#part four

"The gorilla language, specifically the purple-backed gorilla dialect I know, uses a fluctuating ratio of gestures and sounds. Somewhere between, like, 75/25 and 85/15. The vocal aspect is used to emphasize." Danny began, nodding his head as he thought it out.

Damian frowned, but green fog floated around his head, showing that he was concentrating on what he was being told and not upset.

"So, a grunt after a gesture could mean it's a statement or fact. Like someone saying they ARE going to do something. A chirp after a gesture could mean a question, like COULD I do this? Unlike human languages, gorillas focus more on straightforward and simple communication. They don't really have any reason to stretch out what they want or need; they just need to make sure the other understands quickly and clearly."

"What, they don't sit around and talk about all the pretty flowers they saw?" Dr. Trynul cut in, rolling his eyes.

"They could," Danny hummed, ignoring the condescending aspect of the question, "they like talking to each other when they have nothing else to do, and they're smart and opinionated creatures. They like pretty things, I'm sure they do talk about pretty flowers or leaves they saw."

"Sure, and I bet they also tell each other about how they keep their fur clean and what mud makes them look bad."

Damian was glaring at the man, obviously getting fed up with the interruption. Danny would usually just ignore the man and slowly drive him crazy to the point he leaves Danny alone by acting oblivious, but Damian looked like he was ready to stab the guy. (Not like Danny would stop him if he did, but like, Danny, as the, for some reason, reasonable adult, should do something about it before that happens.)

Danny glanced at the woman leading them; she was too focused on her conversation with another scientist to be paying attention. Which was good, because what Danny was about to do and say would cause them a lot of problems.

He still wanted to gather more evidence for an air-tight case (Can't do that if other people wanted to look into it), but he could still use what he had right now.

"You know," Danny started, clasping his hands behind his back while keeping a straight face, "I wonder if your colleagues would like to know that you've been manipulating your research data."

Dr. Trynul whipped around and glared at him while Damian and his brothers slowed down in confusion and surprise.

Danny kept walking.

"How dare you accuse me of such scandalous actions? I should report-" he started, quickly speeding up to match Danny's pace.

"Three papers, released to the public and scientific community. Published under a well-known science journal and written by the one and only Dr. Jake M. Trynul." Danny started, glancing at the large glass tank to the left, where a few otters swam by, gleefully splashing around and having fun.

No one but the four people walking with him was paying attention to what he was saying.

"The connection between environmental factors and animal behavior, Gorillas and the effect humans have on them, and finally, your newest paper, the effects of human and gorilla relationships," Danny listed, ticking them off on his hand.

"I might not be a scientist, Dr. Trynul," Danny smiled, stopping and turning to look at the man, "but I do know how to read data and do the math myself. You have blatantly manipulated scientific data gathered by yourself and your team and falsified findings, all so you can trick others and, more specifically, your superiors into investing more money and resources into your research."

Tilting his head, Danny studied the man in front of him, who was flushed red in anger and clammy with nerves. Danny hadn't given any evidence that what he was saying was true yet, but the man still glanced around like someone was going to strip his license right then and there.

(Which was evidence enough if you asked Danny; no one got that nervous over baseless claims.)

"You might happen to remember that I had been allowed to help your team with researching and studying Delilah and her family. An opportunity that allowed me access to the team's whole process. Which meant I had access to the unedited and raw data that had been collected. Data, I might add, that I had been required to read through and help collect."

"I don't know how you've managed to do this with so many bright minds on your team, let alone get it past so many others, but I'd like to remind you, Dr. Trynul, that if this did get out, with all the evidence I do have, mind you, you'd be in some serious trouble. Not only would your license be revoked, but you'd face possible imprisonment. Fraud, especially on a federal level, is taken very seriously."

The man gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing for a few seconds before he settled on growling at Danny, "You're lying, you don't have anything. This is libel! I should get you arrested for defamation of character!"

"Oh, bless your heart," Danny held a hand over his chest and batted his eyes, watching as the man grew even more furious. One of the brothers, Dick maybe, choked and started coughing.

"First of all," Danny started, holding up a finger, "libel is written defamation. Slander is oral defamation. Second of all, you can't get me arrested for defamation. You'd have to provide evidence that I had intended to cause you or the public harm. And file the case in a state that deals with criminal libel, which I just explained doesn't apply here."

"Third of all," Danny crossed his arms, lifting an eyebrow, "I've been collecting evidence for months now. The only reason you're not being interrogated by the authorities and your superiors is that I've been busy with other things. So, I suggest you pack your stuff, go home, and evaluate your life. Because I'm definitely going to be submitting my evidence after today."

Well, not right away.

Like he said earlier, Danny wanted to collect more evidence. Like, sure, what he had now would definitely get the man in trouble, but Danny wanted air-tight.

Turning away, Danny started walking in the direction their temporary guide had disappeared. Damian and his brothers took a moment but quickly started following.

"Holy shit," Tim breathed, glancing back at the seething man. "Do you actually have the evidence, or were you making that up to scare him?"

"I actually have the evidence, but it's back home, so it'll take 'while before I can actually submit it," Danny admitted. Now that that was taken care of, he could get back to what he was actually here for.

"Alright, 'nough about him. Y'all wanted to hear about Delilah and the language." Danny clapped his hands, turning his head to look at the three. The two older brothers looked like they'd rather continue questioning him, purple orbs zipping around their wide eyes, but Damian practically lit up in yellow light, all confusion and glee (?) from before disappearing.

"You said they liked talking when they have nothing else to do, do they not typically like to converse?" Damian asked, an almost unnoticeable skip now in his step.

"That's the thing, they talk all the time. They use a more elaborate and obviouse dialect when bored and a more straightforward and instinctual one when busy. It's fascinating." Danny smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, there you guys are!" their temporary guide cuts in, "I thought I lost you guys! Come on, Delilah is just up ahead. She's going to be so excited to see you, Danny."

Danny smiled, picking up his pace when Damian (not rushed, because the kid seemed way too formal to do something as 'childish' as running) caught up to her side.

Glancing back, the two brothers were nowhere in sight.

You just smiled to yourself as the doors closed in front of yourself and Bucky.

It was noticeable, the change, between yourself and Bucky. 

The rare good morning grunts, or more often; complete, yet heavy, silence. They had been swapped for smiles and genuine good mornings. The training and shift patterns were easier to assign, mission reports were completed with less dent marks in the paper, and the evening dinners were less awkward. 

Sam and Wanda had become hopeful. They all had. 

“They look happy, don’t they?” Sam asked aloud, already knowing Wanda was silently standing beside him. 

She smiled. “They really do.”

Down the hallway, you and Bucky were exiting the training room, laughing. The look in Bucky’s eyes – the light – had been rare to see in the last year. But when he was with you…

The light between both of you could blind any shadow. 

“Is it permanent?” Sam asked, something in his gut denying him true joy. 

Wanda smiled, hopefully. “I think so. Their connection runs deep. He helped her heal. She helped him. Nobody can end a connection like that.”

Sam nodded, turning his head to look back down the corridor where you and Bucky had just turned. He could only hope it would last. 

Bucky had been in love with you for a long time, even if he didn’t like it. Sam didn’t want him to hide it away. He deserved love. And so did you. 

Even when all you did was fight, you were each other's safe space. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Shut up.”

“Because one wrong hit and it all falls down.”

You were starting to regret agreeing to family games night at Kate’s apartment. It was yourself, Kate, Yelena, Clint and Bucky; all sat on the floor. 

“Careful, doll.”

“Shut up.”

You knew you’d taken a risky move with the jenga block, but if you’d chosen the one Clint had first been trying to ‘help’ you towards, you’d lose. 

“You know, this is a stupid game. We should play something else.” Yelena said. Her’s would be a different tune if she hadn’t lost the last round. 

Kate shushed her, “She’s gonna do it.”

Clint looked at his work partner. “This is a one for all game. Can’t be girls vs boys. We’re outnumbered.”

Yelena scoffed. “Bucky is like…ancient. He qualifies for two people, at least.”

You sniggered, trying to keep your focus on the wooden block. 

“You are a child.” Clint deadpanned before turning to Bucky. “They’re children.”

“Ah!” You pulled the brick free and held up your arms. “Done it!”

The tower remained standing for another minute before Clint took his go and the tower came falling down. 

Yelena just laughed, “Ha.”

You chuckled, pushing yourself to stand. “Okay, I’m getting another drink.”

“I’ll set up the next game.” Yelena called out before picking up the monopoly board. 

