#knowing me things will move faster soon in consequence

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[l1tw1ck]

The Fall of Spider-Man

bottom!ftm Miguel x top!masc!villain reader

🕷️ Word Count: 1,897 🕷️

AFAB Language Used

CW: Non-Con, Kidnapping, Lingerie, Fingering, Squirting, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Crying, Corruption, Creampie, Nipple Play, Pregnancy Mention, Stockholm Syndrome (Kinda?)

Miguel’s eyes shoot open. He immediately analyzes his surroundings. He’s tied up and on the floor. He can't see anything but he can tell he’s wearing lingerie. He feels sick. His first instinct is to try and get out of his restraints but no matter how hard he tries, nothing happens. He’s powerless. How? Why? When? Where the hell is he? He looks around the dark room, stopping to look at a door. There's light coming from behind it and he can hear movements. Footsteps. Getting closer and closer.

“You’re awake! Good morning, Miguel.” You smile, turning the lights on before walking towards him. “How are you feeling?”

“Who are you?” He asks.

You give him your name. “The person who's going to defeat Spider-Man once and for all.” You grin. “Although my methods are a bit unconventional.” You chuckle.

Miguel keeps his mouth shut, waiting to hear what you have to say next. Your confidence scares him. It's not like he's never met a confident villain before, it's honestly less likely to meet an insecure one, but your confidence is scary. You know something he doesn't. He knows you're dangerous. He always chooses to fight but everything inside him is screaming to run away. It's not like he has the choice now though.

“Pretty soon, you’ll be my beautiful husband and the father of our children.” You kiss his forehead. His heart drops. “But first, I’m gonna have some fun with you.” You kneel down and caress his cheek. He grimaces in disgust. “Let me give you the play by play.” You push his lacy red panties aside. “First, I’m gonna play with this pretty pussy of yours and give it a lot of love.” You rub his clit. “Then, once I’m done, I’m gonna slide my cock inside of you. I’ll make sure to go real slow, make you feel every inch of my cock.” You bring your fingers down to his entrance and push two of them in.

“Yo- you're sick.” He spits on you.

You wipe your cheek. “I didn't give you permission to speak, or spit.” You slap his cunt, earning a moan from him. “Watch yourself, Miguel.”

He looks at you angrily but doesn't say anything, too ashamed of the sound he just made and too afraid of the consequences to do so. You push your fingers in and out of his cunt, giving Miguel unwelcomed pleasure. “You like that?” You smirk, moving faster. He bites his lip to silence his moans. “I know you do. Even if you try to deny it, your body doesn't lie.”

He hates this so much.

“And then, I’ll pick up the pace. I’ll fuck you rough and hard. So rough that you won't be able to think. So hard that you’ll cry.” You push your fingers all the way in and thumb his clit, moving your fingers inside of him absentmindedly. He tries to fight against the pleasure but it's no use. He’s going to come.

“I’d love to see you cry.” You grin. He’s not going to cry. He might do a plethora of shameful things tonight but one thing he isn't going to do is cry. He refuses to. “I know you think it's impossible but it's not. And I can't wait to see you break.” You punctuate your last word with a hit to his g-spot. Miguel gasps, hips raising in the air as he squirts. Miguel looks down at himself in shame, cheeks burning hotter than a flame. He’s never done that before. He hates that you're the reason it happened. “Oh Miguel…” You let out a sharp breath.

You move in between his legs and dig into his wet cunt, slurping up his slick before tonguing his sensitive hole. Miguel squirms around in protest. Why does this feel so good? He wants to curse you out but he's worried about what you’ll do if he acts out. He feels terrible and so fucking good at the same time. He wants to kill you but he also doesn't want you to stop. He rolls his eyes back and squirts again, feeling extremely exhausted.

You pull away and stand up, stripping down to nothing. Miguel looks at your cock in horror. That's not going to fit! He desperately tries to get away but he can't do much in the position he's in.

“You’re really boosting my ego, Miguel.” You chuckle, kneeling back down and grabbing his waist. You pull him close to you so his thighs are on yours and your shaft is right against his cunt. “I’m going to enjoy this.” You look at him like the 5 star meal he is. You move him so that his pussy is sliding up and down your length, bringing the both of you pleasure.

He bares his fangs, showing you how angry he is without speaking. “Aw, you don't like this?” You frown, faking sympathy. “Or is it that you want something else?” You grin. “You want me to fuck you, is that it? You want me to finally fuck you?”

Miguel shakes his head rapidly. You move him backwards, just enough for you to be able to make an easier entrance. You point your tip against his clit, smearing pre cum over it and sliding down in between his folds. You tease him with your entrance, you're gently thrusting into him but only the tip is entering him. He can't stand the feeling. You eventually stop and slowly push your cock inside of him. You weren't exaggerating when you said he’d feel every inch of you. You’re practically tearing him apart with the way you’re stretching him out. You bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying his pussy. “I think I’m in heaven.”

If you’re in heaven, then Miguel’s in hell. You slowly slide in and out of him, reveling in his wet warmth. “That's right baby, sit back and take it like the pretty little slut you are.” You place your hand over the bulge of your cock on his stomach, enjoying the way it feels as you move and how sexy he looks with his tummy bulging. “You’re doing so good for me, you know that? Doing so well…”

He doesn't want to be good for you. He doesn't want you to enjoy this. If he wasn't afraid of the consequences he’d curse you out. You rub his clit gently, causing his breathing to turn shallow. “I wanna feel you come..” You mutter. “Come for me, baby.”

He grits his teeth, trying to stop himself from giving you what you want but it's too difficult. He can't hold back. It all feels too good, his pussy feels way too good, he can't do anything to prevent this. He shuts his eyes and comes, walls fluttering around your length. “You’re such a good boy, Miguel. You may be prickly but at least you know how to follow orders.” You caress his cheek. He turns away from your touch. “Even after all that…you're still trying to keep up this facade?” You pull away and turn him onto his stomach. “You won't be able to pretend any longer, Miguel.” You raise his ass in the air and plunge your length fully into him. He gasps. Miguel doesn't even get a minute to adjust to the new position thanks to you suddenly pounding into him. He rolls his eyes back, letting out uncontrollable moans as you fuck the shame out of him. He can barely think over the explicit sounds of your hips snapping against his ass and the loud wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of his sensitive pussy. You're going too fast for him to even try and act like he doesn't like it. He’s always had a thing for being treated roughly and you're fulfilling his need for it. You pull on his hair, causing him to let out an almost scream-like moan as he squirts.

“Fu- fuck-” He feels tears welling up in his eyes as you continue fucking him through his orgasm.

“‘M gonna give you the child you always wanted, Miguel.” You fuck him even rougher than before, chasing your orgasm. Tears flow rapidly from Miguel’s eyes, as if there was a blockage that contained all his tears and prevented him from crying all these years. He sobs, crying loudly as you overwhelm him with pleasure. It feels good but it's too much, he can't handle it. He loves it but he needs it to stop. “Ah, I love hearing you cry..” You slow down your thrusts and dump your load inside of him. Miguel uses this break to finally catch his breath and calm down.

“Aw, was it too much for you, baby?” You coo, rubbing your hand down his back.

Miguel nods. “Ple- please..” He whimpers.

You pull out and turn him around. You pick him up and sink him down on your cock. You place your hands on his waist and kiss his cheek. “You’re so pretty when you cry, you know that?” You caress his face gently. He sniffles, not sure how to feel about that. You press your lips against his, kissing him slowly and sensually. Miguel reciprocates the kiss, following your tongue movements and subconsciously grinding down on your cock. He feels a little less stimulated than before. He feels like he's about to have an orgasm that’ll never come and somehow it feels good. He doesn't know how he feels about you now but you make him feel good, and thanks to the current state of mind he's in now, that's all that matters.

You pull away from the kiss and pepper kisses down his throat and to his chest. You undo the clip in the middle of his bra, causing the two cups to separate and reveal his breasts. You latch onto his nipple, sucking it gently while your hand goes to pull and twist on the other one. Miguel whimpers in pleasure. His nipples are so sensitive, he’ll definitely come from this. “mmh..” Miguel grinds down harder as he orgasms, his pussy clenching and unclenching around your length. You pull away from his nipple, your saliva dripping down the brown bud.

He still despises you but he knows he'll be stuck with you from now on. He’ll eventually learn to love you.

Miguel turns on the radio as he starts cooking breakfast. The reporter talks about all the crime going on in the city and he doesn't seem to care, even though he’s back to normal and completely autonomous, he has no intention of going out to fight. He wants to stay home with you. The Spider Society’s been trying to contact him but he's ignored all their calls. He only leaves the house for dates and groceries, why would he go anywhere without you? He loves you so much, he wants to stay by your side as much as he can. Nobody seems to understand it but he doesn't care to explain it to them. Peter B. and Jessica have been trying to convince Miguel to come back and many spider people have tried to kill you but to no avail. He doesn't want to come back, especially not when they're trying to kill his beloved. He’s perfectly content with where he is now and he can't wait to have his first child with you.

[honeyboylovee]

‘Sleep well, baby’

Pairing: Wonwoo x gn!reader

Word count: 600ish

Genre: established relationship!AU, fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: I had this in my drafts for way too long. I had my exams and just couldn’t finish it. So here it is now that I’ve a little time. Feedbacks are very appreciated. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading.

The sound of the elevator dinging reaches your ears. You have reached your floor. With the last ounce of energy you have in yourself, you drag your aching feet till you reach your apartment door.

As you enter, you notice Wonwoo’s shoes in the shoe rack. He is home early today, you think. You take off your shoes and hang your coat before moving towards the kitchen. You’re hungry and there’s food. That’s all you see. The last meal you had was seven hours ago. You really have faced the consequences of not carrying a snack to your work today.

He’s wearing his headphones and the bright light from his monitor illuminates his face. He doesn’t notice you yet. On reaching near his gaming chair, you gently place your hand on his shoulder so you don’t startle him. His attention shifts from the game and almost immediately, his smile that you love so much graces his face.

He pulls you on his lap and wraps his arms around your waist. Soon after, he saves his progress in the game that he was playing and exits it. Now all his attention is focused on you.

‘How was your day, baby?’, he asks you.

‘Long, like really fucking long. I haven’t even showered yet because I was starving and just wanted to eat.’

‘Hm…I understand. You worked for almost 12 hours today, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did! And you know what, my lame excuse of a boss still thinks that’s not enough.’, you say with a raised voice as you let your frustration out.

‘No way! Does he want you to live in your cubicle now?’, Wonwoo exclaims, completely invested in your rant about your senior.

You chuckle at his comment. If there’s one thing Wonwoo is the best at, it is to validate your frustration. He never makes you feel unheard even though sometimes your rants become repetitive.

‘I don’t knowww’, you whine, as you snuggle your head into his shoulder. The warmth he radiates immediately comforts you. One of his palms shifts to draw little shapes on your arm. On nights like these, all you want to do is to sleep in his arms with his scent and warmth engulfing you. The rythmic thumping of his heart calms you down.

‘Want me to run a bath for you, baby?’

‘Mhm no, gonna shower real quick..’, you say as you get up from his lap.

‘Gonna wait for you in the bedroom, hm?’, he says sweetly.

‘Yeah baby, I’ll be super quick so I can be in bed faster’

Shower was tiring, to say the least. All you did was stand under the showerhead for ten minutes like that would get rid of all the dirt from the day. As you got out, you saw Wonwoo laying on the bed with his phone and his glasses on. He was wearing a white shirt looking comfy as ever. You rushed the process of putting on your night clothes. And now, you could be in bed. Finally, you could be with your boyfriend who looked so comfy from afar.

‘This is the best part of my day’, you whispered.

‘Sleep well, baby’, he told you, eager for you to get some rest.

As you slipped into a slumber listening to his heart beat, Wonwoo made a mental point to let you sleep in on the weekend and get your favourite food delivered.

[grifffins]

🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble) 🔮 | Ch. 5

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

summary: A matchmaking event, a reckless plan, and a game that cuts a little too deep—because playing with fire always has consequences

wc: 8.3k (Chapter 5/?)

a/n: I'm reading all the reviews you're leaving, and it's filling me with so much joy, seriously, thank you so much! I promise I'll eventually get around to replying to them all, but for now, just know that I've seen them, I appreciate every single one, and they are absolutely fuelling me to get these chapters out faster. If I had to stare at this chapter any longer, I was genuinely going to throw myself off a cliff, so here it is before I lose my mind. I don’t know, I hope you like it!

And just a heads-up—ratings have officially gone up 🔥 y'all better handle this with care.

Ch. 4 ch. 6

also on ao3

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The next few weeks flew by in a blur of routine and mild frustration. I’d gotten used to maneuvering on crutches though not without my fair share of near-disasters and before long, I was downgraded to a boot. A clunky, annoying boot, but it was better than nothing. And now, I was almost out of it, counting down the days until I could finally move like a normal person again.

Lilia had been... Lilia. Ever present, always hovering just enough to make sure I wasn’t doing anything too reckless, but never crossing the line into anything that could be considered more. There were lingering touches, soft smiles, and the occasional meaningful glance, but nothing had really progressed.

And, honestly? That was fine.

Mostly.

Between the shop being surprisingly busy and my friends constantly roping me into their latest schemes, fundraisers, work drama, and questionable life choices. I barely had time to dwell on it. I liked keeping busy, helping where I could, and throwing myself into distraction after distraction. It was easier than thinking about how much I wanted Lilia but didn’t know how to move things forward.

Some days, it felt like we were stuck in this comfortable, frustrating limbo. We'd laugh, we’d bicker, we'd work side by side in the shop, but there was always this invisible line neither of us was willing to cross.

Still, things were good.

Lilia was still a mystery I was determined to solve, even if she sometimes acted like an impenetrable fortress. But there were moments, tiny cracks in the walls she put up. The way she’d refill my tea without asking, or how she’d linger at the end of my shift, pretending to read while really just making sure I got home safely. The way she’d watch me when she thought I wasn’t looking, like she was thinking about something.

And those moments? They were enough to keep me going. For now.

One afternoon, as I hobbled around the shop stocking shelves, I sighed dramatically. "Lilia, please, I cannot wait to be out of this boot. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster."

Lilia smirked from behind the counter, flipping through an old grimoire. "You only have to wait till this afternoon."

I shot her a glare. "Rude."

She chuckled, but there was that usual softness behind it, the kind that made my heart skip a little. "You'll be back to your reckless self soon enough. I'm sure I'll regret it."

I grinned. "Oh, you will. First thing I'm doing is dancing barefoot on the counter just to spite you."

Lilia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she just said, "I'll keep the first aid kit ready."

I snorted, limping toward the register. "You should always have that thing on standby with me around."

"Trust me," she said dryly. "I do."

The bell above the shop door jingled, and before I could process it, Jen and Agatha waltzed in like they owned the place.

"Y/n!" Jen beamed. "Still hobbling around, I see."

Agatha leaned on the counter, eyeing Lilia with that devilish glint in her eye. "And, you're still under Lilia's watchful eye, huh?"

Lilia arched a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Jen smirked at me. "Oh, it's not a bad thing at all."

I groaned. "Guys, please."

Agatha ignored me, grinning. "Anyway, y/n, you up for helping me with something later?"

I sighed, already knowing I was about to get roped into something ridiculous. "What is it this time?"

Jen wiggled her brows. "Oh, you know, just a little... matchmaking event."

I blinked. "No."

Lilia, to my absolute horror, looked very interested. "Matchmaking?"

Agatha smirked. "Yeah. You in?"

Lilia, without missing a beat, looked directly at me and said, "I think y/n should go."

My jaw dropped. "What?!"

Lilia’s lips curled into that maddening smirk. "It could be... fun."

I groaned, slamming my head onto the counter. "I hate all of you."

Lilia just sipped her tea, looking far too pleased with herself. "You'll survive, baby."

“What exactly is a matchmaking event?”

Jen leaned against the counter, grinning like the devil she clearly was. "Oh, y/n," she purred, eyes sparkling with mischief. "A matchmaking event is exactly what it sounds like."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And why, exactly, do you think I need to attend one?"

Agatha smirked, completely ignoring my very valid concern. "It's a charity event, actually. Think of it like speed dating, but fancier, cocktails, music, a little light mingling." She waved a hand dramatically. "People will bid on dates, there'll be matchmaking games, the whole romantic shebang."

I groaned. "You have to be kidding me."

Billy, who had apparently appeared out of thin air (or just snuck in without me noticing), clapped his hands together. "Oh no, she's not kidding, and I am so excited for this."

Lilia, who had been sipping her tea silently this whole time, finally spoke up, eyes fixed on me in that infuriatingly calm way she had. "I think it’s an excellent idea."

I gaped at her. "Et tu, Lilia?!"

She shrugged, setting her cup down with a smirk. "You did say you were bored."

Agatha nodded sagely. "Exactly! And what better way to pass the time than by meeting some... interesting people?"

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Oh my God, no. I am not getting auctioned off to the highest bidder like a damn prize goat."

