either a laugh, or a grunt, Sally can’t tell, but at least he has temporarily ceased the protests. That counts for something, she hopes.

“Rule three.” She slams the dishwasher shut, maybe a little too hard. “You can watch me from outside of my classrooms. You don’t get to wedge yourself into my life, I don’t want any awkward conversations with my classmates or to get in trouble with my professors. And before you even say anything else,” she can already see him about to argue over it, “this is all I’m asking for you to do. Follow my rules, and I’ll make things easy as possible on you. If you don’t?” Sally shrugs. “I think you have underestimated my abilities to make your life difficult.”

“What do you plan to do, run away? There’s nowhere for you to go where I can’t find you.” Ronan says, arching a single, scared eyebrow. “And your father has given me his blessing to be as rough on you as I need to be.”

Her hands almost start shaking with the rage that floods her veins. “I am well aware, but wouldn’t it be massively inconvenient for you to tell your boss every day that your charge has managed to escape... again? How many times before he decides that you’re incompetent and need to be fired?” Sally carefully wipes her damp fingers on the towel. “I’m assuming that you aren’t new to the network good old dad has created, so I’m certain that you understand that people don’t just get to walk away after a failure.”

Ronan at least has the decency to look slightly put off by her threats, as though it had never occurred to him that a mob boss might have raised his daughter to be as ruthless as he.

“Look,” already, she can tell he is a man of few words, “I am entirely willing to be cooperative- within reason, of course. I just want my own life to continue as uninterrupted as possible. Help me out, and I’ll help you out, alright?”

It takes a long while for him to fully process her statement, but after a bit of pondering, Sally is rewarded with a single, clipped nod to signify Ronan’s agreement. She tries not to let out a sigh of relief, she needs to uphold the facade of dangerous criminal at least until it’s safe to let it down. With a wash of victory rinsing out most of the anxiety within her stomach, she walks over to where her book bag sits and places the strap over her shoulder.

“I’m assuming that my father has given you a detailed schedule of my day?” Sally asks, grabbing a tumbler full of iced coffee.

“I didn’t bother reading it, figured you’d just tell me.”

That somehow makes her feel better. “Well, school first. You can follow me, I suppose, until I get to the classroom. There are benches in the hall you can chill at until it’s over, and trust me, you’d know if something wrong is happening.”

They step out of her apartment, a cold breeze kicking up as autumn begins muscling its way into summer. The day isn’t terrible, but it’s somewhat awkward having Ronan follow her like a lapdog wherever she goes. Maybe not exactly a lap dog, because one of Sally’s classmates awkwardly asks who the hell is Ronan and if she is at all aware that this terrifying looking werewolf is trailing her. Sally’s had to repeat herself until she’s hoarse to anyone and everyone that yes, she knows that man, and no, he is not stalking her, there’s no need to worry.

But it’s fine, everything’s fine, it’s not like this is damaging her reputation at school at all.

Usually, Sally eats lunch in the cafeteria, picking from one of the many food vendors offered, but now with Ronan standing behind her like some kind of deranged murderer at all times, she’s taken to eat outside, as far away from everyone as possible, but within a reasonable distance from her next class. Several picnic tables dot the campus, so it’s not difficult to find a particular one that no one else has claimed. Ronan eats with her, sitting across from the table. Even though they've been doing this for some time, he seems reluctant to even humor her as she tries engaging in idle conversation.

“You got a girlfriend?” She asks, maybe a week into the weird symbiotic relationship the two of them have managed to develop. It was a shot in the dark, some guys just won’t shut the hell up about their girlfriends, so Sally thought this might be the master key into his life. Apparently not. At his silence, she tries again. “Boyfriend? Um… nonbinary-friend?”

He finally looks at her, eyebrow raised. Sally thinks she’s getting better at reading his moods and takes a gander that this is something akin to amusement. Then, shockingly, he says the first words of conversation that don’t have to do with his job: “No.”

“Oh,” she says, shrugging, trying to not let much of her excitement at getting him to talk show. “Neither do I.”

He grunts.

Having Ronan follow her around might not have been so awful if he wasn’t so… remarkable. To put it plainly, he has a presence, one that most people find difficult to not notice. It would, Sally thinks, be infinitely easier if her father had just assigned a bodyguard with less aggressive features, one that could blend in with just about every average guy who graces her school’s campus. What’s worse is that after most of her classmates realized that no, this man is not stalking her, they immediately got a very different idea of what is happening. One that Sally isn’t what you would call fond of. No one has said it to her face yet, but the tricky questions that dance around the topic paired with the arched eyebrows say enough.

One morning, she’s up before the crack of dawn, as per usual. Shower, check, plain clothes, check. She ties her thick blond curls back into a ponytail, adding a headband to keep any wisps from poking their way out from her scalp. Then, with a kind of serenity that she had not felt in a long time, she walks into the kitchen. Sally opens the cabinet right by the stove, retrieving a pot, then goes through a drawer for a large wooden spoon. Ronan is still dead asleep on the couch, or at least he’s pretending to be, until she smacks the flat end of the spoon against the pot, making a sound almost loud enough to make her ears ring.

Ronan curses, just once, and bolts up from the couch, haunches tense, fangs growing and pointed until they could rip into the throat of someone twice his size as easy as pie. It takes him all but a moment to realize that there is, in fact, no danger, and that Sally is acting obnoxious for the sake of annoying him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Sally says with a tone of faux cheerfulness so convincing, even her father wouldn’t recognize that she's facetious. “I’m off to my volunteer job. You can stay if you want, but I’m walking out the door in five.”

Ronan squints at her, hair askew, mouth slightly open, and blinks once. “What time is it?”

“Before sunrise, but I'm about to leave so,” she shrugs, walking back around the counter of her kitchen and begins to fiddle with her coffee maker, “you should probably think about getting dressed.”

Though she would never let a word of complaint get to her father, it did feel a little awkward that he slept in some old, ratty shirt with plain boxers. No, not shorts over the boxers, boxers. Maybe he isn’t exactly a guest in her home, but would it kill him to behave a little less… she can’t even think of a single word. Discourteous? She picks out one of her thermoses and starts a coffee cycle, the machine gently sputtering as it heats the water to an acceptable temperature.

“Is there any way I can possibly talk you out of this?” Ronan grumbles, getting himself up and slogging over to the bathroom to get dressed.

“Not a chance.” She adds the necessary amount of sugar and cream to the liquid, the pokes in the drawer for a spoon. “Do you want coffee?”

“I guess.”

“You ‘guess,’” Sally mimics quietly while reopening one of the cabinets, looking over the different thermoses that she’s managed to collect over the years. Without thinking about it particularly much, she reaches inside and pulls out another, placing it under the coffee machine and starting the machine’s cycle over.

When he returns, hair still disheveled, eyes clearly dull with sleep-depravity and annoyance, he grabs the pastel blue and pink thermos without a word of complaint. Satisfied that he hasn’t bogged down her exit at all, Sally snags her bag from the counter and leaves, breathing in the brisk coolness of dawn as she walks towards her car. Ronan takes her keys and gets behind the wheel, insisting on driving in case they get attacked on the road. While he does have a gorgeous, shiny black Harvey motorcycle that half the men in her apartment complex drool over, her dad would just about have an aneurysm if he found out she rode on one of those, so she gets into the passenger seat without complaining.

The drive is almost completely silent, save for Sally offering directions for where they need to go. Just a simple turn right, or maybe a keep straight to make sure he knows where to go. Ten minutes before she’s scheduled, they pull up to a rickety old building with a single street light flickering over the pale gravel parking lot. A chipped sign that was probably bright blue at some time in the past reads Emmerson Shelter, though the ‘n’ in Emmerson is almost completely stripped away.

“This place looks like a dump,” Ronan mutters, hands tight on the steering wheel.

“Well, it is,” Sally says, opening the car door and swinging her legs out. “Held together only with spit and hope.”

Brow furrowed, Ronan follows her inside through the cracked glass doors. The moment he steps through the threshold, the shelter nearly explodes with sound. Dogs start barking, some high pitched yaps that will surely leave Sally’s ears ringing, others low resonating growls that shake her very bones. One of the other volunteers, Margot, comes out from the back with a bewildered look on her face until she sees him. Sally wouldn’t exactly call the look on Margot’s face fear, but there was definitely something rather negative mixed in there.

“Hey, um, I brought a new volunteer.” Sally has to shout over the dog racket.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Margot didn’t seem particularly pleased, but it might have been due to getting barked at point blank by thirty or so dogs. She reaches into the filing cabinet and pulls out some bright pink papers, setting it on the table and sliding it over with a cheap ballpoint pen. Ronan scrunches his nose as he looks at the thickness of the paperwork, which, by the way, isn’t anything particularly significant, but Sally immediately knows he has no intention of filling anything out.