“I’ll come with you,” Bucky said as you stepped over his legs before helping him up.

As the pair of you walked into the kitchen, you could hear the other three stuck in an argument over who should be the banker. 

“Beer?”

Bucky held out his hand and you passed him the two in your hand. Popping off both caps, he threw the tops into the sink before handing you yours. 

You both clinked the necks of the bottles against each other’s. “You did good.”

“Would have been easier if I didn’t have this super annoying voice coming from across the table.”

Bucky smirked a little, narrowing his eyes. “Now where would the fun in that be?”

You just shook your head as you took a sip of your beer. You leaned against the sink as Bucky leaned adjacent to you. 

“So…”

“So?”

Bucky lowered the beer bottle from his lips and braced himself on the counter. “I’ve got a free day tomorrow if you want to…do something. With me.” 

You looked him over. “Why are you shy?”

You saw him blush a little as he looked away. “I’m not- I’m not shy.”

You smiled and Bucky felt like he needed to look away despite that being the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Bucky,” your voice was soft as you looked at him. “What is it?”

“I just…” Bucky’s question was on the tip of his tongue. But then he chickened out. “I was wondering if you wanted to train with me tomorrow?”

“You were nervous to ask me to train with you?”

Bucky nodded. “Last time I asked, you said no.”

You just stood back for a moment, your eyes fixed on him. “I’ll train with you.”

Bucky felt like his crush in a 40s dancehall had just finally agreed to dance with him. “Really?”

“Really,” you nodded. “Don’t know who would train on their day off, but sure.” You smiled before grabbing the bowl of snacks on the kitchen counter. 

“We better get back in there before the bank has a hostage situation.”

Bucky chuckled, following you back into the living room. 

By the time the next afternoon rolled around, you and Bucky were beat. 

Bucky held his side. “I thought you were taking it easy after your injuries.”

You laughed, “I got a full clearance from the hospital four months ago. Good as new. Thought I’d go easy on you? Never.”

You almost had Bucky to his feet but he pulled a reverse on you. Somehow you found yourself trapped on your knees, your back against his chest. “Little too cocky, sweetheart. And who said I wanted you to go easy on me?”

Jabbing him in the ribs, he calculated your next move. You were rolled onto the mat together. As you had Bucky on his back, you felt him reach for your knife. Only, it wasn’t there. 

He felt a small pinch by his side. He looked down, a little breathless. “You remembered.”

A small chuckle left you. “I remember a lot of things about you, Barnes.”

You didn’t know what it was. Your words and their hidden meaning, the smile on his face as he was looking at you, the way his eyes flicked to your lips, or the fact that yours did the same with him. Maybe it was his hand, holding onto the side of your leg, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth. Maybe it was the breathless exchange. Or maybe it was your constant reminder of him that fell forward from your t-shirt. 

Dangling between you both were Bucky’s dog tags. 

Pulling your attention away from the slow-swinging metal, Bucky spoke, “You’re still wearing them.”

Your gaze locked onto his. “Yeah…never take them off.”

Maybe it was the fact that Bucky was looking at you like…like he wanted to kiss you. Or the fact that you wanted him to. 

But something shifted. 

You cleared your throat and quickly moved yourself from Bucky’s body and stood up. “I, uh, I should…there’s somewhere I’ve gotta…” 

You couldn’t think straight. You just needed to get out of there, before you did something reckless. 

The rest was a blur. Gathering your things up, Bucky slowly standing up and trying to keep you calm. He was clueless and worried. And somewhere between it all, you’d pressed his dog tags into his palm and left. 

For the next month, things were…awkward, to say the least. 

“Has she told you anything?” Bucky asked, once again frustrated that you weren’t talking to him. 

It was bordering on week 5 of you ignoring him. 

And it. Was. Maddening. 

Wanda shook her head. “No, nothing.”

In saying you’d told her nothing, that was the truth. But deep down, Wanda already knew why. Whatever had happened between you and Bucky after that day…it had scared you. It had opened something up inside of you that you’d been forcing down for a long, long time. 

“I thought we were finally getting somewhere,” Bucky sighed as he sat down. 

“Maybe you should just try and talk to her.”

“How?” Bucky almost exclaimed.

“And we’re standing again,” Wanda whispered to herself as Bucky launched himself from the sofa and started pacing again. 

“Everytime I see her, she doesn’t look at me. If she sees me coming down the corridor, she takes a completely different exit. We got assigned a three day recon mission last week, she won’t take the mission.”

“She’ll take the mission, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “She won’t. She hates me. Again. I don’t even…”

“She doesn’t hate you, Bucky. She never has.” Wanda told him. “Look, Y/n…she’s not someone who trusts easily. And she trusts you, Bucky. I know she does. Maybe even more than she even knows. Which also means, I know that it scares her.”

Wanda stood and laid a light hand on Bucky’s chest, a little over his heart. “Just talk to her. Find her. Make her sit down if you have to. Talk. It’s the only thing you can do.”

Bucky bowed his head and sighed. That was even if he could get you alone in a room for ten minutes. 

“We need to talk.”

You ducked your head as if a bullet had just been fired towards you. “Jesus- James.” You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. “You need to stop sneaking up on me. Make a noise or do something. How long have you been standing there?”

“Ten minutes. At least,” Bucky answered honestly before pushing himself from the wall. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t about to run off. And, from the way you’ve been punching that bag, I’d say you’re really pissed at someone.”

“Want me to give you three guesses?”

Bucky just hummed and continued to watch you as he stood a little closer. 

“What do you want, Bucky?”

“I want to talk.”

“What about?” You continued to hit the punching bag in front of you. 

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”

Bucky came and held the bag still and for a moment, you stood back. Breathless, sweaty and tired, you looked at him. 

“I know you’re not dumb, Y/n. You know what.”

You stepped away, untying the bandage from your hands. “Enlighten me.”

Bucky watched as you walked away from him. He could take a lifetime of you hating him, but not a lifetime of you ignoring him. 

“Aren’t you tired of this game?”

“What game?”

“This one. And the one we’ve been doing for the last few years. I thought we made up. I thought we were finally friends.”

You shook your head. “You don’t wanna be my friend, Bucky.”

“Yes, I do.” He stood in front of you before you could walk away. You finally looked at him. 

For the first time in over a month, you finally looked at him. And he knew it was still true. He could drown in your gaze for the rest of his life. 

“Or maybe I don’t.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What I do know, however, is that I want you to talk to me. I can take you hating me for the rest of your life, Y/n. But I can’t take you ignoring me. Pretending like we don’t exist.”

“We?”

“What happened here?” You knew what he meant. The training mats were less than eight feet away from you. “That day?”

You turned your gaze away from him, trying to run away from the conversation. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

He let you pass but he still followed behind you. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened, Bucky.”

“Y/n.” Bucky stopped walking. 

“Goodnight, James. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y/n, wait!” 

Finally, you stopped in your tracks. Your back was still facing him, but you had stopped running. For the moment. 

Slowly, you turned around to face him. Your grip tightened on your bag. “What?”

Bucky stood looking at you. Breathless. Angry. Worried. Sad. Annoyed. Tired.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered, almost to himself as he bowed his head and braced his hands on his hips. “I can’t.” He looked back up at you, a little more determined. “I like you, Y/n. I can deal with you hating me. I’d prefer it, actually, compared to you ignoring me. If I’m being completely honest, I more than like you. But since I’ve barely been able to keep you in the same room as me for the last month, I’m gonna keep that to myself until I know you’re not gonna run away from me.”

You didn’t know what to say, so Bucky continued. 

“Just…tell me what happened…please.” Bucky was ready to get on his knees and beg. 

Your words were caught in your throat. Stuck in place, burning underneath whilst freezing on top. So you did the only thing your body was allowing you to do. 

Move. 

You could have turned away. You could have ignored it all. 

But you stayed. 

Bucky watched as you dropped the bag from your shoulder and it landed with a loud thud on the ground. Then you were making your way over to him. 

Pulling him in by his dog tags, you placed your other hand by the back of his head and kissed him. 

It was safe to say Bucky hadn’t been expecting it. Dreamed of it a few times, but never expected it. 

It felt surreal. 

You felt his hand clasp your waist, his fingertips pressing lightly into your skin almost as if to check you were real. It wasn’t long before you felt one of his hands beside your face, trying to hold you closer as he kissed you right back. 

Eventually the kiss broke apart, but Bucky wasn’t ready to let you go. 

“That,” you eventually said. “That was what happened…what almost happened,” you corrected. 

Bucky felt lightheaded and unsteady on his feet but in the best way. 