Jen laughed. "Oh, come on. It’s for charity! Think of it as... networking."

Billy wiggled his brows. "With benefits."

Lilia quirked an eyebrow, but there was something sharp in her eyes now, something that made my stomach flip. "You never know, y/n," she said smoothly, "maybe you'll find someone... intriguing."

I stared at her, heat rising to my cheeks. Was she actually encouraging this?

I pointed an accusing finger at the coven. "You’re all just doing this to watch me suffer, aren’t you?"

Agatha grinned. "Absolutely."

Billy winked. "One hundred percent."

Jen shrugged. "You should be used to it by now."

I sighed, sinking onto the nearest chair. "This is actually my worst nightmare."

Lilia, standing far too composed and far too smug, leaned against the counter. "You'll do fine, baby."

And the way she said it, soft, teasing, but with just enough of an edge, made me wonder if she was enjoying this a little too much.

I stared at Lilia for a long moment, watching the way she casually sipped her tea, completely unbothered by the absolute chaos the coven was throwing at me. Mixed signals? Oh, she was full of them. She’d spent weeks hovering, making sure I didn’t overdo it, looking after me with a quiet protectiveness, and now she was totally fine with me flirting with other people?

Okay, Lilia.

Fine. If she wanted to play it cool, I could play it colder.

With a wicked smirk, I crossed my arms and leaned back into my chair. "Alright," I said, shrugging. "I'll do it."

The coven exploded.

"YES!" Billy practically fist-pumped.

Jen beamed. "Oh, this is going to be so good."

Agatha cackled. "I knew you'd come around."

But I didn’t take my eyes off Lilia, watching for any flicker of emotion behind that carefully composed exterior of hers. She raised a brow, looking mildly impressed but ultimately unfazed. “Good for you,” she said, nodding. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I smiled sweetly. “Yeah, maybe I’ll meet someone intriguing, like you said.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Perhaps.”

Ugh.

I was going to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because if Lilia was going to keep up this whole mysterious and unattainable older woman thing, then I was going to make her watch me flirt with someone else.

By the time I got back from the hospital that evening, boot-free and feeling like I had reclaimed my dignity, I was on a mission.

I went all out.

I pulled out one of my best dresses, the kind that hugged in all the right places, paired it with strappy low heels— I wasn’t about to push my luck after just recovering from a broken leg — and topped it all off with red lipstick. My hair was styled to perfection. 

I looked in the mirror and grinned. Damn, I missed dressing up.

Before I left, I snapped a quick selfie and sent it to the group chat.

Me: Ready to break hearts tonight.

Billy responded instantly.

Billy: BABE. I AM DEAD.

Jen: GIRL, THEY WON'T SURVIVE YOU.

Agatha: Show Lilia. Right now.

I rolled my eyes, typing back.

Me: No way. Let her suffer.

I grabbed my clutch, took one last glance in the mirror, and smirked.

Lilia Calderu had no idea what she was in for.

I arrived at the venue, the heels clicking confidently against the pavement as I made my way inside. The place was fancier than I expected, soft lighting, elegant decor, and the kind of crowd that screamed money meets desperation.

I spotted Agatha immediately, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, watching me approach with an impressed smirk. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, and she let out a low whistle. “Damn, y/n. If I weren’t rooting for Lilia, I’d bid on you myself.”

I rolled my eyes, planting myself in front of her. “Alright, what do I need to do?” I asked, folding my arms.

Agatha grinned wickedly. “Eager, are we?”

I sighed, eyeing the bustling room. “Let’s just say I’ve been encouraged.”

She chuckled, handing me a glass of champagne like she hadn’t practically dragged me here. “Alright, here’s how it works. There are three... let’s call them options.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go on.”

Agatha held up a perfectly manicured finger. “Option one—the bidding auction. People bid for a date with you.”

I groaned. “Hard pass.”

Ignoring me, she lifted a second finger. “Option two—the matchmaking questionnaire. You fill it out, they set you up with someone they think is compatible.”

I stared at her. “Do I look like someone who’s here for a deep connection?”

Agatha smirked. “No, you look like someone here to make a certain divination witch jealous as hell.”

I didn’t deny it. “And option three?”

Agatha smirked, holding up the final finger. “And then there’s option three... mingling, flirting, working the room.” She gestured grandly at the crowd. “And, honestly, that’s where you shine.”

I sighed, taking a slow sip of champagne. “And which one exactly do you want me to do?”

Agatha’s grin stretched impossibly wider. “Oh, baby, I didn’t bring you here to find your soulmate.” She winked. “I brought you here to make Lilia Calderu jealous as hell. So, option three it is.”

I arched a brow. “And if she doesn’t show up?”

Agatha shrugged. “Then at least you’ll have some fun and free champagne.”

I sighed, finishing my drink. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Agatha grinned, looping her arm through mine. “That’s the spirit. Now, go mingle. And remember, eye contact, light touches, and laugh at everything.”

I groaned but let her pull me toward the crowd. This was going to be... interesting.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back and putting on my most dazzling smile. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.

Armed with another glass of champagne and Agatha’s ridiculous advice bouncing around in my head, I stepped into the crowd, letting myself glide from conversation to conversation. I laughed, I touched arms lightly, I made just enough eye contact to keep people interested without giving too much away.

And through it all, one thought lingered in the back of my mind.

Please show up, Lilia.

I scanned the room subtly, pretending to be fully invested in whatever some guy in a ridiculous suit was rambling about, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could feel the absence of her. Could feel the weight of her not being here.

The evening dragged on, and despite the flattering attention I was getting, more than I knew what to do with, there was an ache in my chest that wouldn’t quite go away.

I found myself standing near a group of women, effortlessly charming my way through another conversation, when I caught myself staring toward the entrance for the millionth time.

Nothing.

I sighed internally, feeling my excitement wane just a little.

But just as I turned back to my conversation, I caught a shift in the air. A presence.

And then I saw her.

Lilia Calderu, standing in the doorway like she owned the place, dressed in a simple but devastatingly effective black dress, nothing overly elegant, just effortlessly put together, the fabric skimming her figure in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her dark curls were loosely pinned up, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and those brown eyes of hers scanned the room with sharp intent, missing nothing.

My heart stopped.

She looked... incredible.

Her gaze locked onto me almost instantly, and I saw the way her eyes flickered over my dress, my posture, the easy way I was leaning against the table with a glass of champagne in hand and a smile that may have been a little too smug.

For a second, I thought she might turn around and leave, but instead, she walked in with the kind of calm, deliberate grace that made my stomach twist into knots.

Agatha, appearing by my side out of nowhere, whispered, “And there she is.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I thought she wasn’t coming.”

Agatha smirked. “She didn’t think she was coming. But then she realised she couldn’t let you have all the fun without her.”

I watched as Lilia made her way through the crowd, her expression unreadable, but her eyes, her eyes, never left me.

I forced myself to smirk, turning back to the group I was talking to, making a show of tossing my hair over my shoulder and laughing lightly at something someone said. But my heart was pounding.

Lilia Calderu was here. And she was watching me.

Game on.

I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue as I kept my posture relaxed, my smile effortlessly charming. I could feel her gaze burning into me from across the room, sharp and assessing, but I didn’t look her way, not yet.

If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a damn show.

“So, y/n,” the woman beside me purred, leaning in just a little too close. “You never told me what you do for a living.”

I smiled, tilting my head coyly. “Oh, you know... a little bit of everything,” I said smoothly, trailing a finger along the rim of my glass. “Keeps life interesting.”

I swore I could hear Lilia’s scoff from across the room, and it took everything in me not to grin.

Agatha, who was lingering nearby, nudged me under the table with her foot. “Subtle,” she whispered, her tone practically dripping with glee. “She’s watching you like a hawk.”

I shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. “Let her.”

I felt her familiar presence before I even saw her. Lilia’s energy was intense, heavy and magnetic, drawing people in without her even trying. And then, just as I was laughing at something unremarkable, I saw her appear at the edge of my vision, standing beside the group with her arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face.

But her eyes? Her eyes told an entirely different story.

They flicked from the woman leaning too close to me, to my lips, and then, finally, locked onto mine.

I arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Lilia,” I greeted, taking another slow sip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into that maddeningly subtle smirk. “Neither did I.”

Agatha, not missing a beat, grinned and chimed in. “Lilia! Finally decided to join the fun?”

Lilia’s gaze didn’t leave mine as she responded, “I suppose someone had to keep an eye on y/n.”

“Oh, I think I’m doing just fine on my own,” I shot back, playful but pointed.

Lilia’s lips twitched. “So I see.” Her gaze dragged over me, slowly, taking in every inch of my dress, my posture, the way I was standing just close enough to the woman next to me to imply interest.

I held her gaze, my heart racing. “You know, you could’ve just stayed home,” I teased, my voice dropping just a bit. “No need to check up on me.”

Lilia stepped closer, leaning in just enough that I could catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Maybe I just wanted to watch?”

I swallowed, my bravado slipping just slightly.

Agatha, watching the exchange like it was the best thing to ever happen to her, nudged me again and whispered, just for me to hear, “You’re losing, babe.”

I straightened up, regaining my composure, and smirked at Lilia. “Well, since you’re here... maybe I should introduce you to some people.” I gestured to the woman beside me, who looked suddenly very interested in this new development. “This is—”

But before I could finish, Lilia reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering a second too long. The touch sent a shiver down my spine.

“Enjoy yourself, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Don’t let me stop you.”

And with that, she stepped back, leaving me absolutely reeling.

Agatha burst into laughter. “Oh my God, she is so playing you.”

I clenched my jaw, staring at Lilia’s retreating figure as she casually wandered toward the bar, looking as cool and composed as ever.

Oh, hell no.

I was not about to let Lilia Calderu waltz in here, throw me off my game with a well-timed smirk and a touch that lingered just enough to make my brain short-circuit. If she thought she could walk away with the upper hand, she had another thing coming.

I plastered on my best grin and turned back to the woman next to me, who was still watching the whole exchange with keen interest. “Sorry about that,” I said smoothly, letting my fingers graze lightly over the rim of my glass. “Old friend.”

Lilia, who had just reached the bar, tilted her head slightly at my words, clearly listening in.

The woman smiled, intrigued. “Old friends who stare at you like they’d rather eat you alive?”

I laughed, but it wasn’t entirely fake. “She’s... complicated.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilia's shoulders tense slightly. Gotcha.

Agatha, still lingering with a devilish glint in her eye, whispered in my ear, “Atta girl. Make her work for it.”

With renewed confidence, I turned my full attention to my current company, leaning in just enough to make it seem like I was entirely absorbed in our conversation. I laughed at all the right moments, let my hand casually brush against hers, and even threw in a little coy lip bite for good measure.

And Lilia saw every second of it.

I could practically feel her eyes on me, dark and heavy, her carefully composed façade slipping by degrees.

When I dared a glance her way, I caught her watching with that unreadable expression, cool, detached, but with a flicker of something darker beneath. Jealousy? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure, but I liked it.

Still, she didn’t approach.

Fine. If she wanted to play it that way, I’d push a little harder.

I tilted my head back, laughing at something the woman said, making sure my posture screamed confidence, my neck arched just enough to be noticeable. And then, as casually as I could manage, I said loudly enough for Lilia to hear, “You know, I was a little nervous about coming tonight, but... I think I’m really enjoying myself.”

From across the room, I saw Lilia’s grip tighten around her glass.

Agatha, ever the enabler, had appeared at the bar, bit back a grin and leaned against the bar near Lilia. “So, Lilia,” she said innocently, “what brings you here tonight? Surely not jealousy?”

Lilia’s eyes flickered with something sharp, but she simply took a sip of her drink, her voice smooth as silk. “Just making sure y/n doesn’t get herself into too much trouble.”

“Oh, I think she’s handling herself just fine,” Agatha teased, shooting me a wink.

I smirked, running a hand down my hip and throwing Lilia a pointed glance before turning back to my conversation.

But before I could say another word, Lilia appeared at my side, moving silently and suddenly. Her presence was commanding, and I felt it in every nerve of my body.

“Y/n,” she said smoothly, her voice velvety and low. “A word?”

The woman next to me raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, clearly amused. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding, but I kept my smirk firmly in place. “Of course, Lilia.”

She led me away from the crowd, her hand resting lightly on my lower back, just enough to own the situation, just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with.

Once we were in a quieter corner, she turned to face me, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “Having fun?”

I shrugged, playing it cool. “I was.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but her gaze sharpened, laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re walking a fine line, baby.”

I tilted my head, stepping closer, pushing just enough. “Maybe I like the edge.”

Her eyes darkened, and for the first time all night, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. But instead of pulling away, she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, sending shivers straight down my spine.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice low and dangerously smooth. “You might find yourself wanting something you can’t have.”

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my cool. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting.”

Lilia’s expression remained unreadable, her head tilting just slightly.  “Getting ahead of yourself, baby.��

I exhaled sharply, biting back the urge to roll my eyes. “And you love dragging this out, don’t you?”

She made a soft, thoughtful sound, her gaze sweeping over me like she was deciding just how much she wanted to let me have. “Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

Heat curled in my stomach, frustration and want tangled together, her eyes flicked down to my lips for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, but before I could say anything, she let out a slow, almost teasing sigh and stepped back, putting space between us. “Go on, baby. Enjoy your night.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me reeling.

Agatha appeared at my side almost immediately. “So... that looked intense.”

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. “I think I might be losing.”

And honestly? I didn’t want to play this game anymore.

Agatha grinned. “No, babe. You’re both losing.”

I groaned. “Great.”

I huffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I watched Lilia disappear back into the crowd with that same frustrating grace she always carried. I turned to Agatha, my lips pursed in irritation. “You know what? I don’t want to do this matchmaking thing.”

Agatha, ever perceptive, didn’t even argue. She just sipped her drink and gave me a knowing nod. “Of course, no problem.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

She smirked, leaning against the bar. “I know when you’ve had enough, y/n. And right now, you look like you're two seconds away from murdering someone.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. “Yeah, I think I just... I need to go home.”

Agatha nodded, patting my arm. “Good call. Go home, take a bubble bath, and—”

“Eat my feelings?”

Agatha grinned. “Exactly.”

I gave her a small smile, grateful she wasn’t pushing. “Thanks, Aggie.”

She winked. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll gossip later.”

I nodded, weaving my way through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and the lingering presence of Lilia somewhere in the room.

By the time I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a long breath. The tension that had been building inside me all evening eased slightly, but the frustration was still simmering beneath the surface.

Because despite everything, the flirting, the teasing, the stupid mixed signals, Lilia still managed to keep me at arm's length. And I was tired of playing the waiting game.

As I made my way home, heels clicking against the pavement, I couldn't help but feel like I had just walked away from a fight I wasn't even sure I wanted to win anymore.

I made it home, kicking off my heels the second I stepped through the door. The silence of my apartment felt jarring after the noise and chaos of the event, but it was exactly what I needed. No prying eyes, no teasing coven, and most importantly, no Lilia.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. The adrenaline from earlier was fading, leaving me feeling tired, annoyed, and... a little disappointed.

The evening had started off fun, with the whole “make Lilia jealous” plan in full swing. But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about teasing her and started feeling like something else. Something heavier.

I wanted her to chase me. I wanted her to want me.

But instead, she just kept pulling back, staying in that frustrating space of almost.

I flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts spiral.

Maybe she really doesn’t feel the same way.

Maybe the age gap is too much for her.

Maybe I’m just a fun distraction to her.

I groaned, tossing a pillow over my face. “Ugh, stupid.”

Just as I was debating whether to text Agatha and unload my feelings, my phone buzzed against my thigh.

I grabbed it, half expecting it to be one of my friends checking in, but my breath caught when I saw the name on the screen.

Lilia.

I stared at it for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Was she going to scold me for leaving early? Check on me? Or just... toy with me some more?

Taking a deep breath, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then Lilia’s voice, soft and measured. “You left.”

I blinked, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I did. I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

Another pause. “I see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you call just to state the obvious, Lilia?”

She hummed, and I could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Maybe.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Lilia.”

She sighed, and for a moment, I thought she might actually say something real. But then—

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

My heart did that stupid little flutter thing, but I pushed it down, forcing a casual tone. “I’m fine. I always am.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe she’d hung up. But then—

“I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go,” she admitted quietly.

I swallowed, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. “Why did you?”

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, it was softer than I expected. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling frustration bubble up again. “And? Did you enjoy the show?”

Lilia exhaled, something close to a chuckle, but there was an edge to it. “More than I should have.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Another pause. “So I’ve been told.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Go to bed, Lilia.”

“You too, baby,” she murmured, and before I could come up with a snarky response, the call ended.

My heart pounding, frustration and something else, something deeper, swirling in my chest.

I stared at my phone for all of ten seconds before I muttered, "No, fuck this." Without thinking any further, I tapped Lilia’s number and called her back.

She answered almost immediately, her voice a little softer, maybe a little surprised. “y/n?”

“You’re confusing,” I blurted out, pacing back and forth in my living room, frustration bubbling over. “You are so confusing, Lilia.”