“I’ll help him, don’t worry.” Knowing anything he might say would just tick Margot off, Sally takes the paperwork herself and flashes the head volunteer one of her best smiles.

Either Margot is too exhausted to put up more of a fuss for protocol and such, or she’s beyond the human comprehension of eagerness to get the absolute hell out of the noise pit because she hands Sally the keys and leaves from her night shift without another word. The paperwork goes right back into the filing cabinet, the pen into a smudged mason jar by the ancient computer. With the dogs still barking like the apocalypse has begun, Sally enters the kennel room, little balls of fur shaking almost violently with excitement.

Margot had already fed them, but what Sally has to cycle through a few of them at a time in the backyard area. Already, she begins to fiddle with the cage to her immediate right, opening the gate just to have a blur of black and white bolt from the inside, going towards Ronan at nearly the speed of sound. Before she can even think to do anything about it, Ronan has caught the dalmatian, midair, like some professional dog catcher, and holds it out from his body as it tries licking his face. And fails, certainly by accident. Apparently, all his rippling gangster muscles are no match for an overly excited puppy.

While it is usually a hassle to coax three or four dogs out to the backyard, the moment Ronan steps out through the door, they are all tripping over themselves to follow. Sally kind of wishes he was here on her first day working, back when none of the dogs really knew or respected her. She ended up having to pick up and carry some of them back inside once the outdoor time was over, but there is absolutely almost no issue with Ronan just walking back through the door. They follow him like he’s the dog jesus.

The sun has risen enough that Sally doesn’t feel the need to wear her sweatshirt, so she takes it off and sets it gently to the right of the door, on the dry cement porch. Once she looks back over to the patchy, haphazardly planted grass to make sure the dogs are all behaving, she sees Ronan, on his knees, play-wrestling with one of the bigger dogs. Sally has a sudden, odd realization as he flips the dog onto her belly and starts scratching like he has nothing to lose that Ronan… is actually kind of cute. Of course the moment he realizes that she’s watching, he straightens his spine to throw up a facade of rigidness.

Once all the dogs have had their outside time, Sally does a quick kennel check to make sure everything is up to code, and also maybe a little more than that, since ‘up to code’ isn’t exactly what she would call healthy dog living. Once she’s sure that the dogs are perfectly fine, she hangs out by the front desk, tidying up the dingy lobby as best she can. By the time the next volunteer arrives, a good couple hours into the afternoon, Sally is both exhausted from the work, but also ready to eat her weight in some greasy fast food. It doesn’t take much more than a sentence to convince Ronan to drive through one of the restaurants on the way back to her apartment.

Neither of them talks about volunteer gigs after the end of her shifts, but Sally thinks, as she sits down in the library lounge, that Ronan might have a soft side that he is hiding from her. Maybe to keep her fearing him? She puckers her lips around her pencil eraser in thought. Again, she goes through another, long, disgruntling day of studying until her eyes bleed when she gets back to the apartment complex, bookbag almost impossibly heavy on her shoulder from textbooks and notes. Why she doesn’t just get the ebooks, she barely knows at this point in the semester, but there’s something undeniably organic about the way real books feel that keeps her going the more expensive route. Besides, it’s not her money she’s spending.

Before she has a chance to walk through her door, Ronan grabs her by the shirt and yanks her back into the hallway. Sally has half a mind to let a hellish amount of frustration on him, but then she notices two details. One, his teeth are bared, sharp and pearly white fangs poking out over his lip, and two, his entire body is suddenly tense. He sniffs the air, once, and pokes the door with his foot to open it further.

The living room is trashed. The couch is overturned, cushions tossed wildly from one side to the other, a lamp knocked over and on the floor, the coffee table turned to the side. One of Sally's paintings that stood as a centerpiece for the wall has been wildly slashed to ribbons, and several little sculptures she had painstakingly put together are scattered in pieces. Sally feels the urge to vomit, not in disgust, but from the frustration that slams into her like a tsunami. She doesn’t utter a word of argument as Ronan shoves his way past her.

Sally follows, sticking close to Ronan as he checks to make sure whoever did this is long gone. As they make their way to her room, Sally can already see from the hallway that her prized vase, one that brought her victory in her school’s annual art festival, had been shattered against the faux wood floor. Her chest feels hollow, the air suddenly not nearly enough to fill it, as she kneels down, fingers reaching out for the shards, tears finally dripping down her face.

Ronan is too busy looking under her bed, through her closet, and behind her curtains to even notice until satisfied that there is no one else with them in the room. When he finally turns around, seeing her on her knees, tearfully in front of a mess of blue and green shards, he takes a single step back. But then, completely unexpectedly, he bends over and starts to help, picking up the sharper bits of the vase and setting them in the hand towel she had grabbed. After a few minutes of working in silence, Ronan asks, “Was this very expensive?”

“It’s one of a kind,” Sally chokes, certain that she’ll never make another piece quite like it again. The details she had spent days painstakingly carving, the glaze she had carefully layered to look like sea glass, Sally isn’t even in ceramics this semester, there’s no conceivable way she could do anything about it for a long while with all her other school work piling up. And then, quieter, she adds, “it was the best I did for the whole year.”

A pause. “You… made that?” His tone of voice is suddenly different, more… empathetic? “I mean, I didn’t really see it, but knowing you… it must have been… neat.”

Sally almost hiccups from grief.

Awkwardly, as though he had never touched another human being before in his life, he reaches a large, tan hand over and gives her a pat on the shoulder. “I have to make a call.”

Sally knows what that call is going to entail, and who it is going to. “I don’t want to talk to him, so when he asks, just say no.”

Ronan lets out a huff of breath. “I’ll try, but I’d like to remind you that not only is he my boss, but he also likes to cut off appendages as punishment for not following orders.”

“He still needs you and both your hands. This little show of power from his enemies proves that, at least.” Sally sticks her chin out, folding the small hand towel over the pieces of her vase. “The man is going to be scared, and he’s going to want you even more now.”

Ronan grunts at her statement. “Sounds like you’ve got him all figured out, firecracker.”

“I grew up with him,” Sally manages to keep all the shards inside the makeshift bag she made, “I should hope I do.”

While Sally brushes most of the shards into an empty shoebox, Ronan makes the call, continuously glancing at her as though a sniper pointer will light up her head at any minute. There are a lot of yes sir’s, no sir’s, of course, sir’s, she’s safe sir’s. Sally had never thought Ronan could manage to call anyone sir or ma’am without coughing up a gallon of blood beforehand from the mental pain of having to respect someone.

But her father can have that effect on people.

“I don’t think she’s going to like that,” Ronan says only a few minutes after the call, catching Sally’s attention with the subtlety of whiplash. “But I’ll tell her.”

“Tell me what?” She hisses, impatience blooming in her chest.

Only when he puts his phone down will he face her again. “We’re leaving.”

It takes her a moment to comprehend what he had just said. “We’re- what? No, we aren’t.”

“Sally,” Ronan runs his fingers through his dark hair, dark circles so much more pronounced under his eyes, “look at this place. Look at your things. If you had been in this room maybe even just ten minutes earlier, you might be the one cut up into thin strips instead of your artwork, and I would be in a locked box sinking into the Atlantic. We need to go somewhere else, just until it’s safe to come out again.”

She puffs up her cheeks in frustration but deflates. Ronan is right, and she knows it. In any case, all her father has to do is snap is his manicured nails in the right person’s direction and she’d wake up a week later in Romania. At least Ronan is somewhat more, well, not kind or gentle, but respectful of her as a person. Even after raising her, she still doesn’t think her father has the understanding that Sally is her own individual person with needs that don’t quite align with his. “Fine. Where?”

“I just need you to trust me on that, the least everyone knows, the better.”

It hurts. Sally would never be able to explain how the pain in her chest tightens when he says it. And she knows it’s not the fact that Ronan won’t talk to her about it, no, she’s used to him being gruff and distant. Having to put herself, relatively blindly, in someone for the first time since… her father, makes her feel almost dizzy. She doesn’t have to do it, though, she could whip out her phone and talk to her dad for the first time in a year… but…

“Fine.” Her teeth hurting from gritting them so tightly.

Ronan offers a tight nod, almost as if he knows how much doing so bothers her so profoundly. “Pack a bag, maybe a week’s worth of clothes. And any valuables that haven’t been broken or stolen, but only if they really matter to you. The more we have, the more we will get bogged down with if something happens.”

Sally already knows the drill, though. Surprise ‘vacations’ were far more common in her life than in others, so she’s mastered the art of packing a large amount of clothes in a small amount of time. Now, though, Ronan’s request of packing light weighs against her mind as she pulls a duffle bag from beneath her bed. Things that can easily match with just about everything goes inside, plain colored pants, conservatively patterned shirts, etcetera. Just as she zips the bag shut, a little wooden box full of watercolor supplies that she keeps on her dresser catches her eye. Without another thought, she reaches over and stuffs it on top of her clothes.