“You should have stayed that day.”

You found the courage to finally look at him. 

You shook your head. “I…couldn’t. I know it’s bullshit but…it scared me. More than anything. I’ve been hiding that part of myself for so long I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, just for future reference, this is the better answer.” 

You felt yourself chuckle a little once you saw the corner of Bucky’s mouth lift up. 

“I can take you hating me, doll. But I can’t take the silence. Even when we’re fighting, I still know you’re there. You still talk to me.”

That was when Bucky let you go. 

“What are you doing?”

From around his neck, he pulled the dog tags up and over his head. “Giving you these back.”

“But they’re yours.”

Bucky just laid them over your head and around you, holding them with a smile. “They’ve been yours since you stole them, doll.”

Holding them in your palm, you looked at them. 

“They haven’t been the only thing you’ve stolen from me.”

You looked back to Bucky, a softened smile on your face. And he was looking right back at you, the same stupid grin on his face that had been making your stomach fill with butterflies. 

“Promise me you won’t run away from me, again?”

You shrugged. “Like you said, this is the better answer.”

Bucky grinned, sharing a laugh with you as he cupped your face before kissing you again. 

—

The texts start coming the very next morning. Your phone buzzes once, then twice, then turns into a slow, pathetic trickle that turns into a flood by the time you drag yourself into the shower. 

Unknown: Hey. 

Unknown: I’m sorry.  

Unknown: Let me make it up to you. Please.  

Unknown: I’m in town a few more days.  

Unknown: Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.

You read every single one. You let them sit on your screen while you’re brushing your teeth, while you’re pouring cereal, while you’re driving to your next shift. You don’t reply. Admittedly, the desperation is getting annoying. This guy, Sidney fucking Crosby, captain of everything, face of the league, the man who probably has sponsors lined up around the block, is out here texting you like a horny teenager who just discovered what pussy feels like. It’s ridiculous. 

Maybe it’s something more than the sex but you don’t let yourself think about it. You should’ve just jerked him off that night, finished him in your fist and left him sticky and satisfied so he’d finally leave you the hell alone. But no that’s not how these things work. You want him too, obviously but you’re not the one showing up in Pittsburgh begging outside his arena like he’s practically doing to you. You thought you were bad, he’s way fucking worse.

And then he shows up again.

It’s a slow Wednesday afternoon. You’re wiping down table 9 when the hostess seats two guys in your section. Sidney. Not with the whole rowdy team this time, just him and one other guy, some broad-shouldered friend in a hoodie and backwards cap who looks like he’s never seen a bad day in his life. They’re laughing about something when you walk up, but Sid’s laugh stops the moment he sees you. His eyes find yours, and holy shit he looks good. Plain black long-sleeve pushed up to his elbows, veins standing out on his forearms, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, hair still a little damp like he’d just showered after whatever the hell. Shouldn’t this fucker be playing hockey? you think, menus already in your hand. Isn’t the season still going? Playoffs or whatever? You don’t actually know because you’ve never bothered to check but the thought makes you want to laugh. Here he is, in your shitty little section again, looking like he crawled out of a cologne ad just to sit in your booth and grovel.

You plaster on your best server smile and say, “Hey, welcome back. I’ll be taking care of you guys today. Drinks to start?”

His friend Matt apparently orders a beer and some wings right away, cracking a joke about how Sid dragged him here because “the food’s apparently life-changing.” Sid just orders water, his eyes stay on the menu. He’s in a good mood at first, a little nervous maybe, but nothing bad. He even manages a small “thanks” when you drop off their drinks.

You decide to give him hell. Just a little.

Your customer service is impeccable as it is. But with Matt? You’re incredibly friendly. Like, too friendly. You linger when you drop the wings, hip cocked against the table while Matt tells some story about their last golf round and you laugh way too loud, touching his shoulder once when he says something actually funny. “Oh my god, no way did he really hit it into the water?” you ask, ignoring Sid completely even though he’s sitting right there looking so fucking edible. You can feel his stare burning into the side of your face every time you lean in closer to Matt, every time your laugh comes out a little harder. It makes it sweeter, somehow. Watching the way Sid’s jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex around his water glass like he’s imagining wrapping them around something else.

You walk away from the table after taking their entrées and catch Matt saying something to Sid, “Dude, she’s hot, right?” and Sid doesn’t even give a proper response. Just a grunt. You swing by again with refills, brush Matt’s arm when you finish, ask if he needs anything else in that sweet, honeyed voice you usually save for big tippers. Sid’s fork scrapes loud against his plate. You don’t look at him.

When you finally circle back with the checkbook, the table’s half-empty. Matt’s still there, wiping his hands on a napkin, but Sid’s gone. His chair pushed in neatly, his plates stacked, like he dissolved into the air the second you turned your back.

“He had to run and meet some other friends,” Matt says with a shrug, pulling out a card. “Said to tell you thanks. Food was killer, as always.”

You smile, but you don’t take the card; you comp the whole bill. Zero it out right there at the table with a quick note to the kitchen. Matt raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue when you hand the card back with a wink. 

“On the house tonight. Tell your friend he can pay me back whenever he wants.” You say it loud enough that if Sid’s still lurking somewhere near the door he might hear it. 

Matt laughs, promises he’ll drag Sid back soon, “Guy needs to get out more anyway,” and leaves you a fat tip anyway because he’s polite like that.

You pocket it and finish the rest of your shift in a really good mood. You imagine Sidney Crosby pissed off enough to storm out because you flirted with his buddy. You imagine him having to pay you back later, in cash or in bruises or in a different, more filthy apology you’re definitely going to make him earn. Whatever. It’s stupid. It’s the most fun you’ve had in months.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket the second your shift ends, right as you’re clocking out by the ice machine. You already know who it is before you look.

You don’t answer till you get home. Give him another full 30 minutes of nothing. You kick off your work shoes, leave them in a heap by the door, and fall face-first onto the sofa, the cushions sagging under you like they’re as exhausted as you are. Finally, you open the thread, his messages from the last few days still sitting there unread in that neat little stack, all those sorrys and pleases and I can’t stop thinking about yous that you’ve been savoring. You scroll past every single one, the gray bubbles blurring by, and your thumbs hover for just a second before you start typing

You: You owe me 75 dollars.

Unknown: For what?

You: For your dinner tonight. Food was like 50. You owe me a tip so 75 seems fair. ;))

Unknown: What the fuck are you talking about?

You: Your friend tried to pay but I zeroed it out. Thought you’d want to handle it yourself.

Unknown: He could’ve paid. Why would you do that?

You: Because I wouldn’t have a reason to talk to you if he did.

You send, and then you add a little shrug emoji just to twist the knife. The sofa creaks as you roll onto your side, phone propped on a pillow, your free hand idly tracing the waistband of your pants while you wait. 

Unknown: Really? No reason?

You: Nope.

Unknown: Giving you 75 dollars feels like I’m paying for a hooker.

You type out a simple lmao. Then stop. You reread his message and feel a little gross about it all of a sudden. Like you turned this into something cheap and transactional when you just wanted an excuse to talk to him again. You delete the last message you were about to send and type: 

You: Never mind. Forget the money. I don’t want it.

Unknown: You sure?

You: Yeah. Its fine.

You shove the phone away from your face for a second, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles above you. You’re not a hooker. You’re just… playing a game you’re not sure you know the rules for anymore. You just like talking to him. Honest. You pick the phone back up, thumbs slower this time. 

You: What are you doing right now?

Unknown: Why? 

You: Because I want to see you.

Unknown: When? Where?

You send your address before you can talk yourself out of it, your street, your apartment number, the little gate code that never works right on the first try. You don’t think he’ll actually do it. He’s Sidney Crosby. This is probably where he ghosts or sends some polite excuse and you go back to torturing him through unanswered texts like the petty bitch you’ve become.

But then the next message lights up your screen: On my way.

You sit up so fast your phone almost hits you in the face. Holy fuck. Why did you do that? Why did you do that? Why did you fucking do that? You scramble off the sofa, socked feet slapping against the cool hardwood. The apartment looks like a disaster zone now that you’re actually seeing it. There's mail piled on the counter, a half-empty wine glass from last night still sitting on the coffee table, a bra draped over the back of a dining chair like some kind of sad flag of surrender. You start tidying as best as you can while your brain screams at you the whole time. He’s coming here. To your place. Not a neutral hotel where you can leave whenever you want. Here, where your ex’s old hoodie is still balled up in the corner of the closet and your vibrator is probably still charging on the nightstand if you forgot to hide it.