Silence.

I didn’t care, I was on a roll now. “You flirt with me, you pull away, you get all soft and caring, and then you act like none of it happened. And I keep trying to play it cool, keep waiting for you to make up your damn mind, but you never do.”

She didn’t say a word, and I wasn’t stopping.

“And fuck you and this whole age gap excuse, because that’s what it is now, Lilia. It’s an excuse. You keep telling yourself that’s the problem, but it’s not. You flirt with me, you want me, and then you shut me out like it never happened. I’m tired, Lilia. I’m so tired.”

I paused, breathing hard, and then it hit me. My eyes widened as I blurted, “And you never even gave me my underwear back!”

I was hysterical. 

I could hear Lilia inhale sharply on the other end, and for a second, I thought she might say something, anything. But all I got was silence.

And that silence was worse than if she’d yelled at me.

I swallowed hard, my anger deflating into something... heavier. More raw. My voice softened, and I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

Still, she said nothing, and it was starting to hurt more than I thought it could.

I took a shaky breath. “I’m done, Lilia. I can’t take any more.” My throat tightened, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “It hurts too much.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of my breathing and the faint static of the line. Then, finally, Lilia’s voice came through, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Y/n...”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t.”

Another pause. Then she sighed, long and slow, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well... you did.”

Silence again, and I could almost imagine her, standing in her shop, looking down at the floor with that troubled frown she always wore when she was thinking too hard.

After another beat, she said, “I—” but she cut herself off, like she couldn’t finish the sentence.

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “Lilia, I can’t do this anymore. Not unless you actually want me. Not unless you’re willing to admit it.”

There was a pause. Then, finally, so quietly it nearly shattered me, she said, “I do.”

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest. “What?”

“I do,” Lilia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I didn’t know how to.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

There was a long silence before she finally admitted, “Because I’m scared.”

I felt something shift inside me, my anger melting into something softer. “Scared of what?”

Lilia sighed again, and this time, she sounded... tired. Vulnerable. “Of how much I want you.”

My lips parted, my throat suddenly dry. “Then stop running,” I said softly. “Please, Lilia. Just... stop.”

She was quiet for another long moment, and then— “Come over.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

“Come over,” she said again, a little stronger this time. “Now.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Lilia, are you sure—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Please.”

And just like that, I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into my shoes, and bolted out the door, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely registered it, I was too focused on getting to Lilia.

The drive to her shop felt endless, every red light an eternity, every turn slower than I wanted. My fingers tapped anxiously against the wheel, my thoughts racing.

She admitted it.

She finally admitted it.

But what did that mean? What was waiting for me when I got there?

By the time I pulled up outside her shop, I was a mess of nerves, my stomach churning with anticipation and something I couldn’t quite name. I parked and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to collect myself.

Come over, she’d said. Not “we need to talk,” not “I need to explain.” Just... come over.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. The street was quiet this time of night, the shop windows dark except for the faint glow of a single light inside.

I knocked, and almost immediately, the door creaked open.

Lilia stood there, looking... different. Her usual confidence wasn’t as sharp around the edges tonight. Her hair was loose, curling naturally around her face, and she had changed into casual wear, soft sweater and leggings, barefoot.

Her dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

I exhaled shakily. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied softly, stepping aside to let me in.

The familiar scent of her shop, incense, old books, and something distinctly her washed over me as I walked inside. She closed the door behind me, and the quiet settled around us like a heavy weight.

I turned to face her, my heart still racing. “I meant what I said, Lilia. I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “I know, baby.”

The sound of her calling me that made my knees weak.

I swallowed. “Then why—”

Lilia took a slow step forward, her eyes locked onto mine. “Because I’ve spent a long time being careful, y/n. Too careful.”

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just let her talk.

“I told myself I couldn’t do this,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure. “That you deserved someone... younger. Someone with fewer complications. Someone who wouldn’t keep you waiting.”

I blinked, my throat tightening. “Lilia...”

She stepped closer, and this time, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over my wrist. “But you’re right. The age gap, the excuses... they’re just that. Excuses.”

I felt something break inside me, my breath hitching. “Then stop making them.”

Lilia looked at me, really looked at me, and I could see the struggle in her eyes, the hesitation, the longing, the fear. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she cupped my face in her hands, her thumb grazing lightly over my cheek.

“I’m done,” she whispered. “No more excuses.”

I barely had time to react before she kissed me.

Soft at first, hesitant, but then I melted into it, my hands gripping her waist as I kissed her back with everything I’d been holding in for weeks, months.

Lilia pressed closer, her body warm against mine, and I felt her exhale shakily into my mouth, like she was finally letting go of all the barriers she’d built between us. Like she wanted this just as badly as I did.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting against hers. “Took you long enough,” I whispered, my lips curling into a smile.

Lilia chuckled, her fingers still ghosting over my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip. “I know, baby. I know.”

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.

But Lilia barely gives me a second to recover before she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me through the shop, her grip firm, her steps hurried, almost reckless. I can barely keep up, my heart racing, my body already aching for her before we even make it to her bedroom.

And then I’m there, being pushed back onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me as I look up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s standing over me, eyes dark and burning with something dangerous, something I’ve been craving for so long. 

I moan, unabashedly, because fuck, she’s so hot.  The way she looks at me like she’s about to devour me whole, like she’s going to ruin me, like I’m something she’s been starving for.

And then she starts stripping, slowly, painfully slow, slowly, deliberately, eyes locked onto mine the entire time. Teasing me with every inch of skin she reveals. She peels her sweater over her head, her curls tumbling loose, and I watch, breathless, as she undoes the clasp of her bra with deliberate precision, letting it fall to the floor, her smirk growing the longer I stare. Her hands move lower, hooking into the waistband of her leggings, sliding them down her hips with an agonising pace. She steps out of them with ease. My pulse pounds in my ears as she takes her time, dragging it out, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me, letting the last of her clothes slip from her body until she’s completely bare, standing before me in nothing but those dark eyes and the wicked smirk playing on her lips, and I’m left staring, aching.  

I can’t take it.

I stand up, lurch forward, hands reaching for her, closing the space between us, my hands immediately on her body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her neck. My hands roam over her bare back, pressing her closer, needing to feel her. My teeth scrape over the pulse hammering at her throat, and I hear her breath hitch.

Lilia moans, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me even closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. I trail kisses down, across her chest, down her stomach, dragging my nails lightly, down her ribs just to make her gasp, desperate to taste her, to make up for all the time we’ve wasted.

I want her. I want to wreck her, hear her fall apart beneath me.

But Lilia has other plans.

With a low growl, she shoves me back onto the bed, straddling me before I can even react. Her body pins mine against the mattress, a delicious weight that has me gasping. She tugs my dress up, her hands rough and impatient as she drags it over my head and tosses it aside. A shiver runs through me as her fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and without thinking, my hips lift to help her slip them off.

And then she does the same to me. Lilia’s lips are everywhere, hot, demanding, claiming me in a way that’s anything but soft. It’s hard, it’s raw, it’s pent up tension that’s been building for weeks, and it’s so damn good, and I can feel it in every press of her teeth, every bite of her nails against my thighs.

She kisses me like she’s making up for lost time, her hands gripping my hips tightly, grinding down against me, slow and deliberate, teasing me with the friction, with enough force to leave bruises in the morning. My nails rake down her back, desperate, needy, and she loves it, moaning into my mouth as she deepens the kiss.

We don’t stop.

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing, just heat and need and the overwhelming feeling of finally having what we both wanted.

I gasp as Lilia's hands roam lower, her touch possessive, her mouth following her hands, unrelenting, claiming every inch of me. She grips my thighs, spreading me open, pressing teasing kisses along my inner thigh, slow, deliberate, making me squirm.

She pauses just above where I need her, her breath warm against me, teasing, torturous. And when she finally looks up at me, her lips just barely brushing my skin, her eyes are dark, lips slick, pupils blown wide with hunger. She smirks.

“Took me long enough, huh?” she murmurs against my skin.

I can’t even answer, just nod breathlessly.

Lilia’s mouth is on me before I can even process it, her hands pressing my thighs apart with a hunger that makes my head spin. She doesn’t tease. She doesn’t drag it out. She takes. 

She devours me like she’s starving, like she’s been holding back for too long and refuses to do it a second longer. Her tongue moves with precision, slow at first, savoring, before she licks deeper, pressing her mouth against me with a hunger that has my head spinning. She flicks her tongue, dragging it over me just right, and I sob, my body jerking beneath her. 

Her fingers slide through slick heat, teasing, testing, until—

I gasp, my back arching off the bed as she pushes in, stretching me, filling me in a way that has me gasping for air.

She’s ruthless, curling her fingers just right, stroking deep, pushing, pulling, setting a pace that leaves no room for mercy.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, baby?” she moans against me, the vibrations sending a shiver up my spine. Her fingers don’t slow, thrusting into me hard, fast, each stroke deliberate and punishing. “The things I’ve thought about... every time you walked into the shop in those little skirts, every time you teased me?”

I whimper, my hands clutching the sheets, head thrown back in pure bliss.

She bites the inside of my thigh, and I cry out. “Those panties you left behind,” she breathes, her voice thick with lust, “I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About you. About what it’d feel like to have you.”

A desperate moan rips from my throat, my body trembling under her touch. “Lilia... please.” My hips lifting, chasing her, needing more. She hums, low and indulgent, before finally sliding another finger inside me, stretching me open, pushing deeper, pressing her palm against me just enough to make me whine. My hands clutch at the sheets, my body burning, every nerve ending sparking.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” her tongue circling me in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me apart piece by piece. “Had you like this ages ago. Been wanting to hear these sounds from you for weeks”

Her fingers press against that perfect spot inside me, and I choke out a sob.

She licks deeper, pressing her tongue flat against me before sucking lightly, and I jerk, crying out.

“Want to hear you cum for me,” Lilia purrs, her voice dark and commanding,  before she sucks harder, her fingers thrusting into me faster, curling deep, coaxing me higher. “Come on, baby. Let me hear it.”

And I do.

The pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave, my body shaking, moaning her name over and over as I fall apart beneath her touch. Lilia doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until I’m completely wrecked, panting, and twitching from the aftershocks.

She finally pulls back, pressing a final, lingering kiss against me, her breath warm and heavy.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach, her voice full of praise that makes me shiver all over again. “You did so well for me.”

I can barely respond, my limbs boneless, my mind hazy. But I know one thing for sure, I want more.

It takes me a moment to come back down, my body still trembling, my breaths ragged and uneven. Lilia watches me with dark, satisfied eyes, her smirk smug and dripping with confidence. Her fingers still teasing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s enjoying the way I twitch under her touch.

But I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.

Before she can even process it, I flip us over, pressing her into the mattress with a wicked grin. Her eyes widen, but there’s no surprise, just anticipation, hunger.

“Fuck.” The word comes out in a breath, barely a sound, but enough for her to hear.

She hums, amused, her nails skimming over my arms as if daring me to continue.

My fingers trail lower, slipping between her thighs, and I pause, my breath catching as I feel how absolutely soaked she is. The realisation sends a shiver through me, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

I pull back slightly, looking at her properly now, taking in the way her lips are parted, her pupils blown wide, her body already straining toward me.

“Oh,” I breathe, teasing my fingers against her, dragging them slowly to feel every bit of her need. “You don’t need any help, do you?”

Lilia’s breath hitches, her hips twitching beneath my touch, but she doesn’t answer, just watches me with dark, half-lidded eyes, her lips parted in anticipation. Fixes me with a look that makes my stomach flip.

It’s daring. A challenge. Like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

“Fuck,” I say again, letting out another slow breath, pressing a little firmer, feeling how she responds so easily. “You really have been waiting for this,” I murmur, my voice dark, satisfied. “Haven’t you?”

She parts her lips to respond, but I don’t give her the chance.

I sink my fingers into her, slow at first, teasing, stretching her open, feeling the way her body clenches around me. 

And then I push in deeper, hard, and she gasps, her back arching, her fingers digging into my shoulders..

I don’t go slow. I don’t tease. I take her hard and rough, my fingers moving with purpose, curling inside her in a way that has her moaning instantly.

Lilia’s hands grasp at my shoulders, her nails scratching, dragging down my back, and I lower my mouth to her breasts, sucking one of her nipples between my lips. I swirl my tongue around it, biting down just enough to make her cry out, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, y/n,” she moans, her hips bucking up against my hand, her thighs trembling around me.

I smirk against her skin, flicking my tongue over the hardened peak before moving to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention while my fingers pump into her relentlessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around my fingers, and it doesn’t take much before I feel her start to tighten around me, her walls fluttering, her breath coming out in broken gasps.

“So, you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” I murmur against her chest, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Thinking about how I’d feel inside you?”

She groans, her back arching as she gasps, “Yes... yes... fuck.”

I grin wickedly, increasing the pace, curling my fingers just right until she’s on the edge, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Come on, Lilia,” I whisper against her skin, sucking hard on her nipple as I thrust into her with delicious precision. 

“Let me hear you.”

And she does.

Lilia spasms around me, her moan breaking apart into something raw and desperate, her entire body trembling beneath me as she comes undone, gasping my name like it’s the only thing she knows.

I watch her fall apart, mesmerised, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every sharp intake of breath, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen. 

My fingers slow, riding out her high as I press soft kisses along her collarbone.

Her breathing is ragged, a deep flush crawling up her chest, sweat slicking her skin, and she lets out a soft, breathy laugh, pulling me against her, her fingers tangling in my hair. “I should hate how smug you look right now,” she murmurs, voice thick and shaky.

I smirk, kissing along her jaw. “You love it.”

She hums, her lips ghosting over my temple as her breath steadies, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back. 

After the intensity of it all, after the heat, the moans, and the desperate need finally sated, we collapse into the sheets, bodies still humming with the aftershocks.

Lilia sighs softly against my hair,  her arm draped lazily over my waist, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath me, and I feel her hand lazily tracing circles on my back. 

I shift slightly, my leg sliding between hers, my fingers still ghosting over her skin, unable to stop touching her even in the aftermath.

Her skin is warm, still damp from sweat, her breathing slow and steady.

“Comfortable?” she murmurs, voice low and raspy, and I can hear the lingering amusement in it.

I nuzzle against her neck, pressing a lazy kiss to her collarbone. “Very.” My voice is heavy with sleep, and I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but I don’t want to move. “You?”

She hums, her lips pressing against my temple in a slow, lingering kiss. “Mm. I could get used to this.”

My heart stutters at that, but I don’t say anything, just smile against her skin, letting myself bask in the warmth of her.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, time feels irrelevant when I’m wrapped around her like this. Lilia strokes her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, and I can feel her breathing slowing, the tension that always seems to cling to her finally easing away.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter shut, my body melting against hers. “Don’t retreat in the morning,” I mumble sleepily, barely coherent, but needing to say it.

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “I won’t, baby.”

And that’s enough for me. With her promise lingering in the air between us, I drift off, feeling safe, sated, and completely tangled in her. Tangled in her warmth, in her scent, in the quiet hum of her presence.

[legionofzoom]

barry allen quotes

to use on graphics, edits, captions for your edits etc.

but i guess i'll be seeing you soon, mom…i'll see you soon.

i love you, grandpa. i- i love you, too. (bart and barry - impulse: bart saves the universe 1999)

yeah. i'm starting to hate gorillas. (the flash 2011)

it's been an overwhelming year. seems like i've spent all my life as flash trying to stay ahead of danger, trying to play catch-up, trying to do too much… each choice seemed to sprout more consequences… more choices… more challenges… and complications ensued. but the answer isn't always to do more. problems can't always be solved by running faster. sometimes the simplest solution is the best. i can't outrun grodd, and i won't let him hurt any more innocent people. grodd is right… it is over. but i'm going to be the one writing that last chapter. because solovar was also right… the mind will always be faster. (by gail simone i think??)

you wanted the power of the source of the lightning… well, this is the source. welcome to the speed force. (…) but here, i am the king.

i love you. i love you more. (patty and barry i think???)

but it's not about dwelling on the past, it's about fighting for my father's future. in my heart, i know he is innocent… and as long as he rots in prison for her murder, i owe it to him to keep searching for the real killer. i'm not looking back. it's about setting things right. and although sometimes when you try to set things right… you risk letting other people down. you must not let that keep you from moving forward. if you're not moving, you're not living. my mom taught me that. i love her for that. and so i run. for her. for everybody. 'cause no matter what happened in the past… no matter how bad it gets, or how many hits i take… i will always keep trying. (the flash 2011 issue 24)

this is almost a welcome distraction. if the world weren't at stake, i'd be recording and studying everything. we could be rewriting every history book. instead, i'm fighting for a way to sign my own death certificate. and yet, weirdly… i don't feel so bad. one life… my life… against millions. i can live with that. it almost feels like… i was destined to make this choice. somehow. someday. like i was meant to be here for a crisis like this, somehow. i'm okay with it. i'm ready. i'm going to miss iris, though. and ice cream. and polar bears.

yeah, well, i have a bad habit of racing death and winning.

the only control we have in life is in the choices we make. however small, each action has a consequence. and while we can't steer the outcome of every possibility… we can nudge the world in the right direction. at least, that's what i'm going to keep trying to do.