Ronan is waiting for her as she hobbles out of her room, duffle strap over one shoulder, book bag stuffed with as much homework and textbooks as can possibly fit in the other. His eyes visibly narrow at her, but he doesn’t utter a word at her attempt to bring some normalcy with her as they go. The sun is already setting as they load whatever they brought into the trunk of her car, and then they are off like a shot. Ronan drives at leave ten over the speed limit, going up to twenty the moment they exit the city limits. Even in the rapidly dimming light, Sally notices how ashenly pale his knuckles are as he grips the steering wheel like a lifeline.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she opens her eyes to a bright pink sunrise, a beautiful wash of colors bleeding out from the treetops. Rock plays on the car speakers, turned down so significantly she barely even notices. The road that Ronan is on is scarcely anything more than a patch of dirt, a strip of grass running through the center from the minuscule amount of traffic it sees. On either side of the car is a forest, tall, leafy trees so thick with growth that she can only see the first few rows of branches, the rest disappearing behind a mass of yellows and reds.

“Mornin’ Firecracker.” Ronan turns the speaker down all the way when he notices that she’s awake, barely, her eyelids keep trying to pull themselves back downwards, but awake nonetheless.

“Morning.” There’s nothing more she wants to do that stretch her spine out, but that will have to wait. “How much longer, do you think?”

“Not much.” Ronan reaches down to the single McDonald’s coffee cup in the holder, taking a long, savoring swig. “We are rolling up right now.”

It’s a log cabin, Sally realizes, the car slowing down to a stop. Nothing as grand or as extravagant as any of the other safehouses she’s been in, but this one somehow seems significantly better than those in most ways. It stands at only one story high, though it has a good length to it, and Sally could estimate maybe two bedrooms can fit in there. Maybe three if everything is super squished. With a childlike giddiness to explore a new area, she unbuckles her seat belt, pops the car door open, and steps out into the cold autumn air.

Pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, she resists the urge to shiver as she looks up at the foliage, her breath steaming out in tiny puffs in the air. After only a minute of looking over the scenery, she begins to help Ronan unload their luggage, placing whatever was in her trunk onto the front porch, by the rocking chair.

“Whose place is this?” She asks once they are finished, her breaths coming out in exhausted huffs.

“Mine.”

”Yours?” Sally hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous, but when she had pictured where Ronan had come from, the idea of a quaint little bungalow in the forest hadn’t crossed her mind. A ratchety tin shed, maybe, the slums of a large city, perhaps, but not… this.

“You sound surprised, firecracker.” He sounds almost smug as he unlocks the cabin's door, pushing it open with his foot.

Sally gives a shrug in response, grabbing as much as she can carry and hauling it inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. While there is an underlying scent of dust in the air, the cabin is clean as can be, which she hadn’t been expecting from a bachelor with Ronan’s rougher reputation. Arms around her chest, she looks for pictures, photo albums, anything that might show her snippets of Ronan’s life, though she ultimately finds nothing.

“You hungry?” Ronan asks.

“Always,” Sally says, still looking in case she accidentally missed anything.

The sound of the refrigerator opens as Ronan investigates their options, though there can’t be anything worth eating if he hasn’t restocked in the few months he had been working with her. Eventually, he comes to the same conclusion as she, shutting the door and letting out a sigh.

“I guess that’s my cue to go grocery shopping. And before you ask, no, you can’t come.”

The request had been on the tip of her tongue, yes. It’s not even peculiar that he can guess her moves, Sally supposes that’s just what happens when two people live with each other for a while. Swallowing down a strange wave of emotion, she tries distracting herself by balancing on the edges of her feet.

“You can’t be on any radars, and most grocery stores have security cameras.” He’s already putting his jacket back on, smoothing his hair back with a single motion over his head. “Just driving through any restaurants with you in the passenger was a risk in itself. You don’t get to be in any more unnecessary danger- what are you doing?”

Sally takes a step forward, then another, and then one more until she’s wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing as tight as she can manage. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Oh,” Ronan’s voice mutes slightly. One of his hands reaches over and sits atop her hair. “I… don’t want to leave you, either. But we need to eat.”

Sally waits a good couple of moments before letting go, then gives him her world-famous puppy eyes.

Ronan gives her a single pat on the head. “Still not taking you to the grocery store.”

She gives him a face. “I’d thought to try anyway.”

Read Chapter Two Here

#exophilia #werewolf #werewolf oc #not a reader insert #werewolf/human #monster boyfriend #monster lover #werewolf oc/human oc #human oc

[theboyz-engup]

To All The Boyz I’ve Loved Before; Letter Eight

Summary- It was wonderful what a few little letters could do; they could make or break a friendship, cause someone to laugh or smile, make someone remember the time of their life or that moment they wanted to forget. Just some words on paper and poof, everyone knew the way your heart beat and workings of your brain. High school really did wonders on you, as did those twelve boys. Maybe they didn’t know it, but they changed your whole life with each smile, each wave, and each word you typed into paper. You made them permanent, and now they had to know why.

Word Count- 10.6k

Previous Letter - Next Letter

disclaimer: this chapter has mentions of violence, as well as discrimination towards the LGBTQIA+ community. the reasons for this are explained in this post here, which i recommend giving a read before this chapter if this is your first encounter with my blog / this series (and even if it isn’t, it’s a good refresher). this chapter was a way for me to express some of what I have experienced, felt, and continue to feel as a part of the community and, though it isn’t the main part of the story, it is still present in the main character’s life as it is in all lives. thank you for reading and enjoy

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Changmin jogged down the few steps in front of his house, excited to see Jaehyun again. He was coming back today and Ji was told to meet him at his house, where they could take the car and go around town. The boy was always his close friend and he hoped that maybe he could catch a glimpse of Juyeon too. All of them hadn’t been together since the eleventh grade and it made the boy a bit sad. He missed his friends. 

As he made his way down the street, he passed the mail woman, who yelled his name. Turning, he made eye contact with the plumper lady, jogging the few steps back. 

“We don’t have much for your house today, just this,” she crooned. She looked older than he remembered, crows feet now deeper beside her eyes but smile as sweet as always. He gave her a thank you, bowing slightly before taking a look at the letter in his hands. 

“Oh, for me?” His mouth was wide, glasses slowly making their way down the bridge of his nose while his eyes widened. 

The woman bid him a sweet goodbye, wishing him a good day, which Changmin quickly returned. Turning back to his original route, he turned over the paper and shook it, confused about what could be in it. Though, he supposed it didn’t matter. As long as he saved the woman a walk up the stairs, he was happy. Quickly, he ripped at the paper, hoping to find out more about what was inside.

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Dear Ji Changmin, 

Through our time together, I think I’ve learned how to be strong and it is all thanks to you. You’re a knight in shining armour and I’m beyond glad to have you in my life. 

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Mid September, 2016

Amalia’s car came to a slow stop next to the school, sunglasses low on her nose and cocky smile notching her lips up her cheeks. As the window came down, she turned to fix you with a very proud look, one hand on the wheel and the other on the car door. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

You came very close to the car, ran your finger across the metal and then held it up to show her. “Dusty.”

She smacked at your hand, grumbling a bit as you gave her a loud laugh. It took a small jog to get to the other side and, once you got in, Amalia pouted. 

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s your parent’s car, Amalia,” you pointed out, leaning your head towards her, “I’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah but not with me driving it,” she shot back, kicking up an eyebrow at you.

Hands up in the air, you chuckled and said, “you got me there.”

“Tell me you like it and I’ll take you to McDonald’s,” she persuaded, chin now sticking up in the air as she straightened in her chair, ready for the compliment. 

Despite yourself, you told her what she wanted to hear, smiling widely at the little giggle that escaped her mouth. As she began to drive, looking very carefully at all her mirrors before taking her car out of park, she chimed, “see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Before you could respond, Amalia shot off into her usual story time and you were glad to hear her blabbering again. You missed her over the summer, realizing that spending almost everyday together was integral in your relationship. Your days felt rather bland without her, especially when the rest of the group was out of the city. Though, you had to admit that you and Hyunjoon would probably never hang out just the two of you out of some sort of unspoken respect for him and Amalia. 

“Sunwoo’s gotten really popular,” she began, talking about the obvious gossip first. 

You couldn’t help but agree, feeling a bit small. It had only been a week or two of school, weeks that Sunwoo had taken off to stay and train with his company after his performances, but it seemed like his name was on everyone’s lips. It made you uncomfortable, watching little freshmen walk up to you and ask if you were his friend. Then you thought that, if it made you want to disappear, how would Sunwoo feel? Would he revel in it or would he hate it? A small part of you wished it was the latter, not knowing how you’d feel if the very small bit of growing fame made him into someone you didn’t know.