You curse under your breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” as you strip out of your work clothes right there in the living room, the black top and pants, and even your bra, falling to the floor in a sad pile. Your skin feels too warm, too sticky from the shift, and the air hits your bare legs like a shock. You try not to overthink anymore because he’ll be at the door any second. You grab the oversized tee hanging from the back of your bedroom door, the one that hits mid-thigh and used to belong to someone else but now it’s just yours. No bra underneath, because why bother. You pair it with the tiniest pair of sleep shorts you own, the black ones with the little lace trim that ride up when you move, the ones that make your ass look like an invitation you’re not sure you meant to send. You run your fingers through your hair fast, letting it fall loose around your shoulders instead of the tight server ponytail, and swipe on a quick layer of lip balm because your mouth still tastes like the mint gum from work and you want it to taste like something he’ll want to kiss.

The knock comes in three quick raps. You freeze halfway between the coffee table and the hallway. Don’t run, you tell yourself, fingers curling into fists at your sides. Do not fucking run to the door and jump into his big stupid arms like some desperate idiot who didn’t just spend days making him chase you. Get it together. Your heart is beating so loud you swear he can probably hear it from the hallway, but you force your feet to move.

When you pull the door open, he’s there, filling the entire frame like he was built to ruin doorways and common sense. He looks so… fuck, you can’t even finish the thought because he steps forward without a word, big hand cupping the back of your neck, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it since the second you walked out on him.

His mouth is a little rough, tongue sliding against yours before you can even catch your breath, and he’s already walking you backwards into the apartment, one step after another until the door clicks shut behind him. The kiss doesn’t break. You taste mint on his tongue, feel the groan vibrate from his chest into yours, and your arms come up wrapping tight around his broad shoulders to keep him close. This isn’t exactly what you expected with him taking the lead right off the bat, no awkward small talk, no more groveling texts, just this immediate, consuming kiss but you know it could be worse. A lot worse. Your back hits the wall beside the coat hooks and he presses in closer, hips nudging against yours, the hard line of him already obvious through his jeans.

One of your hands slides down to flick open the button of his jeans. The zipper gives a little on its own, teeth parting slowly like even his clothes are impatient. His hands slide down your sides, palms hot through the thin tee, then dip straight into the waistband of your shorts, fingers spreading wide as he grabs two full handfuls of your ass and squeezes hard enough to pull a gasp out of you. The lace trim presses into your skin under his grip, and he uses it to haul you tighter against him, grinding just once, like he’s reminding you exactly what you left unfinished the other night.

He starts walking you backwards again, steering you toward the sofa like he’s already mapped out the fastest route to getting you horizontal and beneath him. You feel the edge of the coffee table brush your calf and for a second you almost let him do it. Almost let him lay you out right there on the cushions that still have the indent from where you were texting him twenty minutes ago.

But no. Not the sofa. Not tonight.

You hook your fingers into the open waistband of his jeans and tug hard, redirecting him toward the short hallway that leads to your bedroom. What the hell, sure. He follows your lead, just like you like it, no resistance, just a chuckle against your lips that turns into another deep kiss as he lets you take him exactly where you want. 

You break the kiss just long enough to yank his long-sleeve up and over his head, tossing it somewhere behind you, and then your hands are on his bare skin. He’s already overly warm, there's a light sheen of sweat across his collarbone like the drive over had him worked up the whole way. His muscles flex under your touch, breath catching when your nails drag lightly down his abs. He’s growing hard enough that the zipper of his jeans keeps inching lower on its own, the thick outline of him pressing against the denim and brushing against you every time he moves.

You keep pulling him backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your unmade bed. He lays you down without breaking stride, big body following you onto the mattress, the frame creaking softly under his weight as he settles between your legs. Your thighs part automatically, cradling his hips, ankles hooking loosely behind his back like your body already knows exactly how this is supposed to go. He’s a perfect weight above you, forearms braced on either side of your head, mouth finding your neck in an open-mouthed kiss that makes your back arch off the bed.

You turn your head to the side, chasing a better angle for his teeth against your skin, and that’s when you see it, your vibrator, still plugged in and charging on the nightstand like you thought it would be. No shame now, you guess. Not with his mouth sucking a mark into the hollow of your throat and his hips rolling slow against yours, the open fly of his jeans letting his cock rub right against the damp heat of your shorts. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your neck, and you let out a breathless little laugh that turns into a moan when he grinds down harder.

“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he mutters against your skin, voice so fucking gone it sends another rush of heat straight between your legs. One of his hands slides up under your tee, palm hot on your bare stomach, thumb brushing just under the curve of your breast like he’s asking permission without asking. “Been thinking about this since you left me on that bed. Couldn’t even sleep. Kept replaying the way you sounded when you told me I was still a prick.”

You smile against his hair, hips lifting to meet his next slow grind. “Good,” you whisper, voice already breathy. “You deserved it. Still do, probably.” Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, and you feel the way his cock twitches hard against you, the zipper finally giving up and sliding the rest of the way down.

He kisses lower, teeth grazing your collarbone, then higher again to your jaw, like he can’t decide where he wants his mouth most. “Tell me what you want,” he says against your ear. 

You push him back from the kiss just to look at him. His chest is heaving, his lips are swollen and wet from how hard he’d been devouring yours. The sight of him makes something hot and mean curl low in your belly. You want control back. You want him desperate again, the way he was in that hotel room when you left him aching and unfinished.

“Take your pants off.”

He looks surprised, those earnest eyes widening like he didn’t expect you to flip the script so fast. But he listens. Of course he does. He stands back up to shove the jeans down his thick thighs. The boxers go next when you don’t stop staring, and then he’s naked, cock heavy and flushed and curving up toward his stomach, already leaking at the tip.

You don’t waste time. You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts and panties at the same time and push them down your legs, kicking them off so they join his jeans somewhere on the floor. Then you spread your legs wide, knees falling open on either side of his hips, letting him see everything. The cool air hits your soaked pussy and you feel yourself clench under his gaze. He stares. Mouth actually falling open a little, eyes fixed right between your thighs like he’s never seen anything better in his life.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

You grab his shoulders and pull him back down on top of you for a second, kissing him, but before he can settle his weight fully you roll, using your momentum and the surprise to flip you both. Now you’re on top, straddling his hips, knees digging into the mattress on either side of him. Exactly where you belong. You don’t even wait this time. Your hand slides down between your bodies, wrapping around him. God, he’s so much bigger than you remembered, and you give him one slow stroke from base to tip, spreading the slick already leaking from him.

You glance over at the nightstand, reach across his chest, and grab the strip of condoms you’d shoved in the drawer months ago. They were your ex’s. Whatever. You tear one off and toss it onto his chest. “Put it on.”

He picks it up, rips the wrapper with his teeth, and starts rolling it down. But it doesn’t fit. Not even close. The latex stretches tight, barely covering half his length before it refuses to go any farther, pinching and ridiculous. Sid’s trying his hardest not to laugh, his lips pressed together, that smug fucking look creeping into his eyes even while he’s still struggling with the too-small condom, jaw flexing like he’s biting back a grin. His eyes find yours like he knows exactly what you’re both thinking. Your ex must’ve had a little dick. The thought makes you want to laugh too, but mostly it makes you even hotter between your legs.

You snort, the sound breaking, turning to a laugh you can’t hold in. “Fuck it,” you mutter, plucking the useless thing off him and tossing it somewhere toward the nightstand. It lands near your still-charging vibrator with a pathetic little bounce. 

His eyes widen, but he doesn’t argue. Not when you’re already shifting forward, bracing one hand on his chest while the other lines him up at your entrance. You sink down slowly, inch by thick inch, the blunt head of his cock stretching you open with that perfect burn. The second he’s fully inside you both of you groan.

“Holy fucking shit,” he rasps, head falling back against the mattress, hands flying up to squeeze your thighs in pure desperation. His fingers dig in hard, like he’s trying to convince you to move, to ride him, to give him anything. You feel every vein, every pulse, the way he throbs deep inside you, raw and slick and so much better than you remembered.

You swat his hands away meanly, “Not yet,” you tell him.

You brace both palms flat on his chest, leaning forward so your weight is centered right where you want it. His eyes lock instantly on your tits through the thin fabric of your oversized tee, nipples hard and obvious. You wish you’d taken the damn thing off, but there’s something hotter about keeping it on like you’re still half-dressed while he’s completely naked and underneath you.

You roll your hips just a little, a tiny experimental grind that drags his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. His head falls back harder against the mattress, jaw clenching so tight it looks almost painful as he fights the urge to thrust up into you. 