[lavenlady]

And it's me again.

Heh, I just had an idea.

How about Flamenova being Bluecop's parent/creator (don't ask me where I got this idea from, and yes, I love parent fanfics). I'd like to see Flamenova take care of his cub from the moment he was born until he betrayed Machina. And their relationship (what kind of father would Flamenova be like in your opinion? And how would he balance his job and his cub)

Note.

Flamenova and other cardbots meeting.

Fn after transformation: Hello son.

Bc: Hello... dad

Others: DAD?!

Here you go! Enjoy!

◤ Fatherhood ◢ | Platonic Parent!Flame Nova x Blue Cop

Flame Nova was a renowned Star Guardian, but he found a Cardbot, who loved him for who he was - or so he thought. He was shocked when his beloved had left him and their newly created prototype for their own dreams, without thinking about the consequences. He could only look at the little bundle of life, who had a bright future ahead.

Flame Nova was a doting father, but didn't spoil his little one, even if he was able to. He needed to learn some things were gained by hard work and not just handed out. Blue Cop already admired his father as a young Cardbot. It was uncommon to see a lone Cardbot rising his own, so Flame Nova kept their relationship a secret. The little prototype wanted to be like him and promised to get into Star Guardian's ranks. It deeply moved his dad, his own son already acted so grown up. As he oathed, he managed to get in and quickly rose to the top. He proudly stood alongside his father, who worked hard for him and other Cardbots.

Though not everything can last forever. After a long time working for the good of Deus Machina, it was announced that a traitor was caught in their ranks. Blue Cop could feel his insides twisting and his spark clenching as he recognized his father, his idol, his reason why he decided to join. If he wasn't on duty that day, he would have surely broken down, but he did so later at his empty home. It was so devoid of his and Flame Nova's chatter it felt wrong to be there.

His job sadly didn't allow him to mourn in peace, he had other Cardbots to care about. That didn't go on for long. Machina, his home planet was annihilated. Everyone, who could, escaped from the destruction. He himself got an important task - he needed to find a friend. It was hard at first when he landed on Earth. Everything was so similar yet so different. He gradually understood the rules and people. Soon he met Mega Trucker, who wouldn't follow the rules they had to live by now. He also later met Jun and started helping him seal other Cardbots. He finally felt that void inside fill with happiness he didn't know he could experience again.

Unfortunately his team was lost and he needed to get them back from wherever they were thrown in. It was stressful, but he needed to be strong for them. With that in his processor he, alongside his human friend, created a new team. He hoped this would speed up the searching process.

He couldn't be more shocked when his father showed up. How was that possible? Machina was annihilated, how did he manage to escape? So much was on his processor the only thing he could do was weakly call out his name.

" Flame Nova... " His optics wide with shock as he saw his creator step through the green energy tunnel. The former Star Guardian slightly turned his helm to cast his grown-up prototype one last look before leaving.

He could feel his insides clench as the green was seen no more. The empty feeling making itself known again, just like this day. He could only endure it quietly and find his team faster. The fate had other plans for him as the final fight forced him to fight against his father. He wished to keep the relationship a secret, just like before, but Flame Nova had other plans.

" Hello... My dear son. " The Cardbots behind him looked at his back plating in shock. They only thought he was Blue Cop's former boss - not father. The Star Guardian took a shaky vent as his optics narrowed and servos clenched on his sword.

" This ends here... Father. " He rose him weapon high and stared down his opponent. Everyone was stunned, so it was true. How and when had Flame Nova created Blue Cop? It made no sense! Jun could only look on with a determined smile on his face. Is that so? Then he will brig this broken apart family together.

They succeeded. Flame Nova was taken down and they had won. Everyone had questions and the Star Guardian decided to explain everything.

" Who would want him as a partner?! How did that even work out?! " Shadow X was confused. Blue Cop was their leader, a remarkable Star Guardian - how did that escape their attention.

Jun watched on with glee as other Cardbots started asking their own questions, which the police car answered honestly. In the corner of his vision he saw his first human friend as well as his watch. Maybe not everything is lost afterall.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

( Hope you liked it! )

(Master list)

[multifanhoe99]

Kinktober Day 16- Toys

Pairing: Sunghoon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mean dom!Sunghoon, daddy kink, nicknames (baby girl, baby, slut, whore, little girl), overstimulation, tying up with rope, unprotected sex, creampie.

=Let me know if I missed any.=

18+ MDNI

PROMPT LIST

MASTERLIST

You have really done it this time. You pushed him over the edge and knew there was no going back. You were going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions. Your boyfriend, Sunghoon, was sweet and kind but, when things got more intimate between you two he was very commanding, and dominant. You were not upset with this, in fact you enjoyed it very much. So much that you often like to tease him to get him in that mood. You enjoyed his funishments but, sometimes you would push too far and instead of a funishment you would get a real punishment. Today, while he was at the studio, you had decided to tease him.

You sent him pictures of yourself in the lingerie set you knew was his favorite. Each picture had a text after it that said something along the lines of I'm so lonely Daddy and I don't know if I can wait til you get home. You kept sending him these pictures and even a couple videos until he responded. Oh, baby girl, you've been so bad today. I am at the studio and it is very difficult to hide my phone from the others. I think Jay saw it. You better be a good little slut for Daddy when I get home after your punishment that is. Be ready and wait for me on the bed when I get home. Oh yeah, you had definitely gone too far this time. You did as he asked stripping yourself of the lingerie and sitting on the bed. Luckily, you knew that meant he'd be home soon if he told you to wait for him without saying when he'd be home.

Not too long after, you heard the front door open and close. Then, there was the sound of him walking down the hall to your shared room. You were shivering with the anticipation of what he had planned for you. When Sunghoon finally reached the room, he stopped in the doorway to stare at you. Then, he spoke, "Awe, look at you trying to be a good little girl now. Thank you for obeying me, baby but, that doesn't mean you aren't going to be punished for being a bad girl."

His voice was low and sexy. It was much different than anything you have heard before and you loved it. He made his way towards the closet where you kept your toys hidden. He pulled out the rope and your magic wand vibrator. You knew what he had in mind now and it was your least favorite punishment. This means he meant to overstimulate you. He walked over to you grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him before whispering in your ear, "Do you like being a bad girl? You like what I do to you huh? You're such a little whore for Daddy's cock aren't you kitten?"

"Ye-yes," you replied.

His eyes darkened even more, "Yes, what?"

"Y-y-yes Daddy," you stuttered. With a smirk, he let go of your face.

"Good girl," he said, "Now, lay down for me." You did as you were told and laid down on the bed. He got to work tying you so you weren't able to move your arms or legs much. When he was sure you were nice and secure Sunghoon grabbed the magic wand and turned it on.

"You were so horny for me today that you had to tease me and Jay saw you being a little slut for me," he said, "I want you to count how many times you cum baby and if you do good maybe I will give you my cock like you wanted." He moved the toy so that it was perfectly on your clit. He had it on the lowest setting but it still felt good. It was just not enough you wanted more. You unfortunately were not in a position to ask for more though. The vibrations felt amazing as it buzzed dully against your clit. Eventually, you were finally able to cum from the minimal pressure.

"One," you said slightly out of breath. He kept the toy on your clit but, turned up the setting by two notches. It was buzzing faster now and felt incredible. Even more so because you had already cum once.

Soon, you came again shouting out a loud, "Two!" You were only two orgasms in but, it was starting to get hard to think and breathe. He kept going and turned it up two more settings. This kept going until it was on the highest setting it could go. You were basically screaming at this point. You had tears and drool running down your face and you barely remembered what number you were on.

You came again with a scream, "Sssssss-six!"

He turned off the vibrator and threw it to the side. Then, he said, "You think you can do one more for me, baby?" You nod in response.

He lined himself up with your soaked entrance and began fucking into you at a rapid pace. You didn't even notice in your haze exactly when he removed his clothes. Everything felt so good and in no time you were cumming again.

"That's it, baby. Cum all over Daddy's cock like a good little slut. Do you want me to fill up this pretty little pussy with my cum," he said. You could tell he was also very close. You spouted incoherent nonsense hoping he'd understand what you meant. He did because the next thing you knew he was cumming deep inside of you. He then spent a long time removing your restraints, cleaning you up, and giving you any aftercare you needed. After all that was done, Sunghoon pulled you under the covers to cuddle with him.

Then, he asked softly, "I wasn't too rough was I?"

You replied, "No, not at all. I think I will have to tease you like that more often now."

He laughs while shaking his head, "I love you (Y/N)."

"I love you too," was the last thing you said before falling asleep in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: A long time ago I used to be an admin for another K-pop fanfic blog. This story is a re-write of a story I had written for that blog so if it seems familiar or if you ever come across the original story (it was about Jungkook) just know that I am not stealing any work. That writer and myself are indeed the same person.

[hotmessmaxpress]

i need Vale‘s pov of picking up Marc from Pesaro, because Marc wasn’t the only one worried, vale definitely was down bad just as much. The man of his dreams, who he almost lost before, is coming over to visit him. To meet him the first time as the person he really is. What if he only liked Vale for his money? Or if it just was some kind of hero worship? Valentino may have parked horribly, but that man was nervous, give him a break

Thank you for waiting so patiently, anon.

Here's another Vale's POV interlude, this time of Vale being Down Bad at the train station.

You should come. 

To Tavullia. Come ride with me.

When Vale invited Marc to Tavullia to come ride with him, he hadn’t really been thinking. He knew he wanted to see Marc, so he invited him without thought of the consequences or how he would explain things to his family, friends, and staff. He’s too excited to take back the invitation, though, so as soon as Marc agrees Vale throws himself into planning. 

He carves out a long weekend that he’s sure he can block off, and he starts firing off messages to all the normal visitors to the ranch and his home that he will be busy those days. Uccio is noticeably suspicious, so Valentino gives up and explains that Marc is visiting. 

Uccio isn’t pleased, but they’ve known each other long enough at this point that Uccio knows when he’s lost a battle and he doesn’t push back too much. Vale makes him promise not to show up, and threatens that the other man may see something he doesn’t want to if he shows up. Even with the threat Vale isn’t convinced Uccio won’t try something, but he’s at least confident that if he does turn up it won’t be a huge argument. Vale can survive a little awkwardness if it means having Marc by his side, finally.

They negotiate travel plans and Vale pays for everything. He was tempted to completely throw out Marc’s itinerary and send a private jet for him, but he forces himself to play it cool at least a little bit. There’s still part of him, lurking in the back of his mind, that thinks Marc could be using him. He hopes that when he meets Marc in person the fear and anxiety will dissipate. 

Allowing Marc to fly commercial doesn’t stop Vale from obsessively checking the timing of Marc’s flight, though. He stays attached to his phone throughout Marc’s travel day, ears open and listening for the notification that Marc has landed.

As soon as Marc lands, Valentino is in his car and off to the train station. He knows he’ll have to wait, and that he’s going to arrive far too early, but he can’t help it. He’s far too restless and excited to continue sitting around. 

He’s in the car when the message pops up that Marc is on the train, and he forces himself to slow down. Driving faster won’t make Marc’s train move faster. 

It is late enough at night that Vale has no qualms about parking right up front. He pulls haphazardly into an empty taxi space, and tries not to count the minutes until Marc’s train will pull into the station. He tries to talk himself down from being nervous, but now that he’s seated in his car with only music for company, a thousand thoughts run through his brain. This may be the moment that he finds out that Marc really does only want him for his money. Where will he be then? He knows Uccio won’t say “I told you so,” because he won’t have to. Vale will hate himself if things go wrong with Marc.

He desperately wants the younger man to be genuine. He wants his feelings for Marc to be reciprocated and warranted. He wants the chemistry that they have online to be true in real life.

He also can’t wait to touch Marc. A bitter part of him whispers that if Marc is using him for his money, at least he’ll get to have the weekend with him. 

The minutes tick down as Vale nervously spirals, turning his music up to try and drown out the thoughts of insecurity. 

When Marc walks out the station doors, Vale can’t help but climb out of the car to greet him. He’s not exactly keeping it cool, but Marc is simply too beautiful. Vale is drawn to him like a moth to flame and he wraps Marc in his arms. 

Marc is small. He’s tiny in Vale’s arms, but Vale can feel the solid muscle beneath the warm hoodie he traveled in. His mouth waters as he pictures the hard muscle and tanned skin he knows is underneath the sweatshirt. 

He forces himself to let go of Marc, who is positively beaming at him. It’s overwhelming, seeing that enthusiasm and joy in person. It’s even more overwhelming to know it’s directed at him. All at once Vale’s thoughts that Marc might be using him disappear. There’s no way the joy in his smile could be hiding an ulterior motive. There's no way any person, no matter how talented at acting, could fake such genuine happiness. It nearly brings Vale to his knees.

When they climb in the car, Marc asks him why he wasn’t afraid of people photographing them. Vale, after all, had stood publicly in front of a train station and held Marc in his arms. 

Vale is stunned into silence for a second. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he should probably try and keep some semblance of privacy when picking Marc up. He tries to shrug and play it cool. 

“It’s late at night. People will leave us alone.”

He hopes that is true and he hopes Marc buys his explanation. 

The tension in the air is thick, and Vale considers pulling off the road to drag Marc into his lap and ravish him. Every time he glances at Marc, beautiful, joyful Marc, it’s all he can think about. By the time he pulls the car through the gate and up toward the house nearly half an hour later, he thanks every god in existence that he managed to get them home without crashing. 

Vale promises Marc a tour and some riding in the morning, before carrying Marc’s bag into the house. 

They barely make it inside the house before they’re on each other. Vale drops Marc’s things unceremoniously somewhere near the door, and then his arms are full of the small Spanish man. Marc is positively sinful, moaning into Vale’s mouth as he slides his hands underneath Marc’s shirt. 

Marc is so satisfying to hold, and Vale promises himself he’ll take the entire weekend to fully map Marc’s body. He has a sickening moment of hoping Marc will let him have this forever; that Marc won’t want to leave him once he is bored of having sex with his hero. 

Vale guides an enthusiastic Marc toward his bedroom, and his heart nearly stops when Marc freezes in the doorway. For a moment, Vale thinks Marc has gotten cold feet and is going to turn around and insist he be driven back to the train station. 

“You really do have a bike in here,” Marc says, awed. “You won a championship on this.”

The wide-eyed look on Marc’s face goes straight to Vale’s cock.

“Sit on it,” he says, hungry at the thought of seeing the younger man on his bike. He has fantasized about this hundreds of times, and as Marc settles onto the seat Vale thinks he might burst into flames at the sight. 

They’re both hard, and Marc climbs back off the bike as Vale grabs the smaller man and manhandles him onto the bed. 

He’s wanted this for so long, and as he strips both of them of their clothes and gets his hands and mouth on Marc, he knows without a doubt  that he’ll do whatever he needs to do to keep this forever.

[citrusai]

their yearning is intertwined, as though there were no spatial or temporal interval between them.

Summary: Inspired by my own dog-gone post about Solas watching his heart through the eyes of Rook, incapable of doing or saying anything to reach out to her. 1.7k words

Warnings: None, but it's more Solas POV obviously. Bittersweet, obviously. No grave Veilguard spoilers but read at your own peril.

A/N: As always, crossposted to ao3. Love u all.

This was not Solas’ plan. It was never his intention to bind Rook to himself, to be trapped in a prison of his own making. The bond was thin, a crumb of a thought floating through the fade, it wasn’t much to go on.

The last thing he’d heard was that Rook was intending to meet a possible ally somewhere in Minrathous. His patience was wearing thin. Had it not been for their meddling, the veil would have been torn, nature restored to balance. And perhaps, Solas could… No. He won’t dwell on that treacherous thought, on the impossible.

The Cobbled Swan is empty, save for Rook sat at a small table. The situation weighs heavy on their mind. They’d been anxious about this, more so when Morrigan and Harding had started speaking about utmost privacy, just you two, we shouldn’t be here for this.

Rook seems to be incapable of sitting still, bouncing their leg as they look around the empty pub. How curious. What kind of person would have an entire establishment shut down? They glance through the window, eyes studying the movement of people living their day to day. A sigh escapes their lips.

A cold hand creeping up behind their ear and down their neck.

“Boo.”

Rook jumps in their seat, hand clutching onto their chest. Their head swivels in the direction of the voice, and they’re even more taken aback. They bow their head in greeting.

“Inquisitor.”

A sound of a raspberry being blown. “Wrong. The inquisition’s been disbanded. It’s Gan’freya now, or Lavellan if you wish to be formal. May I?” The woman gestures towards the chair in front of Rook, and they motion for her to sit.

Gan’freya sits down, folding her arms across her chest, her gaze bears no steeliness and yet it’s not entirely kind. She studies Rook for a moment. Their face, their outfit, the way they hold themselves. Rook notices the glint of metal on her hand, a prosthetic.