Noticing the way you quieted down, Amalia’s hand reached off the wheel at a stop and she squeezed your hand. With a sweet smile, she murmured, “he’ll be back soon and it’ll be fine. He won’t be any different. He promised me.” 

Taking your bottom lip in and biting it, you wondered if he would keep his word. Without noticing, you began chipping at the polish on your nails, a habit Sunwoo himself had scolded you for endlessly. He would stack his hands on top of yours and press down on them for you to stop but, without your inhibitor, your nail polish began tearing off easily. 

With your mind on distant thoughts, you zoned in and out of conversation easily, partially listening to what Amalia was saying. You were trying, you really were but sometimes- almost all the time- it was easy to get lost. 

“And apparently Jace got into a huge fight at a party during the summer.”

That rocked you. 

Blinking, you found your tongue working again, pulling back to repeat, “Jace?”

Amalia hummed, giving you a swift nod as she pulled into the drive-through. You mentioned you should get Hyunjoon food for practice as Amalia ordered, reading what a usual lunch of his would be like from your notes and listening to her repeat it to the woman on the other end. As you rolled up to the first window, getting all the money out to help Amalia pay, you pressed for more information.

“Jace and Shan are the least confrontational people I know,” you mumbled, trying to wrap your mind around the situation before quickly adding, “besides Joon, of course.”

Amalia shrugged, paying with a smile on her face before slowly coming forward to the second window, where you waited. “I don’t know what happened but, like, nobody does? It happened while he was upstairs at a party and the other guy- Kellen from the year above? Yeah, he won’t tell anyone what happened either.”

“So that’s why he had that bruise,” you said aloud, thinking back to earlier today when you’d passed him in the hallway. 

“Not like he doesn’t deserve it though,” Amalia muttered, grabbing onto the incoming bags, turning to say thank you with a sweet smile. The second she began driving, something sour overtook her face and her frown turned downwards. 

Your eyebrows touched as you tried to figure out what she wanted to say. “What do you mean?” 

Giving you a small look from the corner of her eye, she just shook her head. Underneath her breath, she murmured a small, “nothing,” and kept on driving. Within a beat, she was back to telling another story but that didn’t take your mind off Jace. 

You wondered if he was okay, finding yourself genuinely concerned. Did he win? Was he okay? Most of all, though, you wanted to know what everyone wanted to know: why? As you thought it over, the drive disappeared into the past and Amalia had dropped you off back at school. It was decided that you would drop of Joon’s lunch and wait for her at the school so you could all go home together and study for biology. She needed to get gas and snacks and promised to be back for you. 

Blowing a kiss at you before leaving, Amalia tossed a loud goodbye out the window and pulled away from the brown building carefully. You found yourself waving with your free hand, the other gripping tightly onto the paper bag with food in it. Once you couldn’t see her car anymore, you feet led you to the practice room, memory taking you half the way there seeing as Joon was always there nowadays. 

A few knuckles of yours knocked on the door of the practice room, looking through the glass at the dancing boys before letting yourself in. Juyeon gave you a big smile, one you had grown to love and bury in your heart, underneath emotions that had no right to be surfacing. Hyunjoon immediately bounced forwards, groaning as his hands went to the bag in front of your body. His fingers tipped the paper forwards, opening it so the smell wafted out and the rest of the boys came forwards, begging for a bite of fries. Ji Changmin, the one able to focus, just clapped a bit and got their attention. 

“Guys, come on, we've gotta keep practicing. We can eat later.”

The way his eyes landed on yours made you stop your little grin. He always felt so present, like he could see all the way through you and yet see everything about you at the same time.

“Can I stay and watch?” you asked lightly, stepping backwards to feel the wooden box that was propped up behind you.

“We're almost finished, Ji,” Hyunjoon hummed, giving their leader those puppy dog eyes nobody could deny. Changmin took a beat, eyes lingering on your face for more than a second and then nodded.

“We're almost finished,” he repeated and then turned, getting himself in position as another boy, one who just joined, ran to set the music back.

Juyeon walked past you and murmured something about your brother before you reached inside the bag and popped a fry in his mouth. You giggled a bit before feeling the mood change in the room, music starting to fade in. With running footsteps, everyone came into position and then they somehow became one machine. They were oiled so well to the point where each person's arm went up at the same angle, at the same time, with the same emotion. It felt ethereal watching them, knowing Changmin was the puppet pulling their strings, telling them exactly what to do and when and how. He was something else, one of the most perfect magicians because he didn’t have to say anything to make you fall in love with him. He just had to move his thin body in time with the wind. 

Practice ended quickly when you were focusing on Changmin. A part of you stole your eyes away to look a Juyeon, watching the way he bent and twisted. Though he wasn’t as fluid, you still found him amazing, and perhaps that’s why you focused on his classmate more. You needed to get your mind off him, it could never happen. You repeated those words to yourself in your head, thinking and crossing your fingers, a part of you wishing it wasn’t true but it was. Your heart was already torn in two pieces. You didn’t need another boy to place your bets on when the first two were already something you were unsure of. 

As everyone filtered out one by one, grabbing their bags and laughing, telling stories of what they needed to finish when they got home or their horrible history teachers, you sat on that stage box. Crosslegged and comfortable, you finally got to hand over Hyunjoon’s share, waiting for him so you could eat together. The boy sat down beside you, hair in his face and dripping a bit but his smile was as wide as ever. With a kind grin, you went and handed him a towel, glad to see him this happy again. 

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, taking out both of your meals and handing him his. He nodded, settling down by crossing his long legs as well, knees poking into you. The chatter was slowly dying around you as Joon spoke, more people leaving but Juyeon was at the front, grabbing water and talking to Changmin. When he caught your eye, he smiled with teeth and you had to force yourself to look back at your food, heart leaping. 

“Best choreography yet,” Joon appraised, looking almost starry-eyed at Changmin, who was now laughing at a joke, “like Ji wasn’t allowed to make the whole choreography before but now that he’s head dancer, he’s really stepping it up. The newcomers don’t know how great they have it with him being lead.”

You watched Hyunjoon stare a bit more before chuckling and poking him in the side with your elbow. “Did you get that solo?”

Instead of a verbal response, Joon just nodded his head, filling his mouth with his burger. He had barely eaten at lunch and, as he puts it, doesn’t believe in breakfast so you let him chomp down, glad to see his cheeks filled. Exclaiming, you threw your arms around his shoulders and gave him a bit of a shake.

“I’m so proud of you!” you hummed, pulling away to see his extremely large grin despite the food in his mouth. It was clear he wanted to say something more but got distracted, his bashfulness getting the best of him. As you returned to your spot, you found yourself rambling about how excited you were to see him before quieting down and letting him chow down. Through chews, he tried to ask where Amalia was but the question didn’t need answering. The girl burst through the practice doors, looking a bit flustered but mostly happy. 

“Guess who just got the best snacks like won’t even be able to figure out what I got,” she started, instantly going on about her haul and the people she met along the way. She loved to say that she was an ambivert and had very introverted tendencies but this girl could be put in the middle of nowhere and be fine. Sometimes you were jealous of it, listening to how her and another girl bumped carts and ended up recognizing each other from elementary school. 

“Isn’t that crazy?” she asked to confirm, coming to sit down in the space both you and Joon made between the two of you. As she hopped up on the box, she went to grab a fry from Hyunjoon but you put a few of yours in her hand instead, wanting Joon to eat as much as he could. 

“You’re giving those out like free candy,” Juyeon chimed, using his chin to point forwards as he fixed his bag around his shoulders. Changmin was a little way behind him, walking and stretching his legs as he took steps forwards. 

“I am a gentle monarch,” you joked, placing a clean hand over your heart. The crescent eyed boy grinned, forming little moons on his face that seemed to sparkle. You hated how much he drew you in when he smiled like that, all big and goofy, like he didn’t care who saw. 

“You know, I’ve never had McDonald’s,” Changmin piped up, finally coming towards your group. You looked over to see Hyunjoon’s eyes widen completely, almost popping out of his head as his hand came over his mouth. 

“You what?”

Amalia also gaped, neck craning forwards as her jaw dropped. Only Juyeon didn’t seem surprised, throwing an arm over the boy’s shoulders and sighing, “he’s a healthy one, this boy.”

Ji chuckled, shaking his head and suddenly becoming shy. “No, not at all, I just- I never was allowed when I was younger so I never tried it.”

“Well here,” you offered, thrusting your cup of fries forwards. He notched up an eyebrow and almost took one before you brought your hand back quickly and smiled. 

“Only if you teach me a cool dance move first.”