“Please,” he breathes, the word cracking. “Fuck– let me move.”

You ignore his begging. Instead you start rolling your hips properly in circles that let the thick head of his cock nudge right against that perfect spot inside you over and over. Every roll makes your thighs feel hotter, liquid heat spreading through your legs and up your spine. You pull forward until he’s almost all the way out then bounce back down hard. The loud slap of your ass meeting his thighs echoes in the room. He tenses hard under your hands, abs flexing, a moan tearing out of him.

“You’re so not the man you were that first night,” you tease, voice low and mocking as you do it again, pulling almost all the way off before slamming back down with another slap of skin meeting skin. “All that polite ignoring me at the table… and now you’re begging under me like this.”

His hips buck upward hard, completely out of his control, driving him deeper. You use your full weight to pin him back down to the mattress, thighs flexing as you hold him still. “No,” you say, rolling your hips harder, grinding your clit against the base of his cock on every downstroke. Sid’s hands curl into tight fists at his sides, knuckles white. He’s biting down on his lower lip so hard it’s practically bloodless, eyes half-lidded and glassy as he tries to watch you. He’s losing it, his chest heaving, breath coming in heavy, ragged pants.

You lean down and kiss him. He kisses back like a starving man, but you pull away after only a few seconds, straightening up so you can chase your peak. Your hips move faster now, rolling harder, the wet sounds of skin on skin growing louder. You reach down between your bodies and start rubbing tight circles over your clit, the added pressure making your moans break higher.

Sid is stuck watching you, completely helpless under your weight, eyes glued to where you’re touching yourself and where his cock disappears inside you again and again. You change the rhythm, switching from rolling to bouncing, lifting and dropping down hard, using the full length of him to hit that sweet spot deep inside over and over and over. The slap of your ass against his thighs gets louder with every bounce. Your knees feel like they’re about to give out but you don’t stop. You can’t. It feels too fucking good.

“Fuck– please,” he groans again, hips twitching like he’s dying to thrust but still holding back because you told him not to. “You’re killing me. Let me move. I need to..shit...”

You just smile down at him, breath coming fast, and keep bouncing, rubbing your clit faster, chasing that coil of pleasure that’s getting tighter and tighter in your core. Your tee is sticking to your skin now, damp with effort, and every time you drop down the wet slap sounds and his cock hits that spot so perfectly your vision starts to blur at the edges.

You’re so close. Knees trembling. Thighs on fire. But you don’t let him move.

He starts to say something, maybe another plea or some half-formed apology that dies the second you decide you’re done teasing. You bounce down hard once more, your pussy clenching tight around every thick inch of him as the orgasm you’ve been chasing finally snaps through you. 

“Fuck– oh my god,” you gasp, the words tumbling out broken and high as the pleasure crashes over you. Your thighs shake violently, knees digging harder into the mattress while your pussy clenches and unclenches in, soaking his bare length and your own thighs. You can feel it dripping down, coating his balls and the sheets beneath him as you ride the high, rolling your hips through every aftershock instead of stopping. Drawing your orgasm out until your vision whites out at the edges and your moans turn into shaky, breathless whimpers.

Sid’s trying so hard not to come. His cock throbs inside you, twitching with every clench of your pussy like it’s fighting to hold back, the veins standing out even more against the slick, creamy mess you’ve made of both of you.

“Holy shit you’re squeezing me so tight,” he grunts, hips twitching before he forces them still again. 

You finally pull off him with a filthy sound, his cock slapping heavy and glistening against his stomach, shiny with you. He lets out a broken noise at the loss, but before he can protest you’re already leaning forward, bracing one hand beside his head and kissing him. Your tongue slides into his mouth as your other hand wraps around his soaked cock, stroking him hard and fast from base to tip, no teasing left in you, just relentless pulls that twist a little at the head the way you know drives him crazy.

He groans loud into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your tongue, hips jerking up helplessly into your fist. “Fuck yes, just like that…”

You keep stroking through every twitch and throb, thumb swiping over the slick head on every upstroke, spreading the mess of you and his pre-cum all over him. His kiss turns sloppy, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as his whole body starts to shake. Then he comes with a deep, moan that you swallow down, thick ropes of cum spilling hot and messy over your fingers and across his stomach. A few streaks catch the side of your thigh, and close to your pussy, it’s warm and sticky against your skin. He keeps groaning into your mouth through every spurt, the sound so fucking satisfied it makes your spent pussy clench around nothing.

When the last shudder finally leaves him he goes completely boneless beneath you, arms falling limp to the mattress, head dropping back with a heavy exhale. His chest rises and falls in deep, recovering breaths, eyes half-lidded and glassy as he stares up at the ceiling like he can’t quite believe what just happened. You stay right there, straddling his hips, trying to catch your own breath. Your head drops to his shoulder, forehead pressing against the warm, sweat-damp skin there, the scent of him, sex, and whatever expensive soap he uses fills your lungs with every inhale.

His hands come up slowly this time, no desperation, just gentle hands sliding up your back under the hem of your tee. You don’t swat them away this time. You let them settle, one broad hand stroking slow circles between your shoulder blades while the other rests at the small of your back, holding you close without pulling or demanding anything more. His touch feels surprisingly soft after everything, almost tender, and you close your eyes, letting yourself rest there for a minute, the rapid beat of his heart thudding against your cheek through his chest.

He turns his head just enough to rest his forehead against the side of yours, breath still coming warm and uneven against your hair. Your bodies are a sticky, sweaty mess; his come cooling on his stomach and your thigh, your own slick still coating his softening cock and the insides of your thighs but neither of you moves to clean it up. Not yet.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs eventually. “Felt like you were trying to pull my soul out through my dick.”

You huff a tired laugh against his shoulder, the sound muffled by his skin. “Good. You deserved it after that restaurant bullshit.” Your fingers trace lazy patterns over his chest, feeling the way his heartbeat is finally starting to slow under your palm. “Still not fully forgiven, by the way.”

“Yeah… figured that.”

You stay there, head on his shoulder, eyes closed, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. The sheets are ruined beneath you but you can’t bring yourself to care. For once, you let the silence stay without trying to fill it. 

~ 

When you open your eyes again, the room is still dark. The city outside your window has gone quiet, too. It’s unpleasantly warm under the blanket you must have pulled up at some point after you both crashed, because now it’s cocooned around you like a trap, trapping all the leftover heat from two bodies that had been pressed together, sweating and breathing and coming apart only minutes or hours ago.

You’re a little disoriented. Between your legs is still slick and tender, a faint sticky reminder of how raw and messy everything had gotten. Your oversized tee is rucked up under your tits, one nipple still pebbled from the cool air sneaking under the blanket, and your hair is a tangled mess sticking to the back of your neck. 

You turn your head toward the nightstand, blinking against the red glow of the digital clock. 4:07 AM. The numbers stare back at you, and for a second, your brain struggles to catch up. How long had you been out? Had he stayed? Had you actually fallen asleep on his shoulder like some clingy idiot after swearing you were still pissed at him?

Your eyes catch on a crisp hundred-dollar bill, folded once and placed neatly right beside the clock, the corner weighted down by the base of your still-plugged-in vibrator like some kind of ridiculous paperweight. The bill looks almost wrong there on your cheap particle-board nightstand, the portrait of Benjamin Franklin staring like he knows exactly what kind of joke this is.

You stare at it, the warmth in the bed suddenly feeling suffocating. No Sid. The space beside you is empty, the sheets cool where his body had been, the indent of his shoulders already starting to fade. He must have slipped out sometime after you passed out, quiet as a ghost, leaving nothing behind but that stupid fucking bill and the ache between your legs.

You understand.

Of course you understand.

You just close your eyes again, the blanket half-kicked off, the hundred-dollar bill sitting there on the nightstand like a stupid little trophy or a punchline or maybe both.

He’s gone.

And you understand.