“You’re not entirely what I expected.” Rook speaks.

Gan’freya has to hold back an eye roll. “I suppose you expected a saviour, someone who invited you here with words of encouragement.” Her arms slip down to rest on the armchairs. “I’m afraid I don’t have any to spare. If you think what’s going on here in the North is horrid, you have yet to see the scourge released on Southern Thedas.”

“Why ask to see me then?”

“Morrigan and Harding had asked so politely, and what with Varric hiring you on my expense, well.” Her voice trails off, eyes looking out the window. A snort escapes her mouth. “Apologies, I think we both expected something different when you went to disrupt that ritual.”

“Do you think I failed?” Rook’s mouth runs dry, knee bouncing faster and faster.

Gan’freya looks at them, and there’s a hint of pity in her eyes, it’s gone as soon as it had arrived. She reaches her hand out to clasp Rook’s. “No.” She says, voice firm. “Nobody could’ve predicted the consequences.”

There’s a warm roll of familiarity that washes over Rook, but they can’t pinpoint why. They’d heard tales of the Inquisitor, and the stories had brought comfort on the long days chasing the Evanuris and the Venatori. The very stories Varric regaled.

But this felt different. As if a foreign mind had bled into theirs, trying to reach for her through Rook. They zero in on her speaking, shrugging off the sensation. She tells them of a statuette, and in return Rook tells her of what they’ve found.

It’s a glimmer. A foggy window, but Solas knows that figure better than he knows himself these days. Surely, the prison mocks him. Every move, every plan made in his lighthouse, buried under secrecy until Rook seeks him out. But now, the fade ripples and opens itself as if arms outstretched, daring him to confront himself.

Her hair is shorter, and there are bags under her eyes. She is both how he remembers her, and more. Yes, he had watched over her in her dreams, even before the night of the ritual. But seeing her, physically seeing her, through the eyes of Rook, it makes his heart leap into his throat.

The humour in her voice, quick to deflect Rook’s questioning. Always so perceptive to what others want from her, always ready to keep them at arm’s length.

He did not want this for her. Did not want her to follow him, to resign herself to a role she never wanted to begin with.

Herald. Inquisitor. Martyr. A symbol larger than life itself.

When she reached for Rook, when her hand had touched theirs, it’s as if that warmth washed over him too. How he wished he actually did bind that fool to do his bidding, if only to feel the softness of her hand in his once more, even through a proxy body.

The image becomes clearer upon her touch. And the punishment continues. Her pained cry, from when he’d removed the orb from her arm, echoes through the fade. The very sound mocks him, as his gaze falls on her prosthetic arm. He’d saved her, had given her another chance at life, or so he told himself.

His hand reaches for her, and the view ripples in between his fingers like water. His heart hammers in his chest, as if trying to break through skin and flesh and crawl out from the fade into her arms.

The prison echoes with more cries of anguish, the hiss of words in anger, mistakes that had been made before he’d met her. Solas dares not acknowledge them, their very existence a heavy weight upon his shoulder.

So he closes his eyes. His ears tuning into her voice as if it were a guiding melody. Everything else is just noise.

Rook scratches their temple, it feels as if a fog has fallen upon their mind.

“Are you alright?” Gan’freya inquires.

She’s no mage, not well versed in anything arcane, and her brother has been no help what with his speciality being healing. But something about Rook’s behaviour feels odd.

Morrigan had sent word, updates after the ritual was disrupted, when blight had descended upon Thedas once more like a disease. Harding had urged her to meet with them, to alleviate their fears now that Varric was gone. And through Morrigans eluvian she went.

She knew of Rook, in a way. Varric had written enough letters for Gan’freya to make sense of who this person was, what they could do. Yet something about their eyes fighting not to glaze over as they scratch and prod at their temple, fingers moving towards the back of their head, makes her eyes zero in on them with an analytical gaze.

“I am. It’s just…” They place their palms on the table, as if willing their body to still. “Ever since I hit my head when we disrupted the ritual, it’s like there’s this buzzing in my head.”

Her eyes give them a once over. “A concussion, you mean?”

They shake their head. “No it’s like, like something crawling around in there, biting on my brain.”

“What like something controlling you?”

“No..” Rook trails off, eyes cast down at the table, fingers scratching on the surface. “It’s more like... Something’s watching me, or at least trying to.”

“And by someone you mean…”

“Solas.” Rook finishes. “But it’s not constant, sometimes it’s a dull throb, but right now it’s like… Like my brain is on fire, in a way.”

Gan’freya hums, eyes giving Rook a once over. She rises from the table, approaching Rook as her hand reaches for their scalp, a questioning look in her eyes.

“May I?” She asks.

Rook simply nods. Unsure of what her fingers carding through their hair might achieve. Her touch is soothing, in more ways than one. It seems she’s inspecting their wound, fingers gently prodding the scab.

“I’m not oozing, am I?” They jest.

Something between a laugh and a snort escapes her mouth. “No, no you’re fine. No oozing, no bleeding, no tentacles or horns.”

Their body stills, and they hear the rustle of a bag, and a smear of something wet on their scalp. It’s cooling, relaxing almost. They listen to her hum as she layers whatever she’s smearing over their head.

Solas wonders if smell can travel into his prison, the scent of lavender and verbena overwhelming him. He cannot feel her touch, nor feel the balm she’s generously slathering Rook in. But he remembers, remembers how she used to tend to his wounds and his scrapes, how she used to bandage him and place soft kisses upon his scars afterwards.

And now all he has is this. A memory. A faint touch that cannot reach him.

The sting of tears in his eyes, his throat closing up, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’ll be fine.” Her voice, hushed, reverberating through the fade.

A part of him hopes she knows he’s listening in, another doesn’t dare to assume this kindness is aimed towards him.

It’d be so much easier if she had come to the lighthouse. The veil is thin there, he’d have more opportunity to reach out, to engage. But he cannot, he’s resigned to being a backseat passenger.

Solas watches her pull away, a solemn expression on her face, lips downcast in a frown. He’s always hated seeing her like that. The view grows foggier as Rook begins getting up, Solas watches as Gan’freya’s hand slip the jar of the salve she rubbed on them between Rook’s palms.

“You need it more than I do. Whenever you feel an itch just… you know, smear away.”

But there’s something in her voice, a tone that’s indecipherable to Rook, but all too familiar to Solas. There’s no bite, no sadness, but there’s a lilt of knowing. Her eyes catch Rook’s gaze, but it’s as if she’s staring through them, right at Solas.

When they bid their goodbyes, the image blurs altogether. As if it were never there with him to begin with.

And when Rook comes to him in the fade, he tries his hardest to bite back the upturn of the corners of his lips as the all too familiar medicinal smell wafts into the air, paired with something far more familiar, and sweeter.

Just as Rook pretends they did not meet with her under secrecy, Solas pretends he did not watch it through their eyes, hands folded behind his back. Their conversations clipped, filled with jabs and insults. But when they leave, and Solas is alone in his prison once more, the smell remains.

And it sparks a feeling of hope in his chest.

[monopersona]

Midnight Blues, Chapter 2: The Other Side

Zayne was the first thing she had ever wanted recklessly. She was always taught that desire should always be measured, tidy, and justifiable. That ambition is scripture and vulnerability is sin. It was all she had known. But Zayne? He made her greedy. He gave her the kind of love that burned bright and fast without ever stopping to consider the cost. The one where Mona looks back at her relationship

Zayne x OC. Post-divorce, exes, parents, coworkers, ANGST, a lot of reflection on this chapter.

A/N: Hi guys!! So I decided to continue Midnight Blues because the concept of Zayne and Mona would not leave my head. But I didn't just want to hastily post a follow up. This story needed care, and I wanted to make sure I did this right. If you read my other recent stories, you might know that writing is something I am just seriously picking up again, and this has been so far the most challenging idea to explore. I have toyed with this concept in four different formats, went back and forth between three main arcs, and here we are today. While I have not completed writing this story yet, I believe I have the big picture finally set to guide me there.

I also want to thank you so much for your feedback about my writing! Whether it's about Midnight Blues or my other fics, they really have become a motivator. In a way, you help me hold myself accountable to my writing goals, which is amazing. And in exchange, if I can provide you stories you like, that is good enough for me. Enjoy!

Previous chapter | You can read on ao3 here

Structure, precision, and strategy.

These three things weren’t just Mona’s values. They were the building blocks of her life. They pushed her to aim higher, move faster, and chase ambitions no matter the cost. That blueprint had been laid early in her life, mapped out by parents who loved her through excellence. Fortunately, Mona had the brilliance to match their expectations. Even as a child, she understood that excellence was a language people listened to, and achievement is a currency.

Medicine had been a breeze to conquer this way. The human body followed rules. Systems. Predictable consequences. Love, on the other hand, broke every law she had ever learned. There was no structure nor strategy that could come into play.

She and Zayne had met as the youngest in their batch in medical school. They were both prodigies. Too young, too brilliant, too fast. They were taught to dissect bodies before they even understood their own. In comparison, most of their peers had more years, more life, but not more pressure. They would never understand the aching loneliness of being the youngest in every room, always to be admired and dismissed in equal measure. Sparks did not draw the both of them together, but it was the quiet recognition of feeling out of place. Always a little too much, never truly belonging anywhere.

They had grown up quickly to get where they were, but they hadn’t finished growing yet. Maybe that’s what made the connection feel so sharp when it finally clicked; their youth was both armor and burden. A sweet, bitter common ground.

Zayne was quiet back then. Guarded in that way that looked like arrogance until you realized it was just survival. Mona ignored him for most of their first semester, though. Her grades were the only thing on her mind and she refused to let any distraction lead her to fumble. But one day, in the middle of a lecture, he muttered a deadpan joke under his breath. Something about the aorta or the jugular vein? She couldn't remember it now, but she laughed so hard she snorted. Professor Noah had scolded her, but Zayne just looked at her like he was glad someone had heard him. And that was all it took. Soon it was late nights at the library, caffeine-fueled rants, anatomy quizzes before class, shared dreams about what kind of doctors they would become. Somewhere in the blur of ambition and overachievement, they fell in love.

When she was twelve, Mona grew a love for embroidery. She would buy tools and flosses after school and learned to make flowers on her hold t-shirts from video tutorials. When she started getting really good at it, she embroidered her mother's handkerchief with violets all around. When her mother found out it took her a month to complete it, she chastised her.

"Don't waste your time on things that don't bring any benefits to your future."

"You shouldn't be dwelling on useless things."

"If anything, you could have used those hours to study."

The handkerchief was thrown away, and Mona cried silently in her room that night. Ever since then, she never had the courage to want anything for herself unless it was encouraged by her parents. Not even the little things. It was a miserable way to grow up, but it did bring her to where she was right now: an accomplished doctor, carefully molded by her ambitious parents. She can't tell if that was supposed to be liberating or suffocating.

Zayne was the first thing she had ever wanted recklessly. She was always taught that desire should always be measured, tidy, and justifiable. That ambition is scripture and vulnerability is sin. It was all she had known. But Zayne? He made her greedy. He gave her the kind of love that burned bright and fast without ever stopping to consider the cost. Neither of them had been prudent in love, but especially not Mona. And she didn't want to. Not for this one thing in her life that was her safe place. She loved him, and his love never made her shrink. He didn't just understand her ambitions; he matched it. For once, she didn’t have to soften herself to be wanted. She could be brilliant, relentless, and still feel seen. That kind of intimacy—when you're young enough—feels like a forever thing.

At twenty-two, they got married.

The ceremony was small. Just a few friends and polite (albeit wary) parents. Still, no one stopped them. Why would they? On paper, they were golden: top of their class, on the cusp of extraordinary careers, perfect on résumés and holiday cards alike. They were a match made for every ambitious Linkon parent's dream.

For Mona, it had felt less like a choice and more like fate. They were two stars caught in the same orbit that grew closer and closer until it inevitably collided. The problem with celestial collisions, of course, is the aftermath.

For a while, it was beautiful. They were building something together. They had a rhythm, parallel lives moving toward the same horizon. But they didn’t know themselves yet, and love without identity can only get you so far before your marriage started to feel like something created together, so much as something they survived.

Residency. Fellowships. Parenthood.

There was no room to pause. No time to breathe, let alone reflect. Just the next shift, the next case, the next tantrum. They triaged everything, even each other. Function kept them afloat, but there was no space left for softness. It didn't just happen suddenly; it was a slow moving erosion, chipping away at them little by little as time passed by without them realizing it until the damage became too much.

Amara was born when they were twenty-five. Holding her for the first time was the only moment Mona had ever felt time stop. She was perfect. And terrifying. And nothing had prepared her for how deeply she loved her.

Mona thought if she could just keep the ship afloat, they would eventually outlast the storm. She was wrong. They loved each other, yes, but their entire life had become urgent for so long that neither of them remembered how to simply sit in the same room and just be with each other.

They stopped being curious. Stopped asking each other the small, big questions. How are you? What do you need? They became excellent co-parents and efficient housemates, but as lovers? They were a hopeless case long before the papers were signed.

They were both problem-solvers, trained to fix what was broken. But feelings don’t behave like patients. They bled differently; in ways neither of them ever really knew how to handle. There was no textbook, no guide, no instruction on how to deal with them.

Mona had always been the type to swallow her grievances whole, mistaking silence for composure. But silence isn’t peace. Some part of her always kept score. And when things got hard, that part rose like a tide dragging old hurt to the surface, demanding retribution for wounds that were left to fester.

Zayne, in contrast, retreated when emotions grew complicated. He just... vanished. Turned inward when the words didn’t come, folding into silence like it might shelter him from the weight of unresolved issues bursting at the seams. Where Mona calculated, Zayne concealed. Two flawed defense mechanisms that left them stranded on opposite sides of the same silence.

“Every time I asked what was wrong, you said you were fine,” he told her once. Not in anger, but in resignation. “So I stopped asking.”

And it gutted her, because it was true. They were too alike in all the wrong ways. Brilliant. Proud. Terrified of needing too much. Neither of them knew how to lean on the other without feeling like they were failing. They had spent so long being exceptional that admitting they didn’t know how to be married was unbearable. It further destroyed her when she realized that both of them had turned into unrecognizable people. Zayne was no longer the inquisitive, cheeky, affectionate person he used to be, and Mona had lost her spark so much she felt like looking like a stranger in the mirror every time.

As Amara grew, their fractures widened. Her presence wasn’t the problem, though. If anything, she was their brightest light and the best part of them. But parenthood amplified every fault. Mona’s relentless standards became suffocating while Zayne’s guilt made him disappear into himself, and it was starting to clearly affect Amara. Her signs of upset and emotional distress whenever arguments happened were the first red flag that made them sit down with themselves. Their daughter became both salvation and reckoning.

Mona would find herself staring at their daughter's sleeping face some nights, tracing the slope of her nose as she whispered silent apologies with grief that weighted her heart. How had they create this perfect, wonderful, breathing thing together and somehow still lost each other?

Their end was death by a thousand cuts rather than one fatal blow: a forgotten anniversary, a birthday celebrated late, the evening she sat in their spotless kitchen, staring at the calendar where Date Night! had been crossed out for eleven weeks in a row.

Signing the divorce papers had been the most civilized thing they had done for each other. It was an act of mercy. Nevertheless, she cried when she got home. Not the graceful kind. The kind that locked your lungs, cracked your ribs, and left you with a headache that lasted for days.

“We didn’t fall out of love,” Zayne had said during one of their last arguments, voice cracking. “We just never stopped being kids playing house. And it got too much.”

And wasn’t that the cruelest truth? They had built a life together like children stacking blocks. No foundation, just the dizzying height of their ambitions and impulsivity. Mona had mistaken endurance for intimacy, had believed if she just worked harder and performed better, the fractures would seal themselves. She hadn’t realized Zayne was drowning too, his silence not indifference but a cry for help she had been too exhausted to hear.

And maybe that was the tragedy of it all: they did it all too soon. They tried to be everything for each other before they had figured out how to be anything on their own.

Prodigies, after all, are always praised for what they can do. Never for who they are.

After the divorce, Mona didn’t fall apart the way she thought she would.

The year after unfolded like a slow exhale of relief. For so long, she had sprinted toward every milestone: medical school at fourteen, marriage by twenty-two, motherhood at twenty-five, and chief of pediatrics before thirty; only to wake up one morning and realize she never paused to ask herself who she was outside of these titles. The unraveling of her marriage, as painful as it was, became the unexpected beginning of something else entirely: her own becoming.

There were nights when the silence in her apartment felt like a gnawing reminder of her failure, or when someone casually asking about Zayne's presence struck her like a blow to the ribs. But there were also mornings when she woke up and realized she could just be. Not someone’s wife. Not someone’s anchor. And certainly not someone trying to patch something long past mending. Just Mona. And that was a novelty she hadn’t known she craved.

So here she was at thirty, gradually learning the art of solitude. Not the hollow loneliness of those final years with Zayne, where they moved around each other like ghosts, but a quiet companionship with herself. The kind that felt like a rebirth.