There was a small chorus of questions and encouragement all around the small group of you, four people seemingly enough to pressure sweet Changmin into agreeing. He didn’t have a problem with dancing but his whole persona offstage was someone completely different. He went from being this demanding, hard hitting presence to someone so kind. You hopped off the box at the side of the room and followed Changmin to the mirrors, just a few steps away. Looking behind you at the hoots from Amalia, you saw Juyeon taking your place beside her, clapping a little bit. Hyunjoon’s hair was getting fixed out of his eyes by his fingers, back arching forwards so he could watch you. Amalia was giving you a devilish grin and two thumbs up. It felt nice to have that support no matter what though you wished Sunwoo was here to see you. He would’ve been glad to watch you do something so off-brand, so impulsively. 

As you shifted your head to the left, Changmin’s large, kind eyes came into view and you felt grounded. You were really about to do this.

“Okay, this is the highlight move of our most recent choreo,” he explained, getting you to stand straight in place before circling around behind you so he could be seen as your shadow. Standing right behind you, he got himself into his starting position and asked you to match him. You did your best, bending your knees where his were and having your arms pointed outwards. Still, Changmin moved forwards to gently press his hands up your back to straighten it in the right direction, his fingers wrapping around yours to give you a proper fist in your left hand. 

“This is a bit more aggressive,” he murmured, being just loud enough for you to hear him. Your eyes followed him unwillingly, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. He flustered you almost immediately, gaze finding yours through the strands of hair that fell in his face. Yet, his smile was encouraging and soft. He felt familiar. 

Slowly but surely, he took you through the few steps you needed to know to do the most impressive move of the dance, nodding every time you asked questions. You stopped paying attention to your friends, who had started up a little conversation among themselves. Juyeon left at one point, giving you a wave and saying he’d see you ‘at home’ before giving Changmin a hug. Then Joon and Amalia left, probably to change and have some time to themselves. It ended up being just the two of you in that practice room with bars and mirrors and cold fries now tucked away in a paper bag. 

He clapped you through the steps, giving you the proper beat before asking if you wanted to try it with the music. His hands were on your shoulders and he was looking at you using the mirror, slender body just a half step behind you. You were left breathless, though you couldn’t figure out if your shallow breathing was his fault or the dance’s. As much as you knew dance was hard, performing and perfecting this was proving to be extremely difficult. Still, you loved it. 

The music filtered on and Changmin demonstrated it for the first chorus, which you followed quickly before grinning and nodding. You could do it. As the second chorus came around, Changmin did the move with you, beside you this time and giving you a feeling of togetherness. Then, for the final chorus, he let you do it alone, watching you and clapping excitedly once you finished. 

When your hands came down, all the choreography you knew coming together, you collapsed, giggling with tiredness and happiness. You’d really done it, and it didn’t look half bad. The dancer came to sit beside you, laughing a bit at your dramatics but mostly grinning because he was proud of you too. 

“You’ve never danced before?” he asked, splaying out beside you on the hardwood floor. You just shook your head, weirdly out of breath and entirely nervous at how close he was to you. Your arms were nearly touching, fingers just a split second away, and you wondered if it was just you feeling this heaviness in the air. Maybe it was just the weight on your chest that made you feel so light and hopeful, or the fact that fantasies created themselves in your head faster than reality unfolded. 

“You’re really good for a beginner,” Min praised, giving you a bright grin as he turned his head to face you. Reluctantly, you met his gaze and found yourself lost for a second before gasping. 

“Oh my god, those fries must’ve gone cold, I’m so sorry,” you immediately apologized, scrambling to get up and look at the food you’d left. He just laughed, shaking his head and hands at you.

Softly, he said, “it’s okay! Not your fault, I took forever with the details.”

Feeling heat on your cheeks, you apologized again, rolling up the bag after confirming the food wasn’t at its best. You slumped a bit, watching Ji get back up on his feet and fix up a few things in the studio. Finally, he unplugged his phone from the speaker and closed the cabinet, backpack firmly on his shoulders and a towel around his neck. 

“I’ll walk you down to meet your friends,” he assured you, noticing you shifting slightly in your spot, unsure if you should leave ahead of him or not. There was something very easy about him, like he could get along with anyone and everyone if they wanted to be his friend too. You nodded, somehow getting quiet again as nervousness slipped back into your skin. 

“It must be a lot of responsibility being the lead dancer this year,” you mentioned, hoping it would be something he’d like to talk about. He only shrugged, trying to play it off. 

“It's stressful but no big deal, honestly. The worst part is having to lock up, always being the last to leave and stuff but it’s a responsibility I chose,” he finished, clearly being very diligent about the words he was using. He checked the lock of the practice room, pushing the door to make sure it was fully locked before asking if you’d like to go. 

Beginning your way down the hallway and up a few stairs to get back to the main level, you pressed a bit. “If it means anything, I really admire you. I come watch your practices all the time because of Joon- who practically idolizes you, you know, like wants to be just like you- but I’ve loved watching your performances ever since grade nine because you’re so good. I don’t even do dance and I can tell, which means you’re impressive, right?”

Changmin seemed to shrink under the compliments, smile growing wider and wider and redness forming on his cheeks. His tongue struggled to find something to say, clearly baffled by your incoherent line of thought and messy sentence, but he landed on a string of thank yous you deflected. 

“No need,” you promised, shaking your head as your fingers came between the loops of your backpack, “I’m just being honest.”

You were nearing the front doors, voices echoing through the rounded atrium of your school and you were a bit sad to be parting. Though, you knew you really did have to study for that upcoming test. Changmin only gave you a click of his tongue, shaking his head with his gaze downwards. His thumbs were placed like yours until his feet planted and you came to a stop beside him. 

“Um, if you’d want to see more, I’m doing this event at the school dance, like the welcome back masquerade thing. If you’re going, I’d love to see you.”

The invite had your hands shaking, but you nodded nonetheless. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you know?”

He nodded, biting down on his cheek. You saw him contemplate how to say goodbye before awkwardly shifting forward on his feet as taking steps to the front door. You followed closely behind him, walking the rest of the way in silence. 

As you breached the outside, wind touching your skin and the sun beginning to set, as it did the later it got in the year, Changmin gave you a small wave.

“See you at the next practice, maybe?”

You nodded, silly smile slipping onto your lips. Now, there was no way you’d miss a single one. 

—————————————

I’m sure that maybe you were just being nice but, also, it felt like you saw something in me. I was starting to slip into my lowest and you grabbed my hand to try and help me out. My whole world felt like quicksand and you were an anchor, telling me not to move and that you’ll get me out soon. I remember I would go home and replay your smile in my head. It was shockingly bright and enough to lift my spirits on a weekend or a Friday with no plans (so most Fridays). Still, as irregular as our interactions were, I cherished them. I was glad for little moments where I could just forget and be a typical, starstruck junior who had a tiny crush on a senior. 

—————————————

Early October, 2016

The masquerade couldn’t have come quicker, too many things happening all at once. What with school, tests, and getting prepared for what came after, you felt like you really needed a day to relax. Not to mention Sunwoo was coming home and Eric was coming down for the weekend, finally getting a hold of his parent’s car. He told you a few days before the dance, all excitedly telling you he would come down with his girlfriend. 

“I- I have a dance this weekend though, I won’t be able to see you on Friday,” you stuttered, making up some excuse to put off meeting her. You knew it was stupid and you should just be happy for your best friend, he deserved to be as excited and giggly as he was then, but something in you stung like poison when you heard her name. Jealousy was an ugly monster and you wanted to keep it at bay for as long as you could.

“Are there still tickets?” Eric sounded eager, like he really wanted this weekend to be a hit. You didn’t want to lie to him, knowing he’d come down and check nonetheless. It would only cause a fight.

You put down your pencil, turning away from your study notes and lying on your back, staring at your ceiling. Your phone was pressed to your ear, elbow bent to an extreme to keep it there.

“I think so, but I wouldn’t know who to ask.”

You could practically see him shrug if you closed your eyes. Sometimes, he was so nonchalant about things, usually needing a plan but earnestness outweighed that impulse apparently. 

“I’ll just buy some at the door, no big deal,” he concluded. He was probably nodding, pleased with his decision. Then, suddenly, he had to go and wished you a quick goodbye. Much to your surprise, he added a few little words to the end which seemed to make both of you speechless. 

“Love you,” he chirped before stopping. There was a slight breath you both took, you sensing the way it stilled his heart when he said it. You were affectionate, sure, but saying that you loved each other was a very rare thing. It only happened in times of deep sobs and emotional revelations, never so casually tossed around. 

An awkward giggle popped past your lips and, though it felt weird, you didn’t force the words past your lips as you repeated what you’d heard. Then, swiftly, Eric said another good-bye and hung up the phone before hearing your response. The line went dead in your ears and you pulled the phone away from your ear, a bit shocked that he was acting like that. 

With the entire situation on your mind as you got ready for the dance, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Amalia had asked you if you wanted to try a dress maybe, or a skirt if you were feeling up to it, but you decided against it, opting for pants and a nice shirt. It was the easiest way to dress nicely while also fitting in, not going too against the grain. Amalia said she stood in solidarity with you and bought herself a pantsuit, sending you a picture of her in it an hour ago. You responded, telling her she looked beautiful, and she sent you a bunch of hearts back. There was something that felt difficult between you two recently though, as if communication wasn’t enough. 