—

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taglist: @whosmev , @sideraaeterna , @renegadebirch ,

@amalianorris , @puckmedude , @marvel-mendess , @kuskumu 

The doorknob clicked, and the strong hands cradling you were suddenly gone. You landed on the carpet of your room with a grunt, looking around in bewilderment. All traces of your blue and black friend had disappeared in a mere blink, as if he were never there. You felt yourself beginning to pout, but footsteps sounded of someone entering

"Little sunflower, are you here?" Pure Vanilla asked. When he saw you, his worry melted into a tiny smile. He strode over, makeup kit completely ignored as he lifted you onto your feet "I was looking all over for you. Are you alright?". "Yes, papa" you nodded. You couldn't help but notice lines on his face that hadn't been there before. Faint darkness under his eyes, circles wearing heavy on his kind face. Pure Vanilla's smile almost faltered seeing you looking at him in concern. He stood back up, patting your head "That's good. I've someone very important I'd like you to meet"

Just then, the door creaked open more. Dark Cacao was there, and right beside him stood someone new. A tall man with pale grey armor, iridescence shinning in his large sword. He placed the weapon to the side, intense gaze falling upon you. You scooted closer to Pure Vanilla, who held your hand as reassurance. This new stranger bent down, seemingly scanning every inch of your face. "May I have your hand, little one?" He asked, extending a gloved hand to you. You stepped back, looking up at Pure Vanilla. He nodded gently "Don't worry, this is a dear companion of mine. He won't hurt you. I wouldn't let him"

With some of your worries softened, you gave the stranger your hand. He closed his eyes, and a light emitted from him. The glow of it made you feel warm, and it seemed to circle your being. The stranger's brow furrowed, and he stood "I can sense it". Pure Vanilla suddenly looked afraid "You don't mean...?". The other nodded. "Their souljam has been touched by deceit. I can feel it, clouding the edge of their essence"

Dark Cacao's frown deepened, and Pure Vanilla gripped his sleeve "No.. no, no, this can't be. I've been so careful- I can't-" his breath hitched "Elder Faerie Cookie, you must help us". "Don't worry, I won't let any harm come to this doughling" Elder Faerie promised "I can watch them, in my kingdom"

"No!" You shouted, clinging to Pure Vanilla's robes. You hid your face in his stomach "Don't wanna!". With a deep frown, Pure Vanilla turned to the faerie "I think that would only harm them.. they're so young, they still need me". "But this is the safest way" Dark Cacao said "If that Beast is back, we don't know what others might have been freed. We must eliminate this problem quickly". "There has to be another way" Pure Vanilla plead, holding you close to him. He looked to Elder Faerie, who gave a conflicted sigh

"It is possible that I can send a guard from my kingdom, someone to watch over them. They won't be able to purge the influence, but hopefully it can stop the spread" he said. "Thank you, Elder Faerie" Pure Vanilla responded "For all your help. I'm more greatful than you can imagine". "I'll also be sending someone" Dark Cacao chimed in "This castle needs protection". "I couldn't ask that of you" Pure Vanilla said "You need someone to protect you as well, if this really means what we fear it does"

"You are one of my oldest and closest allies, Pure Vanilla Cookie" Dark Cacao responded "A threat to you is a threat to me. I know what it's like to lose yourself... to lose your child..." the Cacao king gave you a look, his sternness softened by reflection. Pure Vanilla nodded "Thank you, my dear friend. I very much appreciate it. Whenever you need, I will make sure to return this kindness"

After a long time of the three discussing their options, they were soon being seen out. You were much more relaxed, but still sticking to Pure Vanilla like glue. "You may expect Silverbell Cookie's arrival soon" Elder Faerie said, standing in the threshold of the castle doors "I have faith that he will guard this castle to the fullest extent possible". "I will send you Chocolate Bark Cookie" Dark Cacao said next "He is one of my oldest allies. You can rely on him, much like you rely on me". "I cannot thank you two enough" Pure Vanilla sighed "Please, be careful on your travels". "Don't worry about us" Elder Faerie said "We'll check in soon enough"

Once inside, you headed to the kitchen. It was still a little upsetting that Shadow Milk had left so suddenly, but now you were also confused. What did all this mean? Did you do something wrong? Why did everyone seem upset with you? As you mulled over the question, Pure Vanilla sat you in your favorite chair. "Care for some Fluffy Castella?" He asked, taking out a cooking pan. You grinned happily "Yes please! And a bit of Toffee jam". "Coming right up" Pure Vanilla chuckled "How about you help me mix it all together?". You slid off of your chair, padding over to excitedly peer at the counter "Yeah!! You can count on me!"

Lingering on the windowsill, a small inky black blob with a single blue eye observed you. It just as suddenly slunk back, rushing across the fields. Around the outskirts, where the trees covered the moon and the forest ground stayed dark, two Cookies leaned against the bark of the trees. The blob stopped before them, morphing and twisting. It grew in size until the gunk peeled away, revealing Shadow Milk Cookie. "Master Shadow Milk!" A pitchy voice squealed, the cookie with red apples in her hair jumping forwards to greet him. "That took hours" the Cookie in purple and black pointed out, sliding into view with smooth strides

"I needed information" Shadow Milk responded simply "It seems our target is getting reinforcements. They're trying to weed us out". "They caught on this quickly?" The purple one asked. "That Elder Faerie Cookie.. I just know he's planning to seal me in that cramped tree again" Shadow Milk mumbled. "Never!" The gal declared, squeezing Shadow Milk's arm in a crushing hug. "Don't worry, minions, your master won't go down that easily" Shadow Milk declared, bravado returning to his tone "With just a pinch of deceit, we'll plant the seeds of our brilliant takeover!"

It seemed like ages before you finally pulled yourself away from Darry's chest. Your eyes were swollen from all the crying, and your throat was so tight and hoarse. No one spoke. Everyone was just sitting around, staring blankly. Two-Bit was mindlessly tossing playing cards around on the dining table. You walked into the dining room, and Two looked up as you took the seat beside of him. The pitiful look he sent your way made you feel uncomfortable. You slumped face-down onto the table, using your crossed arms as a pillow. Two-Bit reached over and patted you on the back. Everyone was startled when the phone rang out in the silence that filled the house.

Steve was nearest to the phone, so he picked it up and answered with a simple, "Yeah?"

You couldn't hear who was on the other end of the call, but Steve pulled the receiver away from his ear and told Darry it was for him.

"Hello?", you heard your brother say into the phone. "Yeah?....Sure, Dal. Are you alright?....We know....Hang on, we'll be right there!"

Darrel hung up the phone and whipped around to face all of you. His voice was panicked.

"That was Dally! The cops are after him! We gotta hide him!"

He hurriedly got out what exactly was happening and said that he told Dallas you all would meet him at the park. Everyone jumped up and just started to run. Right out the door and towards the park, without even a second thought. Dallas was in major trouble. How was he going to get out of it this time?

The air was heavy and humid. The sky dark. Your lungs felt like they were going to explode, but you ran along as fast as possible. As you all approached the park, you saw Dally standing atop a small hill underneath the glow of the streetlights. The policemen were quickly surrounding him, and he looked like a mouse caught in a trap. His eyes were intense and defiant. He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a gun. He quickly raised it and aimed for the cops. You all were so so close, almost there to save him. Everyone was filled with breathless, sheer terror. He was just out of reach. The sounds of the loud bangs from the ends of the cops' guns tore through the night, just as their bullets tore through Dally. All the guys around you yelled and screamed, begging the police to hold their fire, saying that Dallas was just bluffing. That heater he held in his hand wasn't loaded. It never had been.

Dallas crumpled onto the wet concrete, right as you all had finally reached him. He made a futile attempt at a gasp for air, crawled forward a foot or so, and then whispered Pony's name before rolling to his back and lying motionlessly at your feet. He was dead. You knew as soon as you saw him raise that gun that he was a dead man. You glanced down to look at what remained of your most reckless, unstable friend. Blood gushed from the many holes covering his body. One single thought started to eat away at you now. Why hadn't you tried harder to stop Dallas when he ran from Johnny's hospital room? You could've prevented this. It's your fault Dallas is dead. You turned your back to him swiftly, walked away a couple of steps, and threw up right there on the street. You spun back around just in time to see Ponyboy swaying and then falling straight to the ground with a heavy thud. Everyone surrounded him while Darry pulled him up by the front of his shirt, trying to wake him...

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Johnny and Dallas were buried in Oaklawn Cemetery, exactly 27 steps apart from one another. Neither one had a funeral or even a real headstone. Just small plaques that bore only their names and the year they passed.

It has been about 3 months now since they died. It all still feels as though it happened yesterday. Ponyboy was sick for days following his black out that night. He was bedbound for another week once he finally woke up. You weren't doing too hot afterwards either. You had been conscious, sure, but in a catatonic state. You laid in bed and never moved. No one could get you to eat. No one could get you to speak. You either slept all day, or none at all. Just zoned out constantly. Completely numb to everything around you. You didn't even cry anymore. Darry and Soda were worn thin trying to split their time between the two of you and still work everyday as well. Once the trial had come and gone, Pony spent a few more weeks in a daze before he finally began to come out of it. He started to write about his experience, and that helped him to process what had taken place. Him and Darry promised to stop fighting with each other, and they kept true to their word. Things seemed to be going well for Ponyboy again.