She read novels she never had time for. Reconnected with old friends over wine and laughter that didn’t feel forced. She picked up embroidery again and started making little flowers on Amara's clothes. "Mama, you make the most beautiful flowers," she would tell her. And Mona would cry, not because she was sad, but because her daughter's words and appreciation for this once deemed stupid thing healed something in her. It gave her the courage to finally set firm boundaries with her parents. Not completely cutting them off, but keeping their contact at a minimal. The last straw for her had been when her father blamed her for her failed marriage, implying that if she had been capable enough, Zayne would have stayed. Today, those words would easily roll off her back. A testament to how far she had come.

She started buying herself flowers every Sunday. A small act that felt almost laughable, but it mattered to Mona. To choose beauty simply because she could, and not out of the expectation of having to always keep up with appearances. She even dated, briefly, a fellow pediatrician who made relationships feel like such a breeze. Something that was a contrast to what she was used to. They ended amicably after three months. The remarkable part wasn’t the breakup, but the realization that she could still choose like that. Not because she had to, not because the timeline demanded it, but because she wanted to. It reminded her of how she had once chosen Zayne. Not because he was convenient or approved, but because he was the first thing she allowed herself to want out loud. This time, though, the choosing came from a steadier place. Not a rebellion, not a rush of young defiance, but something gentler. Something like peace.

As for Zayne, he was changing too. They didn’t talk much beyond co-parenting and the occasional overlap at the hospital, but Mona noticed things. The way his shoulders no longer seemed perpetually braced for impact. The suspiciously perfect loaves of sourdough he started sending over with Amara, despite claiming to be a beginner. When he took Amara camping and sent a video, she watched it twice. It was unmistakably him, but softer somehow. There was a lightness in his laugh she hadn’t seen in years. It was like watching the man she used to love and someone entirely new, all at once.

And yet, for all their growth, the past still lingered like a thread neither of them could quite sever. It hummed beneath every shared smile over their daughter’s antics, every polite conversation that edged too close to something tender. A quiet, relentless ache for what was and what might have been. Because the truth was, you don’t just stop loving someone like that.

She told herself it's just the side effects of proximity. That sharing a child keeps you linked in strange, emotional ways and does things to the heart. That working at the same hospital only adds to the illusion. It shouldn't mean anything.

And then came the gala.

Mona hadn’t meant to wear that dress. She had worn it for herself, not anybody else. But when she looked in the mirror, something inside her went still. The memory hit hard and fast: the night she told him she was pregnant with Amara, and how, in hindsight, it felt like the beginning of the end. And when she caught Zayne staring—his gaze lingering just a moment too long—it sparked something warm, traitorous, and wholly uninvited in her chest.

It had been months since she really let herself look at him. But that night, there he was. Zayne, in a tuxedo, nursing a glass of whiskey—something he never did in all their years together, and he seemed to have the tolerance for it too, now—humoring conversations with people she knew he couldn’t possibly care about. When he saw her, his expression faltered for the briefest second. A tell that only someone who used to love him would notice. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the dress. But the way he looked at her—as if she were the only one in the room, as if he still knew her better than anyone—undid her.

Hours later, she was standing outside his door.

She didn’t plan to go. She hadn’t even texted. Her body just moved, guided by something buried under her skin since the day they signed those papers. Dormant all this time, now suddenly awake.

She didn’t know what she wanted coming to his apartment. And she certainly hadn't meant to kiss him. She just did.

Maybe it was the years of restraint collapsing. Maybe it was the way his fingers trembled slightly when he touched her face or how his voice cracked when he whispered her name. But when he kissed her—slow and aching—she knew. Some ties don’t burn out. They smolder. They wait.

It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was two people finally admitting that they were tired of pretending they hadn’t missed each other, even knowing very well they parted for the best.

After, she lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her. It should have felt like a mistake. It should have felt reckless or selfish or confusing, but it didn’t. It felt like coming home to a place she didn't realize she had been aching for.

Still, she didn’t stay the night. She got dressed in the dark, pressed a kiss to his temple, and slipped out while he was deep in slumber.

Because as much as she wanted him—as much as something inside her screamed that this wasn’t finished—she was also afraid. Afraid that they would fall back into old patterns. Afraid that love, deep and devastating as theirs had been, still might not be enough.

In the backseat of a taxi, Mona pressed a hand to her racing heart. She wanted him. But she couldn’t go back if it meant losing herself again. Not this time. A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you a wonderful day/night wherever you are <3

[marshmallow-phd]

A Manor of Shadow and Blood

Genre: Regency Gothic AU

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: A stormy night brought you to the manor in the middle of the woods. Nine strange men occupied its halls. They won't let you leave. A dangerous secret haunts this estate. Learning it might either be your saving grace or it could lead to the last breath you ever take.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5

**

The fever took over almost as soon as you left the bathroom. Your feet had become heavier, like lead refusing to be moved. Your vision went black before you made it to the bed. Consciousness came and went, images you weren't sure were real or not blurred your vision. A man wiped your forehead with a cloth. Another fed you salty broth. Two more held you upright as someone changed the sweat-soaked pillowcase. The last image you remember was the lingering presence of someone near the doorway. All you could register was his short black hair and white tunic. He turned from the bed and walked out of the room as you fell back asleep.

*****

A long groan rumbled your throat as your eyes blinked open. The fever that had consumed your body was gone. Your rough tongue scraped the roof of a mouth desperate for moisture. Every limb was sore from not being used. A small pain still pushed at your head, but it was bearable.  Only a small measure of light broke the edges of the curtain. It was either barely dawn or the very end of twilight. 

"It would seem you're past the worst of it." 

You gasped at the unexpected voice. Junmyeon emerged from the shadows and stood at the edge of the bed. He tilted his head, the upper half of his face still cloaked in the darkness. 

"I was sick," you stated to no one in particular. Perhaps in mere confirmation for yourself. 

Junmyeon nodded. "You had a fever for two days". 

"Two days!" you gasped. You were supposed to arrive to your aunt today. If you didn't show– 

An echoing thud interrupted your thoughts. You sat up slowly, groaning at the protest of your arms and torso. Junmyeon kicked the familiar chest on the floor again. Excitement pushed away all remaining consequences of the fever. It was your trunk with all your things. Soon, you could be on your way again, with a harrowing tale for your worried relative. 

"We found it this morning," he explained. "Along with the driver." 

Your heart leapt. "He's–"

"Dead. Probably broke his neck from the fall." His voice was void of empathy. Death–at least the kind not directly in contact with himself–did not affect him. "The carriage isn't salvageable. and the roads are still practically swamps.” 

Each breath you took in came faster and faster, more shallow than the last. How could the roads still be unfit for travel? The room began to tilt. "So, what does that mean for me?" Perhaps you would have to wait for a replacement carriage or for your aunt to come get you herself. 

He looked to the door with a resigned expression. "You will stay here until we deem fit." 

"What!" You scrambled out of the bed. Your knees buckled as soon you feet touched the rug. Going so long without proper nutrition and being sick with fever left you weak. Junmyan caught before you could be injured, sweeping you up into his arms. A mild shiver chattered your teeth. Through your thin nightgown you could feel the icy chill of his fingers. How one's skin could be the temperature of snow, you didn't know. 

He laid you back down on the bed with a rather smug expression. "Traveling isn't in your best interest. You need to regain your strength." 

You swallowed thickly. "And after that?" 

The only answer you received was a smile.

"You can't keep me here!" 

"Eat," he ordered, gesturing to the small table in the corner. A silver tray with fresh morsels sat and waited to be consumed. "You're free to roam the manor as you choose, but remember: there is nothing for miles, not even an inn. You'll meet a hungry wolf before coming across another human." He bowed as if he were a gentleman and left you alone to accept your circumstances.

*****

A small amount of strength returned to you after eating. Although fasting in protest could have been effective, you pathetically couldn't resist. Food had always been a favorite weakness of yours. 

The next form of protest you tried was keeping to your room. But after a few hours of not a footstep outside, you concluded self-confinement was only useful if someone noticed. 

From your trunk you pulled one of the more plain dresses that had been packed for you. It wasn't too difficult to dress yourself. The true trouble came for your hair. Despite being in bed for several days, no knots caused you pain. That, however, was the extent of your talent. Charlotte, your maid, had been the one to curl and pin your hair in the latest fashions. The best you could do was tie it back with a plain blue ribbon. Squaring your shoulders, you yanked the door open with force and shelled out of the room. 

Up and down the different halls, you tried to make sense of the layout. This manor expanded in nearly every direction. You went upstairs and down again, unsure of where you were. The bit of light that managed to fight past the thick curtains that hung in front of every window grew in strength. But though the day grew older, you saw none of the residents. No sound alerted you to any being close. It gave you an eerie feeling. It was as if you were alone but an ever lingering presence haunted every corner.

You took another random left turn. And stopped. 

The front door was just on the other side of this hall. You scanned the area around you. Your ears strained to hear anyone that could possibly be near. Not even a bird sang outside. You took a step. Then another. And another. One at a time, you paused between each step, waiting for one of the lords to suddenly appear and drag you back to your room. 

Huh. Your room. As if your stay here would be forever permanent. You prayed that they would soon grow bored of you and send you on your way. All this could be was a terrible joke because they had no other way to occupy their time. 

You'd reached the door. Possible freedom lied on the other side. Yet, your fingers hovered above the handle. Junmyeon's warning waded through your mind like a morning fog. Nothing for miles. Surely if that was true, the driver would have stopped rather than continue on in the storm. 

And then there were the wolves. You knew of their existence. And how a human could be just as satisfactory as elk if they thought they could overpower whoever they came across. To them, you would certainly make easy prey. 

"Doors only move when one opens them."

With a shrill gasp, you whirled around and pressed your back against the door. The one who drew your bath last night–Jongdae–was leaning against the entrance to the side parlor. He stared at you with a bored expression, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Where did you come from?" you demanded. You had looked in the parlor as you passed. No one was in there. 

He waved an uncaring hand in the air. "Around. I heard you walking and when it stopped, I came to see why.” 

"You heard me walking?" You'd put slippers on before leaving the room since your boots were still caked with mud. You could hardly hear your own steps against the wood boards. 

Jongdae merely raised an eyebrow, refusing to explain. You huffed. The previous fright in you disappeared. Pushing off of the door, you shuffle past him and into the parlor. Your feet were beginning to pulse after walking around for hours. You sat in one of the cushioned chairs to give them some relief. 

Before you could blink, Jongdae was seated in the chair across from you. 

"How did you do that?” 

Smug, he leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Would you like a tour?" 

"Not if you refuse to answer my questions," you scoffed. 

The corners of his lips curled upward. "I think it might be better if you figure it out for yourself. Over time." 

That earned another huff. You especially disliked the insinuation that you would be here for a long while. Hope still flickered in you like a warm ember, desperate for fuel. 

Jongdae stared at you quizzically. "Why didn’t you run?” 

"Because, there isn't anywhere to run to," you answered quietly. You were lucky to make it here in the first place. Regardless if you were imprisoned or not, you were thankful to be alive. 

Still eyeing you with that studious share, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs. "Is there another reason you don't want to leave?" 

You swallowed thickly. It was impossible for him to read your thoughts. He couldn't possibly know that something else held you back. "It's safe here–”

 "We both know this place isn't safe for you," he snapped. "Your instinct should be to run as far as you can.” 

"B-but the wolves..." your voice trailed off, overshadowed by the thumping of your heart. 

"The wolves are nothing compared to here." He stood and all seriousness melted away as he stretched his limbs. "Or maybe they aren't. Perhaps that simply depends on you." You flinched as he reached for you. He didn't pause and his fingers  passed your face, instead pulling at the ribbon in your hair until it came loose and dropped the fabric in your lap. "I wouldn't wear your hair like that. 

You frowned at him. The men here weren't exactly the epitome of current style. "Why?"

“Keep pulling it back like that and you'll have your answer." He dared to wink at you before strolling from the parlor. 

It took a little while to find your room again. Part of you wondered if you should have accepted Jongdae's offer of a tour. Another part stubbornly insisted you would find your own way eventually. 

Sitting down at the small table, you pulled the curtain back. Your room was on the second floor, which gave you a decent view of the grounds. 

Unlike most of the forest you remember seeing, this area was void of life. The trees were bare, their branches rigid and spindly. No birds or other woodland creatures scurried about. There was plenty of grass and garden hedges, but somehow all of the beauty was sapped from their blades and leaves. A few stone benches and structures were scattered about the estate, but whatever stunning carvings they used to present had been worn away. A sadness had overtaken this land, infected its very core. Not even the sunlight–now making its way to the other horizon–felt warm. How could anyone live amongst this?

All your strength gained through breakfast waned. You didn’t need sleep, per se, but rest wasn’t a terrible idea. Leaning back, you tucked your feet under you and shuffled into the corner of the chair. Your eyes slowly closed–

And snapped open at the soft knock from the door. You scowled at the door. It replied with another knock. With a huff, you stood and crossed the room, pulling the door open with force. "Yes?" 

Junmyeon smirked at your hostility. "It's time for dinner."

You looked down, but his hands were empty. No new silver tray in sight. 

"Dinner is with us." 

Your throat tightened as his words sunk in. With them. 

He motioned with his head. "Come." 

"I have to change." 

His eyes raked you up and down, then he raised an eyebrow. "Why?" 

Why? Because you always charged for dinner when you weren't dining with only your family. It simply wasn't proper to wear what you were tramping around in all day. 

When you neither spoke nor moved, he reached behind you and pulled the door closed, pushing you out of the room and into his chest. He chuckled at the contact. You shoved him away. His amusement didn't waver. "The dining hall is this way." 

Understanding that the only way you would eat was by following him, you complied. He led you to one of the familiar staircases, but then down a hallway you didn't recognize. The dining hall sat on the other end. Past the grand entrance was a long, dark red table that ran the length of the room with the ability to seat at least twenty. An old chandelier hung from the ceiling, a few of the precious crystals missing. A roaring fire clicked and cracked on the opposite wall. 

"You'll  sit here." Junmyeon startled you as he pulled a chair just to the left of the head of the table. All the other available seats were occupied. With your chin held high, you accepted, letting him push the chair in. Then he sat at the head. 

There were four chairs on each side of the banquet table, haphazardly spaced, and a lone chair at the other end. To your immediate right was the one named Yixing.  He stared at you with narrowed, interested eyes that somehow made his already sharp features lethal. You dropped your gaze instantly, finally noticing the food in front of you. Your eyes lifted... no one else had a meal, only a goblet full of wine. 

"Has everyone else eaten?"

"Mm," Junmyeon hummed over the rim of his glass. When the goblet left his mouth, a faint red smear remained behind. He licked his lips slowly to wipe it away. "We don't typically... eat dinner, but thought of it as an opportunity to introduce you.” 

A few chuckles echoed around the room, but the joke was lost on you. 

"Eat," Junmyeon motioned to your plate. All eyes were trained on you. The silverware clinked and clattered as you picked up the fork and knife. Would the food be poisoned? Did they get some sick enjoyment from this? You cut off a small bite of chicken. Each bite was slow, testing the flavor. It wasn't beautifully seasoned, but you couldn't taste any bitter poison underneath. You swallowed and cut another bite. 

Satisfied, Junmyeon motioned to the man on his right. "This is Jongin.” 

"You have a pretty name," the man purred. You merely stared at him and continued to eat. He laughed from his chest. "Then Chanyeol." This one bowed in his chair with a flourish of his arm. "Jongdae." He winked. You scowled at him. "Sehun." This one didn't look at you, looking bored as he leaned back lazily in his chair, sipping from his glass. "Kyungsee at the end."

Kyungsoo, who had been staring at the table, his chin resting on folded fingers. He glanced at you but immediately looked away when he met your gaze. 

"That one is Minseok," Junmyen went on. The one named Minseok smiled at you with an eerily feline grin. "Baekhyun." He, too, grinned at you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "And next to you, I'm sure you remember, is Yixing." 

You didn't look at him again. Putting down the silverware, you gave your attention back to Junmyeon. "When can I leave?" 

He scoffed before he could take another sip of wine. "I already told you. Until we deem fit."

"You can't keep me here!" 

"Maybe you should have considered that before you came here.”

"You might enjoy it here," Baekhyun hummed. 

"I doubt it," you snapped back. 

Chanyeol leaned forward onto the table. “Do you have family?" 

You swallowed nervously. "Yes." 

"You should ask her if she has a lover," Jongdae crooned. When all eyes jerked to him, you carefully slid the knife over to your right hand under the rim of the plate. By luck, you had decided to wear a dress with sleeves. You just needed to conceal the knife until you were back in your room. 

"Do you?" Jongin asked of you, a little too interested for your comfort. 

You glared daggers at Jongdae. "No, I don't." 

His lips curled gleefully. "I don't believe you." He shrugged. "Then again, maybe it's not a lover that you’re trying to avoid." 

"My aunt is expecting me." 

"And she'll keep expecting you," Junmyeon growled. 