A frown touched your lips at her response, causing you to simply put your phone down and stare at yourself in the mirror a bit more. Sometimes it felt like you didn’t even know who this person was staring back at you. Chuckles rummaged through your chest as you thought of the animated Mulan movie, voice coming through and humming the tune softly. A little knock at the door took your voice away and you turned to see Haymond in an almost proper suit. 

“Ready?” he asked, usually preoccupied with how his hair was positioned or straightening the wrinkles in his clothes, but now he was completely focused on you. His eyes didn’t slip past yours to the mirror and you felt a bit better knowing that your brother saw you, even if you couldn’t sometimes. 

You nodded softly, grabbing your phone from its charger and taking everything else you’d need. Haymond’s hand was on your shoulder as he led you down the hallway and stairs, mouth chattering. 

“It’s my last welcome back dance and they had to make it a masquerade,” he started, a bit of happiness in his chest as he joked, “as if it wasn’t already lame enough.”

“Then why are you going?” you pushed back, notching up an eyebrow at your brother. 

Haymond only shot you a glittering smile, straightening in his spot as he fixed his tie. “As resident ladies man, I really need to make an appearance at every event.”

You snorted as your dad came around the corner, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze. “What he means is ‘I’m popular’. Now get in this picture, pretty boy.”

Haymond began protesting as he came to stand beside you in your usual picture spot, your dad now squinting at his camera and leaning his head forwards as if he couldn’t understand how the modern phone worked. You found yourself naturally smiling, happy for the lightness in the air as your dad complained about his phone and went to look for the actual camera, Haymond stalking after him, trying to educate the poor man about technology. 

Then, you heard the knock at the door and your heart stopped. If it was Eric-

You didn’t have time to think about it, seeing as your mum left the door unlocked again, as she usually did on guest days. Juyeon came bursting through the door, dressed in a suit as well and hair slicked so only a few strands fell in front of his face. You found yourself breathless, staring at him for a second before blinking back surprise. Then, you said hello and gave him a light hug, one he returned easily. 

“You look great.”

You shrugged, twirling a bit in your spot and giving him a funny face. “It’s just a little something I threw together.”

This caused a laugh that ruptured through the whole house, his eyes curling into moons again and you found yourself still taken by him. It was funny how so many people could take up residence in your heart, as if the chambers of it constantly expanded to let new people stretch their legs and set up shop. Barly came through, barking at the boy for pets and hugs, which he gracefully gave as your family filtered into the living room.

“Juyeon!” Your mother was exceptionally chipper, hair tied up with silk for the moment but face still gracing a bit of makeup. She hugged the boy as well, making comments about how handsome he was before offering everyone drinks. 

Your father and Haymond came back in as well and your dad seemed glad for the extra companion. “More people, more pictures. Everyone get in- yes, you too, Barly.”

There was a bark and swiftly, more people came in through the front door. Eric showed up, grinning and with a girl on his arm. You didn’t catch her name, somehow preoccupied with how awkward the hug with Eric was. He seemed scared to touch you, as if he’d cross a line. You did your best not to show the discomfort on your face as him and his girlfriend piled into the pictures, the girl very excited to finally meet you. She gave your body a tight squeeze, gushing about how she’d heard so much about you. Your dad didn’t fail to take a picture of that. You wondered how awful your face must’ve looked in it because Haymond was sniggering about it behind the camera as your dad showed him the preview.

Flustered, you decided you couldn’t take any more of this, desperately wanting to leave as all this chatter and light filled your house, Eric’s girlfriend wearing a sparkling golden dress, as if her laugh wasn’t loud and obnoxious enough. At that thought, you found yourself biting your tongue, upset at yourself. You couldn’t just let her live? She wasn’t doing anything wrong to you and she sure as hell wasn’t mistreating Eric. You could see in the way she was looking at him, stars in her eyes, that she really did care for him. You decided to pick up her name, hearing your dad call her Raven and keeping it in your heart, hoping that there would be room in it for her too. 

Your feet managed to sweep you off to the backyard, where the sun was setting now, just hiding behind the sun. You wished it was darker because then maybe it wouldn’t be as embarrassing to hide the tears you held in your eyes. You didn’t want to rub under your eyes with your sleeve, not wanting to possibly stain it, so you just used the pads of your fingers, hoping to catch the tears before they left salt on your cheeks. 

“Been a rough week, huh?” His voice was enough to fix you and send you off the edge of your seat all at once. 

You launched forwards, burying your head in his chest and hiding it as your arms wrapped around his slender body. He had gotten skinnier while he was away. 

Sunwoo’s laugh was soft and not directed at you in any way. His arms were light but secure, fixing around you as if to keep you safe- like he never wanted to let you out of them for those few moments. 

“I missed you,” you said, though your words were muffled by his jacket. He repeated the sentiment, rubbing a few circles into your back before pulling away. 

“But hey, stop crying, okay? It’s supposed to be a good day. Eric’s here, I’m here, Changmin’s performing. It’s gonna be great, okay?”

You nodded, finding your eyes taking in every part of your best friend before giving him another squeeze. As Sunwoo found his place beside you, daring to lead you back into the living room and through it to the front where cars waited, as did people, he began to speak. 

“So, tell me what I missed what I was gone. I want to hear all the hot gossip.” His eyes shone as he spoke, something mischievous about him. 

“From me?”

He shrugged. “Who else? Amalia’s a gossip but not a good storyteller. You, on the other hand…”

So, you spent the entire car ride sitting between him and Amalia, who indeed did look beautiful in her pant suit, talking his ear off. Eric was sitting in front of you, commenting as he was listening in and you were glad to see him slowly relaxing. Though, he always flicked his eyes away from yours when you held eye contact for more than a moment and you figured he still felt uncomfortable. You didn’t pay it much mind, having a healthy task of catching Sunwoo up. 

Amalia and you tag teamed at times, explaining the whole Jace situation as best as you could, though neither of you had any real information about it still. Even he wouldn’t tell you what had happened, though you figured that was because Amalia really couldn’t keep a secret sometimes. Yet, Sunwoo didn’t seem too fazed by it, giving his shoulders a shrug. 

“It’s good someone told that di- guy- to shut up,” Sunwoo grumbled, clearly offset. Maybe he knew more than he let on but neither you nor Amalia had time to press as you arrived at your school. 

They were handing out masks at the front, really trying to keep the whole masquerade bit of the dance held up but they were all from the dollar store and very uncomfortable. Some people brought their own, which you noticed happily, glad for the few people who referenced the Phantom of The Opera. It was a whole affair, with streamers and cheap decorations strung together. Not the fanciest of dances, but nice nonetheless considering how underfunded your school was. Though, the anonymity of the students was lost. You could pick out anyone you wanted from the crowd, though the younger kids were a mystery to you. Amalia, who did he fair share of leadership events, did end up getting distracted by some sophomores who complimented her dress. 

In your ear, Sunwoo murmured, “I was on T.V. and she’s still the more popular one.”

You understood it was supposed to be a joke but it still caused a bit of panic in your body. Did he want to be noticed? You supposed all aspiring idols wanted to be famous, whether it was for their skill or looks or music. Still, it made you worry. With a forced smile, you pushed forwards, looking for an empty table all of you could sit at. It wasn’t until you heard your name that you turned, finally face to face with Jace and Shankeri.

“We saved seats for us over there,” Keri grinned, grasping your hand before tugging you the complete opposite way you were walking. Her mouth chattered on, clearly loosened up by the loud atmosphere. 

Jace gave you a little knowing smile, preferring not to say much nowadays. Whenever you’d seen him in class, he’d keep more to himself, only talking to a few from your friend group and even then, it was rare. 

“Who dragged you out of the house today?” you asked, looking at his very mismatched clothes, hardly strung together but you figured that was Jace’s appeal. He could make the messiest of atires look natural and purposeful. He just pointed his chin at Keri, who’d found the widest table and draped different articles of clothing across the chairs to reserve them. The girl gave him back a warm smile, presenting the seats. 

“See,” she crooned over the blue lights and humming music, “I even made sure to get enough for Eric.”

Hearing his name snapped you back into reality. Sunwoo had caught up with your group, greeting both Jace and Keri easily, and they showered him with compliments. Jace, who was much taller and blonder than Sunwoo, leaned back and even began to resemble the boy you knew in grade nine. Then, Hyunjoon appeared, Amalia on his arm as she waved to other people before giving Keri a running bear hug. The two hopped around, squealing about something and being impossibly sweet. It made you grin but, when you looked behind you, you couldn’t find Eric anywhere. 

Excusing yourself, you found yourself searching for the boy and Raven, a girl who you were trying hard to warm up to. As you shifted through the growing crowd, the gymnasium filling quickly and the night passing slowly, you stumbled across your brother and grasped his arm.