You, on the other hand, you could not move forward. You were stuck back in that hospital room, running your fingers through Johnny's bangs, kissing him gently on the lips. You were still standing in the park watching Dally's blood pool below you as he struggles for a last breath. Your brothers and what was left of the gang were all extremely worried about you. Darry had forced you to return to school, thinking that keeping you on a normal routine would be beneficial, but you continued to move through life like a zombie. You hadn't turned in a single assignment or even so much as written your name at the top of a paper at school. You ate only when absolutely necessary and only did so to keep your brothers off your back. Nothing anyone could do was helping you. Your brothers felt like they were having to watch another person they cared about slip away. Again. But, this time agonizingly slow.

The only time you had spoken at all during this period was on one occasion to Ponyboy and Two-Bit. They were staying with you at the house one afternoon before Darry, Soda, and Steve had gotten off from work. They were the only ones who knew what had happened with the confessions of your and Johnny's shared feelings of love. You told them about what had happened right before Pony and Dally had walked into Johnny's hospital room for the last time too, just needing to get it off of your chest. Once you had started talking again, it was hard to stop. You also accidentally let slip about how you thought you were to blame for Dallas dying. Two-Bit and Ponyboy tried their best to convince you that this wasn't true, but you quickly dismissed their arguments. You made them both swear to secrecy. No one else needed to know about you and Johnny. That was very important to you, to keep this special memory private. You were also so ashamed for what happened with Dally, and you didn't want anyone to know you could've had the power to prevent his death and didn't give it your all. You were going to do everything you could to make sure that no one found out about these things. The boys were just so glad you had spoken to them at all that they quickly agreed to keep quiet. Once you were positive they were being truthful about keeping your secrets, you reverted back to your mutism.

All three of your brothers had become so worried about you at one point, that they decided it was best to take the lock off of your bedroom door. Worried what you might do if you had the means to lock yourself away from everyone. Even so, and even with the extra careful eyes on you at any given moment, you had still managed to use your switch to leave tiny cuts on your right ankle. No one had noticed. Why your brothers hadn't thought to remove the blade from your possession, you weren't sure, but you were glad they hadn't. This was your only outlet now. You made sure to never go high enough to where your socks wouldn't cover them up. Sometimes, when you were left alone to smoke a cigarette, you'd use it to burn a couple of small circles there as well. When you felt your skin sear, it made you think about the burns that had littered Johnny's beautiful body and how much pain he must've been in before Dallas had pulled him from the flames. You just yearned so desperately to feel anything at all. Even if it was bad. Even if it was pain. Physical pain had become your favorite distraction from the mental anguish you suffered day in and day out.

Your depressed state reached a crisis point not long after that. That night, you had just wanted to get some fresh air and spend some time alone, so you snuck out of your bedroom window after your brothers had gone to sleep, afraid they'd hear you if you used the front door. They were none the wiser. Before you left, you had went to the kitchen and grabbed a few beers. "Might as well have some fun," you thought to yourself. You wandered aimlessly through the streets while you downed your drinks. The longer you walked, the more unsteady your balance became. You had never drank before in your life, and the booze was hitting you hard. You weren't sure how you ended up here, but you now found yourself at the train tracks that split Tulsa in two, right down the middle. You finished off your last beer while taking a seat on the tracks. You felt a cold breeze sweep all around your body, and you shivered. You cursed at yourself for not bringing a jacket.

Evil thoughts started to swirl through your head, and they were influenced by the alcohol buzzing in your system. Life had become too much to handle. You missed Johnny too much. You ached to have him with you again. And, you never could shake the feeling that Dallas would still be here if you had chased after him that night. First, your mom and dad, then Johnny and Dally too. That's more loss than anyone should ever have to experience. You were sinking lower and lower. You held the neck of your last beer bottle and banged the other end on the tracks to break it off. You lifted your pant leg, brought the sharp edge of the glass close, and swiped it across quickly. Your haste had caused you to cut much deeper and larger than ever before. Big deal, who cares? It was shocking and thrilling. You watched as the blood trickled down into your shoe. You started to make another slice, but paused for a moment right before dragging the glass across your skin. A sudden realization had come to your mind. It dawned on you now exactly why Dallas had done what he had done. Dally loved Johnny too; the only person in the whole world he truly considered his family. He knew that he couldn't live without Johnny, and that he couldn't bring Johnny back either, so he decided to join him on the other side. He wanted to be with Johnny again, and he made it happen. How had this escaped your notice until now? Maybe this was the way out. Dally had the right idea. You could have your Johnny back. You could be with your parents again too. You could save your brothers and the other guys the trouble of having to deal with you any longer. One less thing to worry about, one less mouth to feed, one less person taking up space in that tiny house. It all could be solved with just one simple action.

For the first time in months, you actually felt a smile on your face. You finally felt something. You were happy. Finally happy and finally sure about what was going to happen with your life. It was going to stop. Everything will stop. You felt the tracks start to shake, and you heard the sound of a train fast approaching in the distance. This was your chance. Perfect timing. It seemed like it was meant to be. You threw the broken bottle off to the side and stood. You faced the train head on. You felt so light. Peace washed over you as you waited for your end to come. You saw the train rushing towards you. You heard the conductor blowing the whistle, urging you to move away from the tracks. You stood your ground and held your arms out on either side of you. Everything was falling into place. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you squeezed your eyes shut and whispered a small 'goodbye' to this cruel life you were living.

Something you wouldn't ever have expected was Steve tackling you to the ground right before the train struck. You both barely fell out of the way as the locomotive flew by.

"WHAT THE HELL, (Y/N)?!? ARE YOU TRYIN' TO GET YOURSELF KILLED?!?", he yelled at you. You both breathed heavily while lying next to each other in the gravel.

You sat up and hugged your knees to your chest. You didn't dare look to Steve in this moment. He sat up too. His brow was furrowed as he searched your eyes for any sign of remorse. His question had been answered by the lack of an answer from you. His face paled, and he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples in slow circles. He had tears filling eyes. He let out a jagged exhale, and his voice wobbled as he spoke quietly to you.

"What were you thinking, (Y/N)? How could you do that to us? To your brothers? You can't leave. Not yet. Not like this, okay?"

He shifted his weight to his knees, leaned forward, and wrapped his arms around your small frame. Your stoic facade fractured away, and you hugged him back tightly. The mask you had worn for the last few months was gone. You both stayed in this position for quite a while, just holding each other. You sobbed in his arms, and he was letting his own tears fall as well.

"Come on, darlin'. Let's get you back home, eh?", he softy said to you.

He helped you up off the ground. He could tell you were cold, so he threw his jacket around you and held on to you while you both made your way back to your house. You were still very wobbly on your feet and very much drunk. You stumbled along beside Steve. He noticed the blood dripping from your foot as you walked. He halted and stopped you from continuing to walk as well. You were too out of it to fight back as he reached down and pulled up the leg of your jeans just a little to see where it was coming from. He was met with the many cuts and burns, old a new, that you have marked yourself with. Your most fresh cut bright red and gaped open. That's where the blood was originating. He sucked in a breath and lowered your pant leg back down. He tossed an arm around your shoulder and carried on walking with you at his side.

You walked up the porch steps to your home, and Steve held the front door for you. You entered your house and made your way to your bedroom, plopping belly first onto your bed. The world was spinning, and you just wanted to lie down. You closed your eyes, but remained awake. You heard a knock on the door across the hall from yours. Darry's bedroom. You heard some shuffling and whispers. Then, you heard Ponyboy and Sodapop's door creak open too. You were oblivious to what was going on, but Steve had awoken your brothers and gathered them in the living room to tell them what he had just witnessed.

He told them about how he had fought with his dad and left his house to head over to the theirs and sleep it off. How he had been passing by the train tracks when he spotted you there. How you had come within one second away from getting struck by a train, and how you were welcoming it with open arms and a smile. How you'd have died if he hadn't been there at just the right time. He spoke about you being drunk as a skunk. About the blood trailing behind you with each step. About finding the cuts, the burns. All the things you have so carefully been keeping held in and hidden away.