A hand flashed out of nowhere, snatching up your wrist and catching the knife before it fell to the floor. "I wouldn't do that," Yixing warned. You tried to yank your wrist back, but he took the opportunity to bring you closer to him. 

Junmyeon sighed. "Yixing.” 

Revealing who was in charge Yixing released your wrist, but he put the knife in front of him. Small indentations appeared along the blade that weren’t there before. A perfect fit for a hand. 

You stood with such force that your chair overturned behind you. 

"Finished already?" Jongin teased. 

You gave a single hard nod and stormed out of the dining hall. None of them stopped you. 

"This is going to be fun," one of them chuckled. A chair scraped hastily against the floor and you hurried faster to your room.

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

I really enjoy your Harley Sawyer posts!!

I had a question relating to children because your one other post had me thinking, so please don't feel pressured to do a lot for this. If Harley had a partner who hypothetically got pregnant, what do you think would be his reaction/next move?

Sorry for making you wait for almost a decade, but hey I will give you my headcanon 😭💦!

So well, the first thing Harley will react:

🧠 "Shock, Panic, Denial"

Shock hits hard. Like a sudden power outage in his brain. You’d see it on his face instantly. Wide eyes, twitching mouth, maybe even a small, forced smile; his mind racing faster than he can speak.

He'd mutter something like “That’s not—no, no, that’s not possible!” even if it is very possible. Denial is his first reflex.

He's not emotionally prepared for real, human-level consequences like this especially something that implies permanence, responsibility, or vulnerability.

---

🧨 "Internal Spiral: Paranoia & Fear"

He spirals fast. Not necessarily because he doesn’t care, but because his mind is wired to see danger and worst-case scenarios. His internal dialogue might sound like:

“They’ll use it against me. It’s a trap. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’ll find out... They’ll control me... I’m not safe anymore...”

This isn’t about not wanting the partner or the child, it’s about the loss of control and fear of what being “tied” to someone means, especially in the Playtime Co. environment where nothing stays innocent.

---

🗣️ His Behavior Toward His Partner

Might pull away emotionally, act colder or more avoidant, even if he doesn’t want to.

There’s a high chance he says something hurtful—not because he means it, but because he’s terrified and defensive:

“You shouldn’t have told me. You don’t know what this means. I can’t protect you—I can’t protect me.”

But he also can’t stop watching them. Like a hawk. He’ll show up, disappear, then show up again. Conflicted and on edge.

---

⭐ If He Cares Deeply for the Partner?

If there’s real affection underneath all that static and rust, he won’t abandon them.

It won’t be sweet or healthy but it will be desperate, fierce, obsessive in its own way.

He might start building defenses, checking corners, becoming even more paranoid...

Expect overprotection, surveillance-like behavior, perhaps even isolating them “for their own good.” His version of love under stress is warped, but intense.

---

Harley probably never allowed himself to imagine something like fatherhood.

But maybe... in rare moments of clarity, when he lets his guard down, he might whisper:

“What if they had a chance? What if I could... be something better?”

But those moments are brief. The fear always returns.

He doesn’t see “life” the way others do. He sees:

Behavioral outcomes.

Predictable patterns.

Opportunities for optimization.

So if his partner got pregnant and carried to term, the child wouldn’t be a symbol of love or family; it would be a deviation from his control. But rather than abandoning it outright, there’s a terrifying chance he’d treat the child as a prototype. Something he could shape. Fix. Improve. Like the orphans, like the experiments.

“What if I could make them better than me? Better than everyone else... Clean... Controlled... Correct...”

And the moment they fail to meet his standards—cry too much, disobey, show weakness, or worse, emotion—he’d retreat. Withdraw. Or turn cold. He’d start to view the child the way he views the broken toys in Playtime Co.: disappointing failures. Unfinished data...

Harley was not raised, he was engineered. His parents didn’t give him love; they gave him expectations, judgment, possible physical abuse and emotional starvation.

They failed him. So now he fails to see others as people, especially those smaller and weaker than him. He never learned that care ≠ control. That love ≠ results

> That’s why, to him, attachment is vulnerability. Softness is a liability. That’s why he calls orphans “subjects” not children. That’s why he’d sooner turn his child into a diagram than hold it when it cries.

Depending on how deep he is in his obsession, it could go very dark:

He insists on raising the child “right,” meaning: scheduled, monitored, recorded, restrained. Not in a crib, but in a lab-like nursery

He may chart emotional responses like a scientist not a father.

Even feeding times might be part of a “trial”. If the baby cries inconsolably or doesn’t respond “correctly,” he doesn’t get angry, he gets bored.

Or worse, sees it as defective.

And his partner? If they show warmth, or try to humanize the child? He may belittle it: “Don’t coddle it. You’ll ruin the baseline.”

Or he’ll snap: “You don’t understand what this could be!”

There’s a scary irony in all of this: he thinks he’s helping.

"Is there could break the cycle?"

There’s only one real turning point:

The moment the child reminds him of himself. Not the cold, perfect version he wishes he was. But the lonely, terrified, neglected version he actually is. If that recognition ever flickers through him—he might pause. But that’s a narrow window. And he may reject it. Deny it. Smother it under control again.

It depends on whether Harley lets himself feel or if he doubles down on being the maker, not the father.

Worst case: The child becomes another subject. The partner eventually tries to flee, taking the child. Harley either stops them... or lets them go with a blank stare, like something just broke inside.

The partner fights for the child’s humanity. Harley resists...but he watches.

One day, the child reaches for him. Not out of fear, but trust. He doesn’t know how to react. He flinches, doesn’t touch back but... he doesn’t walk away, either.

[ash-den]

two hearts and no brain (larry x transmasc reader) #1

posted it on Ao3 but not on tumblr so why not have fun

--------

There I was. The gates of hell, soon to be opened for my personal damnation. Farewell, …close ones I never had. God would have I been an awful Shakespeare. Despite being so resolutely resigned, I couldn’t help but feel my heart beating faster with apprehension; I surely deserved this torment, I thought as I took another reluctant step towards the school gate.

Coming up with dramatic monologues had always been a way for me to cope with shitty days. And they had been piling up recently, starting with what I can pretty easily call the worst day of my entire life, and ending with me standing up at 7 in the morning in front of my new high school. Mr Sanchez, the school counselor, had used four times total the words “new beginning”. It was his way of making expulsion sound positive. But my parents had apparently taken it quite literally, because a few days later they had decided to make us move out of town. Go all in, I guess. I didn’t really care anymore at that time. There is a point in life where you’ve been so repeatedly hit with increasingly terrible things, that you’re not even upset or angry anymore when shit happens again. Just morbidly curious about what life will throw at you this time. My life was over anyways, so who cared. It was comforting in a way.

But turned out my life was not actually over and I needed to keep on going with the consequences of my own actions. And the anesthetizing doom that had been consoling me while I lethargically packed my stuff and helped my dad charge everything into the movers’ truck had been slowly wearing off. And consequently, it uncovered a mess of tangled feelings that I hadn’t been processing, starting with a debilitating anxiety that had been eating at me ever since the first night in my empty new room. Days spent terrified did not stop the inescapable machine of time, and the ineluctable cogs of a Greek tragedy unfolded my imminent fate: the first day at my new high school.

And to make matters worse, there was this small hope. Here nobody knew. Nobody knew. My heart beat faster with ��� excitement? Apprehension? – whenever I thought about it. Oh, Mr Sanchez definitely didn’t mean that when he talked about his stupid “new beginning”, but maybe it was my chance to finally try and present as myself. I’d already buzzed my hair in the few dark, dark days that had followed my expulsion, and been beaten by my parents for it… well, not really. Just screamed at for an hour and been stared at for entire minutes like I was actually ready for the mental institution. I was pretty numb for most of it, but still aware enough for the words to cut deep, and that’s why in the moment I would have preferred if they had actually beaten me up to death. But to be fair, at that time I was wishing death upon myself pretty much every second of the day. And I still feel a little guilty when I think about it – my parents would never do anything like that, and I know it. They’re not bad people, they just weren’t prepared to handle a mentally ill transgender teen. And maybe it’s not their fault if they’re always terrible at it. I know I can’t help being the way I am, I’ve been forced to accept it by now – maybe it’s not my fault I’m not normal. What definitely is, though, is that I’ve given up on trying to be.

Which was a large contributory factor to my outfit of the day. I don’t actually think baggy pants and a handmade bleached ribcage hoodie looks that weird, but I guess I have a different definition of what “weird” is. I didn’t even tried to fit in, because I knew from experience that it would not work no matter how much I’d destroy myself trying to. And like most times, giving up was actually kind of comforting.

To be fair, I had tried to look my best this morning – which mostly meant for me “try to pass”. I was already awake at 5, because of the anxiety-induced insomnia, so I had time to take extra care of my appearance; I’d added chains to my pants and my neck, had put on a minimum amount of makeup to make my eyebrows more thick and dark, and had tried to style the buzz cut, but there was not much to do. It did make my face look more defined, and I wasn’t too mad about it. To confirm my impression, mom had said I looked like a boy. She meant it as a degrading remark, but I’d liked it very much. And then she had started arguing with my dad again, and that was when I’d fled the scene.

I took a few more steps towards the rusty gate. In my hurry to escape my parents, I had arrived way too early, and there I was, waiting for those damned doors to finally open so I could throw myself at my own doom. “At least hell is warm”, I grumpily thought while blowing on my frozen bare hands. October wasn’t even over, but it already felt like the middle of winter. In my rush, I had forgotten my MP3 player – as well as half of my school supplies, but who cared about that – and I was left with nothing to ease the nauseating anxiety growing in my chest as I nervously eyed the buildings. Praying that things would be better than at my previous high school – but then again, it was a pretty easy thing to achieve considering the absolute disaster things had been. But “less shitty” is hardly an improvement. Maybe “good” would be a better standard to try and reach – but who was I fooling? I really didn’t count on that.

Trying to distract myself, I took a look at my new high school. Well, “new”, not really considering how ancient it looked. Separated from the outside world by decaying iron fences, the dusty brick-colored buildings sprawled out in a concrete courtyard with rare dry trees as the only decor. Probably didn’t have enough budget for metal-detectors, but maybe they could have at least fixed the very obvious hole caused by the bent fence a few meters from the gates.

I was the only student around. I took a look to my broken watch, deciphering the time through the cracked screen. I wouldn’t be alone for long… the thought made me shiver. I let out a sigh before taking a deep breath, a meager attempt at calming the tide of anguish that overflowed me. I should have been used to it by now, but the anxiety that overwhelmed me was still so freezing. Like ice cubes slowly sliding down my esophagus, nesting in the pit of my stomach. I desperately needed a distraction; I got back to the sheakspearian monologue I’d started, but I’d already forgotten the words. With a modern twist, maybe, something like, “Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I got here, a trans kid in themiddle of Shithole, NY…”. That was so dumb. And lame. But it did almost make me smile, and I forgot my aching stomach for a second.

Footsteps brought me back to reality. A few kids were approaching the gate; I tried to ignore their voices, staring at the concrete. Soon groups were forming, friends were gathering; talking about homework, maybe the occasional party. I got closer to the school fence and leaned against it, hunched back and hands in my pockets, hoping to go unnoticed. Trying to be as discreet as possible, I took a look at the students gathering around the gate. I didn’t recognize anyone, which was good. One of them stood out, though; it could’ve been because of his bright golden hair, but it was rather because he looked so grumpy that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he frowned even in his sleep. He seemed so irrationally angry for some reason – I guessed I wasn’t the only one absolutely hating my life right now. My eyes lingered on his face; he could’ve been pretty if he didn’t look like he was ready to start barking at any moment. He had a chiseled face, with high cheekbones, and – a weird stain. Right on his higher cheek, near his eye. I squinted, trying to decide if my eyes were just playing tricks on me; but no, his brown skin was darker in that small area, with a very subtle burgundy tone.

That was when he suddenly raised his head, and our eyes met; woops. I immediately pretended to be captivated by the very gray skies. Nothing to see here, I’m just watching the, hum, clouds. Fascinating. I slowly and very unnaturally turned my head, trying to get my eyes as far away as I could from him as if taking him out of my field of view would make my embarrassment go away. It was working pretty well, until I decided to risk an eye – and met his again, except he was closer. I looked away very quickly but had to check again, and yup, he was walking in my direction. He passed by me before I could even think to do anything; between his clenched teeth, I still caught his whisper –“faggot”.

Stunned, all I could think for a second was “How did he know?” But I very quickly remembered the buzz cut, my two lobe piercings, and the rainbow beads safety pin I’d attached on the strap of my backpack after I’d left the house. In retrospect, I guess I did look like a faggot. But it didn’t ease my indignation, and I wondered what to do as I watched him walk away. He didn’t glance at me at all, as if I didn’t exist and he hadn’t just insulted me; I decided to ignore him. That dude looked like he had a gigantic broom up his ass – or at least he should’ve had, he'd probably have enjoyed it. Then I realized, he didn’t called me a dyke! He called me a fag! Which meant I was visibly queer but still passed as a guy!! What exciting news! And there I was, happy to be called a slur. That was probably what rock bottom looked like.

I stared at the boy; he had stopped in front of the gate, now stomping around impatiently, and I took advantage of him turning his back to me to flip him off.

"That's well-deserved," called out a voice to my left.

I jumped and immediately turned around, hiding my hands behind my back as if it would make whoever had seen me forget my raised middle finger.

“Oh, they’re just kids my age”, I first thought, and immediately then “what the fuck. What the fuck”. There were two of them, but all my attention was directed at the shorter one.

To start, they had bright blue hair tied in two ponytails, but I’d seen a few unnatural hair colors out there, so it didn’t phase me. What definitely did, however, was the blank, full-face mask they were wearing. Thick and sturdy-looking, white with a pink color block, attached to their head by wide black straps; carved into a neutral expression, with its flat mouth line. It had two visible holes for the eyes, but I could barely discern their shape under what looked like black mesh.

With a lot of effort, I managed to close my mouth which had been pending open for a few seconds too long. I did not want to be the kind of asshole who judged when I knew nothing about him; but like, damn, though.

"He called me a slur, so yeah, pretty much", I answered with my lowest possible voice, trying to keep a relaxed face.

I didn’t want to stare at the kid with a mask, so I looked over to their friend instead. I guessed he was older than me, because of how short I was compared to him. He was way more than a few inches taller than me; with tanned skin, and noticeably bushy brows. He had strong facial features overall, with a prominent brow bone and large crooked nose, as well as bigger ears than average – but maybe that was due to his stretched lobes, decorated by black tunnels. I liked his long, pulled back brown hair; long hair on boys had always looked so cool to me, and not a little attractive too. Actually, he looked really pretty, if not a little greasy.

"Well that's not anything new," he said as he made eye contact with me. He had dark, kind eyes, and a big mole under one of them. “Travis is that kind of asshole.”

His voice was deep, hoarse, a little broken, as if he had been at a concert the night before. So it had been the other one who had spoken to me first. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t not address the elephant in the room.

"Cool mask, dude,” I pointed, refraining from adding half-seriously, “Is it carnival day?”.

His barely visible eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t tell if it was from amusement or irritation.

"It's a prosthetic."

"Oh.”

And I was very glad I’d kept it at what I said.

"So it's like, a medical thing?" I asked – before immediately adding “Wait, never mind, you don’t have to answer. I’m probably the hundredth asshole to ask you, sorry.”

"Thousandth, rather.” This time I could decipher an amused tone in his voice. “But yes, it is a medical thing.”

“I see – sorry, it was kinda insensitive then.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t make it better at all.”

The tall guy chuckled, and I looked over to him. That was when I finally noticed his t-shirt, and momentarily forgot about my embarrassment.

“Oh my god, is that a Sanity’s Fall shirt?”

“Dude! You know them?” he exclaimed.

I actually knew maybe two of their songs, one by name only, as I wasn’t the biggest fan of death metal. But the excitement of finding someone with even remotely similar tastes as I did surpassed everything.

“Yeah, I listen to them sometimes.”

“Dude, they’re my FAVORITE band. It’s so rare to find other people who know them.”

He smiled at me. His front teeth had a gap. I felt a little guilty because I actually didn’t know the band that much, but oh well. For the meantime, I returned his smile.

“I didn’t think I’d find any likable people around there.”

“Yeah, I understand considering this shithole of a town, but I think we’re raising the bar.”

It made me chuckle, and warmth spread through my chest.

“Are you new? I don’t think we’ve seen you before,” asked the kid with the blue hair.

“Yeah, I moved here a few days ago.” Just like that, the warmth disappeared.

Maybe I looked more miserable than I would’ve liked, because he added in a compassionate tone, “Sounds rough to change high school when the year’s already started.”

I nodded. He didn’t know how right he was.

“So what’s your name?” inquired the tall boy.

I think he wanted to lightly change the subject, and I was grateful; but, my name. I balanced my weight from one foot to the other. “The new beginning,” I thought, and it gave me enough courage to answer with a clear voice.