Haymond flinched for a moment, turning his head to see who it was only to land on you and sighing a bit. “Who’d you lose?”

“I can’t find Eric anywhere,” you began to say before you thought you heard his laugh. It was so loud in here and still, you thought it was him. You flicked your eyes around the room, praying for a look at his dyed brown hair but catching nothing. 

“You’ll find him, it’s not that big of a gym,” Haymond assured you, trying to move to his table but you followed him. 

“But have you seen him?”

Your brother, though he’d been warming up to you, looked a bit exasperated in that moment. With another curt sigh, he pressed, “no, y/n. I’m not your friend’s babysitter.”

You raised your eyebrows at his quick tongue and let go of his arm. He must’ve seen the way a million emotions flipped past your eyes in a split second because he began to say something else but you cut him off with a snipped goodbye. The music seemed to swell as you took more steps through the gym, honestly confused at how you hadn’t come across the boy yet. It really wasn’t that big of a room and yet-

Your shoulder crashed with another person’s and you didn’t even look as you apologized, hoping to power through until you got stopped by the sound of your name. It was a sweet voice, drifting above the music and almost fitting into the melody. There was only one person who could do that, instantly grounding you and taking a bit of the edge off from the pronounced wrinkles between your brows. 

Changmin’s smile was radiant, mask covering just the top of his face and fanciful as always. The glitter on its borders gave him extra luminance, as if he needed it when he shone so brightly form within. He extended his hand as if it were the nineteen twenties, bending at the waist for a moment before asking if you wanted to dance. 

“I- I’m looking for my friend, we’re supposed to sit together,” you said, completely skirting around the question and probably sounding like an idiot. 

The boy just straightened, lips moving a bit before he seemed to land on the words, “I’ll help you if you want.”

“I’ll owe you a dance,” you decided, hoping it came off your tongue as smoothly as you thought it would. Changmin’s smile widened as he nodded, taking his place beside you. It was quiet for a moment as your filtered through people and the current dance floor, hoping to make it to the refreshments before more people joined the floor. 

By the time you got to breathable air, you’d figured out where you wanted to strike up a conversation. “When’s your performance?”

“Middle of the night,” he said softly, glancing over people that were too tall for you to see over, “so nine-ish, I think. Why?”

“Because I’m excited to see it,” you admitted easily, not very keen on hiding your admiration for him just yet. This seemed to give Changmin some courage, his shoulders straightening in the slightest as he turned his eyes back to yours. 

There was some pause in his words, like he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say before saying it. Then, slowly, he began, “do you see your friend?”

You shook your head, eliciting the same response from Min. He said he couldn’t see a boy of that description, at least not here with this lighting, and you frowned. He suggested messaging Eric the table number and you secretly cursed yourself for not thinking of that first. That gave him a bit of a laugh, probably seeing the look in your eyes before questioning if you’d thought of that. When you shook your head no, he placed a hand on his stomach, laughing ridiculously. 

“Stop,” you drawled, holding back giggles of your own at how little you were thinking that night. Your hand came up to swat at his chest lightly, which Min took rather well, just barely dodging you. 

With a bright smile, he simply grabbed your hand and murmured, “do I get that dance now?”

A nod was all he needed, Ji sweeping you closer to the heart of the dance floor and giving you a bunch of moves you’ve never seen before. You were quite sure he didn’t know how to dance if it wasn’t choreographed but it was fun seeing him play around as he hit all the beats so casually, mask still fixed on his face but yours now resting as a headband in your hair. The song slowly drifted into a slower one, which you let the boy pull you in for. His hands were respectful but firm, leading you as you expected he would. You didn’t need to say much, or anything at all because it weirdly felt so comfortable, like you’d already befriended him in a past life. 

That didn’t stop your heart from racing. 

Just as you were deciding to break your bit of silence, Min stole the show with his little question. “Can you tell me about you and Juyeon?”

It was a soft request, one that needn’t be answered but you felt it was serious that he wanted to know. You met his eyes then, pulling away a bit to assess the gravity of his question. Without knowing what to say, you began to splutter. It was just a summer crush, one that you had to press down- one that confused you amongst your other emotions. They were all so strong and you felt torn to bits, grabbed every which way by different people. If there was ever a moment for panic to show on your skin, it would be then. 

“It’s okay if you don’t- I just figured since- you know he talks a lot about you and I…” he stuttered and trailed off, clearly not wanting to set you off but you just shook your head, hoping to make this not an awkward moment. 

Though, the more you tried to fix it, the worse it got. Both of you wanted so badly not to press too hard or be too nosy, which was difficult for two people who sure did like to talk. A string of apologizes followed each other, blush possibly forming on Min’s cheeks but you couldn’t see too well under this deep sea lighting.

Catching a breath, and a look at the clock on the wall, you patted Changmin on the chest and pointed at the clock. “It’s almost showtime.”

This sent the boy off in a hurry, a small hug being graced upon your body before he disappeared somewhere. You walked in what felt like a daze back to your table, where most of your group was waiting for food. Amalia slumped against her chair, looking unnaturally tired but she perked up seeing you. 

“There you are!” Her voice was loud and grand, able to take your mind off anything for a brief moment. “We’ve been looking for you, but we found Eric.”

The only empty seat left at the table was between him and Sunwoo, who was talking easily with the boy. Just behind them, you noticed a few younger girls gawking at your friend. Pushing a little smile for Amalia, you made up an excuse of being in the washroom and took a seat, apologizing for getting between the conversation. 

“You okay?” Eric asked. There was genuine concern in his eyes, though there was a tightness in his skin as he looked over your face. You didn’t know what to say. All you did know was that this night sure as hell wasn’t an escape from your everyday life. 

If anything, it made it worse. 

——————————

As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that a lot of what I was feeling towards you - am feeling towards you- is misplaced. I’m calling it love but maybe it’s more so adoration and intense affection. You came into my life at such a tumultuous time and tried to make it better. Maybe you could see that I was struggling and was trying to help. Maybe, when you danced with me, you could feel the waves of the ocean inside me pushing against the shore angrily and wanted to calm it. You wanted the storm to pass, while fighting with your own as well. I wish I could’ve known. I wish I could’ve seen it.

——————————

Mid October, 2016

Lunch was rolling around the corner and you found it easy to slip out of class early, making up an excuse for having to help with dance preparations. Your chemistry teacher, though not necessarily the most understanding, had a migraine and waved you out of class without paying you much mind. A boy with a large smile, one you hadn’t seen before, gave you a bit of a look before you wandered out of the classroom. With a small blink, you whisked the image of him out of your head, realizing you had a lot more to worry about than someone you didn’t know. Your whole life seemed to be crashing in on you, the pressure of all those boys and what they meant to you making it hard to breathe.

There was Eric, who had kept his distance as your friend for a very long time. He never invaded, or said anything too touchy, but he did keep you in line. He knew you through and through, at least the person you used to be. Maybe that’s why it was so different seeing him now. He didn’t understand the way you grew, the friends you began to have, the way you seemed to cling to people who showed you that they loved you- especially people like Sunwoo. The boy was popular and loud and likeable and funny and totally someone you usually wouldn’t go for; and yet, seeing him now made your heart rock. You would wait to just catch a glimpse of him between classes or eagerly sit beside him at lunch. There was a hunger for closeness that seemed to grow the more he was away from you- the more you realized he wasn’t going to sit here and wait around for you forever. 

Then, there happened to be Juyeon, who muddled your head even more. He was meant to be a passing crush, much like Chanhee was. Just something that you fell in and out of love with easily, grace on the tips of your wings as you dipped into and out of his pond. Yet, he seemed so consistent. He was a constant reminder of what you couldn’t have, familial responsibilities and concerns holding you back. Haymond would much rather have you date anyone in his year except for his best friend. He was off-limits, as you were to him. 

Lastly, Changmin’s face fell in front of your eyes when you blinked and you found yourself so utterly perplexed. In the middle of all this turmoil was this shining light, someone so bright and happy, who could spin you around in circles and teach you dance moves without any judgement. His laugh was clear and sharp, voice loud and filling. It was like you were being pulled by all four of your limbs and weren’t giving way to any of these people, who seemed to feast on your heart rather than living in it. 

As you shook the graphic image from your mind, you started to take a look at your surroundings and realized you’d been walking in the opposite direction of your locker. People began filtering out of their classes and the bell was on time as well, piercing through the growing chatter in the halls. You were close to turning on your heel but instead saw Changmin and found your feet leading you forwards once more. 

“Changmin!” you called, giving him a wave. You still had your chemistry textbook locked tight against your chest, both arms wrapping around it to keep it safe. The boy, though tall enough to reach the top shelf of his locker, was standing with his foot inside his locker to give him more height. He stepped down once he saw you, eyes wide and mouth perched open as he searched for who called out to him. 