Soda's bottom lip began to quiver as he started to bawl. Steve embraced his best friend, and they shared a soft, consoling hug. Steve was extremely upset too. You were the closest thing he had to a little sister, and he loved you just like he loved Soda. Darry took a seat in his armchair and raked his fingers through his hair, pulling roughly on the ends of it. He tried and failed to control his breathing. Tears blurred his vision as his head fell into his hands. His body began to be wracked with sobs. Pony sat slumped on the couch with his arms crossed and a guilty look on his face. He knew just exactly why Johnny and Dally's deaths had affected you so much, but he had been sworn to secrecy. He fought with himself for a long time as tears cascaded down his cheeks. He knew that now was the time to say something about this. It was only hurting everyone more to keep your secrets any longer. Ponyboy cleared his throat to get everyone's attention, and then he started blabbing. He talked to them about you telling Johnny you loved him, him confessing that he felt the same from his hospital bed, and you and Johnny's first and last kiss right before he died. He told them about how you felt you were at fault for Dallas's downfall and death, because you hadn't followed after him that night. He told them everything. Darry, Soda, and Steve listened attentively, and now it all made sense to them why you had been acting the way you had. You had lost something more than just a good buddy when Johnny passed. You lost your love. You lost your closest confidant. You lost any possible future with him. And, on top of it all, you truly believed you were the cause of a close friend's demise. Since you were safe now with your brothers, Steve decided he needed to leave the family alone to deal with this however they saw fit. He hugged Sodapop once more, and even gave Darry and Ponyboy one too, before heading back to his own home.

You were finally about to fall into a restless slumber when you heard multiple footsteps making their way to where you rested. You didn't move an inch and pretended to be fully asleep. You heard the chair you kept next to your vanity scrape the floor as somebody dragged it towards your bed and took a seat. You felt your bed dip and someone else lifted your head and placed it into their lap. You could tell who it was by how gentle they were being. Soda. He stroked your hair slowly, and you felt little droplets start to hit you. His tears. You pictured his handsome features contorted with despair, and it made you feel even more terrible than you already did. A big, calloused hand grabbed yours and squeezed tightly. Darry. The strongest guy you knew, and he had been reduced to a trembling mess. A third presence had taken a seat near your feet and lightly touched you on the leg. Pony. He ran his fingers up your ankle to move your jeans out of the way, revealing to him your numerous scars and fresh, bleeding gash. He fought down a broken whimper, but a small squeak still made its way out.

Your head was swimming. You felt awful for how you've made your brothers feel. They don't deserve that. You love them so much. It scared you now to think about how close you had gotten to putting them through having to lose another family member. It scared you even more that you couldn't stop thinking about how leaving them still felt like the option you desired most. You pushed every single thought inside your head aside. You'd deal with the repercussions of your actions later. For now, you drifted off to sleep while your brothers surrounded you with their love and support. Not a single one of those boys knew how they were going to deal with all of this. They cautiously watched your chest rise and fall. Afraid to look away, like maybe it might stop if they did. Tomorrow was going to bring some massive shifting in the dynamics of the household, but they were going to do whatever it took to get you through this. This was not the end of your story.

𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡・𓂃𓈒⟡𓂃

note: wow, okay. don't know where all of that came from. i feel like this turned into something completely different than what the original idea was for the series, but oh well. i love the angsty shit.

... but next we get to see a demonic mouth, licking its lips.

The following morning, Mr. Kornich wakes Modri up early, commanding him to follow him outside and look at something out in the fields. They get out there, and Modri's shocked by what he sees.

The fields that were bare before are now full of ripened wheat. (I've switched around these two pages and placed them side by side to show the two page spread.)

Anna is with her father and Modri. They walk closer to better inspect the appearance of wheat. Perhaps they wish to touch it, to feel if it's really there. One of the workers and several children are already in the fields, celebrating the miraculous discovery. The kids call out for their master to come look, too. They are so excited about the prospect of making lots of bread, of having plentiful food.

While her father is still in a state of disbelief, Anna seems to be thanking "God", perhaps assuming that's who answers her wish. Modri is silent, but we see his thoughts. He's also attributing this miracle to "God" choosing to save good souls/people. Then someone says "my, my...".

Approaching them, and speaking as he does so, is none other than that demon, though he's still in that human guise. He states, "Ask... and you shall receive."

"That's how the saying goes, no?"

We are behind the demon again. The wind is blowing his wig (or his hair, if it's that color and he's able to simply style it this way). We see a demon contract seal on the back of his neck. Either this demon has a contract with someone else but he still goes around granting others' wishes... or he has made a contract with Anna, without setting any terms and without her even knowing. If it's a contract with her, it's a low level one, meaning her seal is easily hidden. Since she doesn't immediately know it's the work of that demon, that seal might even be where she can't easily see it.

Instead of concluding this demon is Sebastian, I see even more compelling evidence that this demon is not Sebastian.

“it does matter,” you insist quickly, taking a step toward him. “of course it does, rafe, you just— you dropped this on me out of nowhere.”

“out of nowhere?” he repeats, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “you think this is out of nowhere?”

“yes!” your voice cracks slightly. “you’ve never said anything— not once— and now suddenly —”

“because i thought i didn’t have to!” he snaps.

that stops you. his jaw tightens, eyes locked on yours. “i thought you knew.”

the words hit differently.

softer than the others. more dangerous. but it's also said almost pathetically as he looks at you. because part of you, a part you’ve been ignoring for a long time, did know.

you just didn't want to admit it.

“rafe…” you exhale, shaking your head slightly. “you don’t get to do that.”

“do what?”

“make it sound like this is on me,” you say, more grounded now, even if your heart’s still racing. “you don’t get to act like i should’ve just waited for something you never said.”

he flinches. “i wasn’t asking you to wait,” he says, quieter.

“then what were you doing?” you push.

he doesn’t answer. because the truth? he doesn’t have a good one. he was comfortable. he was scared. he thought you’d always be there. and now you’re not — not in the same way — and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

but the answer to your question? he's been loving you. he's always been loving you.

you glance back again, oblivious to this knowledge.

he’s still there. hands in his pockets, trying to pretend he’s not watching. giving you space, even now. being patient. being good.

you turn back to rafe, and he catches that look. that choice. again.

“you gonna go back to him?” he asks.

no bite this time. just something tired and resigned.

your chest tightens. “rafe…”

“no, just — answer me,” he says, holding your gaze. “are you?”

you hesitate and that’s all it takes. he nods once, like he already got it, pressing his tongue into his cheek and nodding. “yeah,” he mutters. “figured.”

“that’s not— i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” he steps back again, putting space between you this time — on purpose. “you should go,” he adds.

your brows pull together. “what?”

“he’s waiting,” rafe says, nodding toward the path without looking. “wouldn’t wanna keep him.”

there’s something off about how calm he sounds. too calm, like the calm before a storm. you don’t move. “rafe, stop.”

“stop what?”

“this,” you gesture between you. “shutting down. pushing me away like this is just—done.”

he looks at you then, something flickering in his expression. “what do you want me to do?” he asks. “stand here and watch you pick him?”

“i’m not picking—”

“you already did,” he cuts in.

that lands. in some way, you did. you just didn’t know what you were choosing against.

silence stretches again. different this time. your voice comes out softer when you speak again. “i care about you,” you say tenatively. “you know that, right?”

rafe lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “yeah,” he says. “that’s kinda the problem.”

your chest aches at that.

“you’re my best friend.”

and there it is. the line. the one he’s been balancing on for years. the one you just pushed him off of. he nods slowly, like he expected it. like it still sucks anyway. “right.”

you take a step closer. “i don’t wanna lose you.”

he looks at you — really looks this time — and something in his expression softens. not gone. not fixed. just… softer. “you don’t get to keep me the same way,” he says quietly.

your breath catches. “that’s not how this works.”

behind you, there’s a shift—subtle, but enough. a step on wood. a reminder. time’s up. you close your eyes for half a second, then open them again. “i need time,” you admit.

rafe studies your face. searching, hoping, against his better judgment. “time for what?” he asks.

“to think,” you say. “to figure this out.”

his jaw tightens slightly because time? time is exactly what he ran out of. but still, even after everything, he nods. once. “yeah,” he says. “okay.”

it’s not agreement. it’s not acceptance. it’s just all he’s got left to give without breaking.

you hesitate a second longer. then you step past him, not toward the path immediately. just past him. close enough that your shoulder brushes his. you swear he stiffens.

and then you keep going.

rafe doesn’t turn around this time. he doesn’t watch you walk back to him. he doesn’t watch what you say, or how you look at him, or whether you take his hand again. he just stands there. staring out at the water, hands clenched at his sides.

because if he turns around, if he sees it, it’ll be real in a way he won’t come back from and for the first time since all of this started,

he doesn’t know if you’re coming back to him or if he finally lost you for real.