Softly, his features changed into something warmer, smile hitching up the ends of his lips, cheeks bunching up against his curled eyes. It was enough to leave you breathless, the bit of sunlight he had locked inside him branching out in rays wherever his skin showed. There was never a moment where you weren’t absolutely caught by him, but sometimes you wished there was. It sure would make it easier for you to talk to him. 

“Hey, y/n,” he hummed, book in hand now. He was fixing it into his bag, which was hanging by the hook of his lock for ease. 

“Practice today at lunch?” You hoped it sounded natural, shoulder pressing lightly into the locker next to his. 

The boy shook his head. “Hopefully going home. I’m exhausted, I need a nap.”

“Can I join?” The question was meant to be a joke, you saying it between breathy laughs, but you saw the flicker in his eyes and realized how he might’ve taken it. Widening your eyes, you tried to take back what you said and rework it but he just laughed, taking the edge off for you. 

“No, trust me, I get it,” he promised, waving his hand and shaking his head in time, eyes shut for a moment. You seemed to blink with him because, the next thing you knew, his back was getting pressed into the locker beside his and his shirt was caught in bundles in someone’s fists. The slam of his body into the metal doors was enough to shock you, sound seeming to ricochet like a bullet would. 

Suddenly, the chatter lowered and spectators formed. Words came spilling out of Kellen’s mouth, his skin no longer bruised around his eyes. You supposed the lack of injury gave him enough courage to strike again, this time with slurs dripping from his tongue. It was the first time you’d seen something like this happen, though you’d heard of it all the time. You always said you wouldn’t stand for it. You’d step in, try to help, but your feet were stuck to the ground. There was an impeccable amount of fear in your body and it grounded you for long enough to hear him use the word gay as if it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever say in his life. 

It caused a rift in your heart, most of you not completely understanding what the problem was, though you could reason it out. It was a word you heard whispered over dinners or used in reference to an older cousin you had living out in South Africa but nothing more elaborate than that. Maybe your ears weren’t trained for the intricacies of life, your brain hardly in the know about the more scandalous, dreadful things that happened around school. It was in that moment you realized you were entirely sheltered, kept from things you knew would hurt you as much as Changmin’s scrunched up face- one made of pain and anxiety- did in that moment. The worst part was that you didn’t know what to do. 

One more slur was enough for you to blink back the sadness in your eyes and turn it into anger. Something in your body stirred, flinging your body forwards until you found your hands ripping at Kellen’s, voice yelling to get off him. You’d never been this mad before, never found it in your body to be violent. It was completely out of left wing but you supposed this whole situation was. It was new to you and slowly, it created someone new out of you.

“Y/n!”

Your brother’s voice was the first thing you heard, head switching back to look at him. That was when you felt the elbow in your chest, shoving you backwards into the few people on standby, away from Changmin. Your brother was the first to catch you, arm slinking around yours and body pressed up against your back. His eyes were on yours, concerned but then angered in a minute. Maybe it was a family trait. 

Still, the brother you expected you had disintegrated and he was immediately trying to tug you the opposite way. Under his breath, he mumbled, “come on, y/n, I want to make sure you’re okay.”

You pushed away from his hold, staring at him with some sort of disdain. In that moment, it seemed so hard to push words from your mouth but you were mad. And sad. And torn to pieces. It wasn’t happening to you and yet, you were feeling the bruises form on your shoulders with every push Changmin got. You were feeling the tears drip from your eyes as words got catapulted at his face and nobody tried to stop. Nobody tried to help. People just saw it, feared the situation, and walked on by with their heads down. 

“What the hell’s your problem, Kellen?” 

Jace’s question rang loud enough for you to turn from your brother back to the situation. He seemed to attract a bigger crowd. He was a larger boy than Changmin, with a reputation that preceded him. Everyone knew about Jace but nobody really knew him. Not even you. His eyes flickered to you for a moment before he looked back at the thick fingers that pressed Changmin against a locker. The dancer’s eyes were vulnerable but knowing. It set you off. 

Kellen looked confused, grip loosening for a moment. A breath was taken. “J- Jace, why are you d-”

“You know, maybe if you read a book, you’d stop being such an asshole. Men sleep with men sometimes and sometimes they don’t but it’s not your fucking business.” The words sounded strained and, when you looked at Jace, his teeth were gritted. The muscles in his cheeks were sharp. 

Kellen had seen that look before, you bet. You realized that was the only reason he was backing down. His pride had been stung once before and, though he was mean, he wasn’t dumb. He knew Jace was better than him and you supposed that’s why his tongue was more wicked. 

“Is he your little boyfriend, Jace? Don’t pretend I didn’t see you and him at the party- why don’t you tell people why you really be-”

A blow was enough to make you stagger back, Jace suddenly letting out a yell that was enough to rip your soul open. Kellen was knocked to the floor, the blonder boy now on top of him with anger building up in a way you didn’t understand. Despite all of it, you made a run for Changmin, pulling him closer to you as teachers came running down the hall. It was chaos, a cacophony of yells and screams, desperate attempts to get the two boys to pull apart as people watched. People filmed and Changmin tried to hide his fear in your shoulders. 

——————————

A lot of my letters are happy and I want them to be. I want every crush and every experience to be a good one but sometimes, they’re not. More often than not, they’re upsetting. They crush me and make me feel bad but, in some ways, I can find consolation. It all happens for a reason, I could say to myself, but this isn’t something I can get over. It’s been days and weeks since the incident but I just can’t get it out of my head. I can’t understand it. I don’t want to even understand something so painful for you. 

After that, I remembered you telling me that it happens all the time and it’s no big deal. You told me not to worry and cupped my cheek with your hand, though there was a bit of a mark on your chin and scratches on your chest. I’m sorry for not being there for you, for not understanding. I’m sorry for distancing myself after this, even though you told me that maybe it was better for us to hang out less. I’m sorry that I’m making this about me. 

Changmin, I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’ll never know what to say. 

Love, y/n y/l/n. On November 27th, 2016. 

——————————

The casual reminder of his high school life gave Changmin a bitter taste in his mouth. He tried hard to reconcile with it too, to understand, to not be upset about what people had called him or felt about him but it was hard. It was hard not to be angry, just like Jace was. His hands shook lightly as he folded the paper away. In some ways, it was too real. In other ways, it was completely fantasy, a life he entered without knowing why. You were a story he had no idea he’d dipped his toe into and now, there he was, a bright light, as you called him. 

A part of him was undeniably happy. He enjoyed being that person, someone who consoled and helped and eased pain. He only ever wanted to make people smile. Well, that and dance, the latter of which had become his life part high school. It saved him. With a small frown, he found himself wondering if you had been saved by something too.

“Changmin!” 

The sound of his name ripped him from his thoughts, the tall boy standing up on his steps and waving. He must’ve been waiting. Hurrying up his steps, Min jogged forwards, meaning to talk to Jae about some of this. Maybe he’d gotten something similar too and would be able to understand. If anything, he lived beside you and maybe there’d be some explanation. Some insight into your mind.

After a quick embrace though, Min seemed to forget all about it. His mind was troubled but, for a moment, he was so caught up in his friend. He missed him, the boy with the sad eyes and a loud laugh to cover it up. His parents probably didn’t come to pick him up from the station but there was something else bothering him, Min could tell. He was a bit touchy and there was a small burn on his wrist. 

“Hey, you okay?” Min found himself asking, grasping the boy’s hand and turning it to see the red skin there. Jaehyun quickly retracted his hand, nodding and rubbing just above it. 

“Yeah, I just wasn’t paying attention, I guess.” The eyebrows on his face came forwards, eyes downcast as he stared at his own injury. There was a beat of silence before both of them seemed to perk up at the sound of tires pulling into the driveway and a laugh- your laugh- floating through the air.

Jaehyun exchanged a look with Min for a second, almost disregarding it before getting serious. “Did you get one too?”

Changmin was shocked enough to be rendered speechless for a second before blurting out a quick, “a letter, yes.”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaehyun exhaled, sitting down on his steps, “do you think maybe-?”

“Juyeon,” Changmin finished, glancing towards the house only to see the door open and your older brother step out, Juyeon trailing behind them. 

“Haymond, stop!” Juyeon’s voice was loud enough to carry through the lazy neighbourhood seats. Changmin nearly took steps forward but his friend was enough to stop him, hand grasping his calve.

“Wait, Min. We all have questions. It’s better if we just wait.”

Changmin watched you disappear inside the house, Hyunjoon catching his eye. The boy gave an awkward wave before ducking inside as well. Min slumped, finding a seat beside his friend. 

“What did y/n say in yours?”

Jaehyun simply handed him the papers, crumpled from his back pocket but there nonetheless. Changmin exchanged his as well. Maybe, slowly, he could put some pieces together starting from Jaehyun.

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