It was a little awkward and not that natural, understandably, considering it was the first time I introduced myself with my real name. My insecurities about passing as a boy didn’t help either. They didn’t seem to notice, though.

“I’m Larry”, replied the tall boy. The kid with a mask added, “I’m Sal, but my friends call me Sally Face.”

“I think I can figure out why,” I said with a faint smile, unsure if I was being insensitive again.

“That’s an easy guess”, he answered, and I was relieved to hear the amusement in his voice.

A loud, piercing noise interrupted us. On the other side of the gate, a woman was busy trying to find her keys; the asshole Travis glared at her impatiently. What a douchebag.

"Um, I guess I'm gonna have to find the reception..." I said, staring at the buildings.

Not one indication, not one sign on the damaged walls.

"We can guide you if you want,” offered Sal. "The buildings are kinda tricky to not get lost in."

"Plus that's a good excuse to skip a bit of class," added Larry with a smile. “I am so not motivated to go right now…”

He did look pretty tired despite his smirk, with the purple dark circles carved underneath his eyes.

I thanked them, relieved I didn’t have to ridicule myself asking around for indications.

Groups of students gathered to pass the gate; Larry, Sal, and I were getting closer. I was getting pushed around, but strangely, the other teens didn’t seem so eager to do the same for the two boys. Sal’s mask was definitely a bit creepy, but I thought it looked cool. I wondered what could be so awful underneath that he would need a prosthetic. The librarian back in my old town was a burned victim on most of her body, including over half of her face, and she did not wear a mask.

The students dispersed when they arrived in the courtyard; the boys took the lead and guided me through the buildings. I could feel the stares of the people around us. It weighed on me; making me hyper-aware of my every movement, and suddenly I didn’t know how to walk anymore, what to do with my arms. It felt like everyone was watching and waiting for me to fail in some way. Trying to shake the feeling off, I stuffed my hands in my oversize sweater’s pockets and hunched my back a little as I was walking. I tried to focus on the boys leading the way, and stared at Larry’s hair, which was bouncing on his shoulders as he walked. He had pretty hair, maybe a little dull but very soft-looking, surprising for – and I don’t want to judge – someone who didn’t look like he took extra care of himself.

We arrived in a less-populated section, and the boys lead me to a small building. The front office was directly inside. A man with pepper-and-salt hair greeted me distractedly; taking a deep breath, I gave him my name. Despite all of their flaws, my parents had actually agreed to enroll me in the school with my chosen name added as “common name” or “usage name”, as they called it. Well, I shouldn’t give them too much credit for it either, as they had only agreed to do it after I begged and cried for days – not too proud of myself on that one, but when have I ever been?

My deadname was still somewhere in the files, but hopefully…? “God, if you exist, please don’t out me when I just made friends who see me as a boy and nothing else for the first time in my fucking life.” Maybe they would understand… and maybe they wouldn’t. Like all the others. “It would be a short-lived glory,” I thought as I anxiously watched the man go through his folders.

“Right there”, he mumbled as he took out a paper and handed it to me. It displayed my schedule, and right there at the top, was my name… as only my chosen name, no deadname!

My heart bounced with excitement, I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t going to be outed just yet. It gave me hope that my deadname wasn’t present either on the teachers’ register list. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough”, I thought, and the excitement faded out.

But suddenly I could feel a presence leaning over my shoulder; a minty breath brushed my neck, strands of hair fell softly on my skin.

“Hey dude! Looks like we’ll be mostly together,” Larry said next to my ear.

Immediately, I got chills, probably from the mild scare he’d just gave me. Despite that, I gave him a big smile. I couldn’t help but feel an ounce of hope blooming deep, deep inside my chest. Maybe Mr Sanchez wasn’t so full of shit after all.

***

First period was math, which we didn’t share, but the boys offered to guide me to the classroom – the idea of hanging out a bit more before class seemed really appealing to Larry. They showed me around while we walked through the blank corridors; I could feel my heart beating faster and faster as we approached the classroom, and it was racing when we reached the door. I took a deep breath to try and manage it, which didn’t go unnoticed. Larry put his hand on my shoulder – he was so tall that he could probably have used me as an armrest – and gave me a friendly pat; Sal threw me an encouraging hand sign. Reluctantly, I knocked on the door.

The wooden panel opened onto a rather small, elderly lady. I caught her slight widening of eyes when she saw Sal, but she quickly pulled herself together.

“The bell rang ten minutes ago,” she said, brows furrowed. “Also, I don’t think this is your classroom, boys.”

“We were helping the new kid find the class,” said Sal.

She looked at me up and down with noticeably judgmental eyes, but ended up nodding and gesturing me to come in.

“Alright. As for you, boys, you quickly rejoin your class. No hanging around in the corridors, and I’ll know if you did!”

“Of course, Miss,” said Larry with an unaffected smile.

He made eye contact as Sal waved goodbye before they turned around and left; I felt my stomach tie in knots as I watched them walk away. I entered the class, suddenly face to face with a see of staring eyes. Lowering my gaze to my shoes, I quickly glanced at the class again to find a free desk, and started heading for the only one I noticed.

“Not so fast, young man, I need your name!”

I froze while sneers echoed around me, and slowly turned around to walk over to the teacher’s desk, trying to ignore the burn spreading in my cheeks. At least I'd passed, but I was a bit too embarrassed to be truly happy about it. She pulled out the attendance sheet, and to my relief, there was no trace of my deadname. Instead, my chosen name was printed somewhere around the middle; I pointed it to her, and quickly turned to go and sit down. Keeping my eyes on the ground, I tried to ignore the world reverberating around me, the sweat in my back, the warmth of my face, my heartbeat echoing through my body. And then I’d reached the empty chair; I dropped in it, relieved to at least not have tripped. I made an attempt at those breathing techniques that were supposed to calm me; count to 5 as you’re breathing in, count to 5 as you breath out. A quick glance at the rest of the class told me they were staring, the sea of eyes pointed at me again. Among them, the blond boy who insulted me this morning – whom Larry called Travis. I got stuck for a few seconds on his face; he stared at me with such a disgusted expression, something I had never seen in someone I didn’t even know.

“What's his fucking problem…” I muttered, shifting my attention on trying to get the few supplies I had out of my bag.

A whisper answered me.

“If you’re talking about Travis, don’t worry, he hates everyone.”

I turned to face the boy sat next to me, who was looking at me through big round glasses. He shook his head in disbelief, short ginger curls bouncing around.

“Especially people who don’t fit in his… conservative views…” he added in a judgmental tone.

“Well I should be proud of that, I guess,” I whispered back sarcastically.

He let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m Todd. You already met Sal and Larry, so?”

“Yeah, cool dudes.” I said before introducing myself.

“Boys! Quiet over there!” called the teacher, and we both shut up, Todd suddenly absorbed by his blank notebook page.

I still felt eyes all over me; their stares passed through my clothes, burning my naked skin. Letting out a sigh, I started taking notes of everything the teacher was saying without really thinking about it; and soon the burning went away.

***

I had less trouble finding my next classes thanks to the indications Larry and Sal had given me earlier, and the morning unfolded without a hitch. I was still a little late to the last lesson before lunch time, but passing through the – luckily – still opened door, I had the surprise of finding Sal and Larry sat at the back of the class. The only empty desk was a row in front of them, and I quickly walked towards it.

The boys happily greeted me, Sal asked how the morning went and Larry high-fived me. I barely had the time to answer that the teacher was already asking for calm, and I had to turn my back to them.

I was sat right in front of Larry. Maybe I was overthinking it, but I couldn’t help but feel his stare on my back. Just like earlier: and it made me just as uncomfortable, but in a different way. For the first time I felt insecure about my arched back and, hyper-aware of my posture, I wiggled around every five minutes to try and keep my back straight. To make things worse, I could hear them whispering behind me. I tried not to listen because it was none of my business, but not understanding what they were saying woke up the dreadful fear that they were talking about me, and I was freezing every time I thought I heard my name. I tried to immerse myself in the Macbeth excerpt the teacher has given us, but failed.

When the bell finally rang, I carelessly threw my stuff into my backpack, exhausted by the hour of anxiety and stress I’d just spent. Larry was already on his feet, I think he had started packing ten minutes ago. As I saw they were talking together, I took a deep breath and approached them.

“Can I come to eat with you guys? I’m still having trouble finding my way around,” I casually asked.

Pathetic excuse, but I desperately wanted to know them better. Which was even more pathetic.

“Sure, dude,” Larry answered. “We’re going to the cafeteria to meet with friends, if we find them.”

I followed them out of the classroom, and into the corridors, as we made small talk about the boring hour we’d just had.

I was expecting more students to be eyeing Sal; but even if they avoided looking at his mask directly, I could distinctly hear them whispering as we passed by. I sighed in annoyance. It wouldn’t have bothered me as much if they were talking about me – actually, it would’ve probably made me much more anxious. But because I knew the vicious whispers were about Sal, I felt weirdly offended on his behalf.

The irritation building up in my chest was too much and I let out, maybe a little louder than I’d meant to, “Are they always like this?” as I pointed my thumb behind me.

Sal and Larry both stared, then seemed to understand what I was talking about.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sal brushed off. “But you know, I get it, it’s weird. And as long as they’re not actively insulting me face to face, I don’t really care.”

“Still,” I protested, “It must be wearing at some point.”

“Again,” he let out a little laugh, “I’m used to it.”

I thought his laugh sounded sad, but I didn’t mention it; it wasn’t my place to ask.

“What a bunch of idiots.”

Sal turned his mask to me, and I couldn’t see it but I could swear that he was smiling.

“Agreed,” loudly proclaimed Larry.

He puts his hands open around his mouth and before I could ask what he was doing, he yelled, “YOU’RE ALL IDIOTS, YOU KNOW THAT?”

Everyone turned to look at us, and we laughed in unison as we passed them by; and I felt invincible.

***

The line to get into the cafeteria looked pretty slow, but we settled in anyway. As we were chatting to pass the time – Larry had started a debate about whether the depressed English teacher was so sad because of a divorce or because of his marriage – , I heard a voice call out to us.

“Sal! Larry!”

I turned my head to see a girl with long brown hair and a thin face quickly making her way towards us. I recognized her; she was in one of my classes this morning. She overtook the kids behind us – they glared at her, one of them weakly tried to stop her by stretching out their arm – and she gracefully avoided it as if it wasn’t even there, joining us. Larry held his fist and she bumped it.

“How are you, Ash?” asked Sal.

“French class was hell but that’s nothing new,” she said, before noticing me. “Oh, I see you’ve picked up a friend on the way.” She looked at me up and down; her eyes were the shiniest green I’d ever seen. “You were in French too, right?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “It wasn’t that bad though.”

“When you’re not dyslexic, no, probably not,” she deplored. “Maybe it’d be easier if their words didn’t look like they picked the letters at random. But oh well. What’s your name?”

I introduced myself again: it got easier every time.

“So you’re new,” she said. “Oh, I’m sorry you had to come to this damned school.”

“It’s alright. So far I’ve met cool people, and I’ve only been called a slur once.”

“Already?! By who?”

“Travis, of course,” Larry answered for me. “Who else?”

“A lot of people,” she groaned. “What happened?”

“Not much, he just called me a fag the first time I saw him.” Testing out the waters, I added, “Not that he’s wrong though.”

Sal and Larry chuckled. Success?

“What an asshole,” Ash sighed. “He’s been a jerk to us too, don’t worry about him.”

“Yeah, he’s had me in his sights basically since the first time he saw me,” confirmed Sal. “Called me a tranny more than once. I guess he doesn’t like the pigtails. And the blue hair.”

“And the skirt,” added Larry.

“What?” I laughed, interested.

“I lost a bet.”

“Against me,” smiled Ash proudly. “But it suited you really well.”

I could’ve guessed that Sal was somewhat gender non-conforming, but it really confirmed to me that the group was open-minded, and probably queer, which comforted me.

We kept on chatting, slowly making our way up the line. I got myself a plate of the most dry-looking rice I’d ever seen, accompanied by a sad small piece of fish.

My tray in hand, I walked through the door to the sitting area. The room was large but with a low roof, lending it a claustrophobic feeling, which was not helped by the fact that most of the tables arranged in lines were already taken. I waited for the others, a little intimidated.

“C’mon, there’s a table over there,” said Ash as she passed by me, accompanied by Sal and Larry.

I quickly followed them, careful of where I was stepping – my worst nightmare was probably tripping and falling right in the middle of the cafeteria. As I was making my way to the table, I thought about how the idea of this exact moment had caused me multiple anxiety attacks the day before. Standing with my tray, not knowing where to go, as the noises and stares and laughs were swallowing me whole. It had gotten so bad that the only way to calm me down had been to decide I wouldn’t even bother going to the cafeteria at all. I’d go in the restroom or stay in a corner of the yard, where it’d be safe and quiet. And there I was, not even having considered the thought before going to lunch. How nice it is to not be alone.

I joined the others; Sal and Ash were sitting face to face, so I sat in front of Larry, who had already started gulping down his rice.

“I’ll pass,” said Ash with disgust as she eyed the fish.

Instead, she searched her bag and took out a small Tupperware full of pasta salad.

I pick up my fork and started digging into the rice. It wasn’t that bad taste-wise, because it tasted like nothing, but a few of the grains were rock-hard.

“Is Todd gonna join us?” asked Ash as she served everyone water – I thanked her when she filled my glass.

“I don’t think so, I think he’s out to eat with Neil,” replied Sal.

“Ooo, well at least one of us’ love life is going well.” She eyed me. “What about you? Anything happening on that side?”

I shook my head.

“I’m afraid that field is abysmally empty.”

“God, I can’t believe fucking Todd is gonna be the first of us to get laid,” despaired Larry.

I burst out laughing, and so did Ash and Sal.

“I mean, he made his moves,” remarked the blue-haired boy after he had calmed down. “He tried his chance and won.”

“Well maybe to shoot my shot I need someone to direct it at,” Larry replied as he leaned against the back of his chair, eyeing the rest of the room. “But it’s deserted here,” he added, then looked at me. “Was it better in your old high school?”

“No, it was definitely worse.” Here there was at least one guy with long hair and good taste in music, and he was sitting right in front of me.

“So you just moved to Nockfell?” asked Ash, curious. “You come from far away?”

“Not at all, we actually lived pretty close. Something like a one hour drive.”

“Oh, so it must have been easier.”

“Maybe, but I think I’d have preferred if we had moved like, in another state entirely,” I sighed.

“Why’s that?” asked Larry.

“Well, I went to a private middle school, and a few people were from Nockfell, and hum – I don’t really want to see them.”

I didn’t even get to reap the benefits of moving; not knowing anyone, resetting your reputation, the “fresh start”. I only had the cons. But so far I’d seen no one I knew so, fingers crossed?

“Must’ve been quite the school for people to go so far to attend,” remarked Sal.

“Yeah, it’s even crazier considering how much it fucking sucked.”

They all chuckled.

“Being a queer kid in catholic middle school is actually my definition of hell,” said Ash, and my heart jumped a little – I noted that I needed to ask more about it. “And I only did one year before my parents made me change.”

“Why did they do that?” I asked, surprised; mine were the entire reason I’d went there.

“I made them understand that I would not survive if I stayed,” she laughed, but I could tell she wasn’t joking. “That’s what they get for thinking it would be better than public school.”

“In the end we’re doing pretty alright, aren’t we?” said Sal.

“Yeah, I’m glad we found each other,” Ash smiled, and I noticed that she seemed to be talking about her and Sal more than she was about the group.

We kept chatting as we emptied our plates. Looking around, my eyes fell onto Sal, just as he was lifting his semi-unbuckled mask over his mouth, fork hovering near. I immediately turned to look to Larry, but I still had the time to notice the boy freezing in place as he crossed my gaze, and I felt bad – like I just saw something I shouldn’t have, when I didn’t even see anything.

“So, do you think we have other classes together?” I asked Larry, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“Dunno, dude,” he said, mouth full. “You have your schedule?”

I searched my bag, and handed him the piece of paper. He put down his fork to grab it.

“No, doesn’t looks like it.”

“What else did you take beside French?” asked Sal.

I took a look at him: his mask was back on and it looked like he was done eating. I think he wanted to ease the awkward moment there just had been between us, and I happily answered.

Everyone had finished, and we decided to keep the conversation going outside where it would be less noisy. As we left our trays in the designated area and headed for outside through a corridor, I passed by a bathroom and notified the others I needed a minute and to wait for me outside.

I headed for the boys’ bathroom, not too uncomfortable since it looked like it was empty. But coming out of the stall, I had the bad surprise of coming face to face with Travis, who had just entered. How lucky.

He stared and, uncomfortable, I decided to ignore him and go wash my hands.

“You..”

I wasn’t expecting him to talk to me, so I jumped when he spoke.

“You’re hiding something. I don’t know what it is but I’ll find it.”

He wanted so hard to sound menacing, it made me laugh. The only thing I was hiding were my boobs, squashed by two sports bras each a size too small. Good job, asshole.

He didn’t seem too happy that I wasn’t taking him seriously.

“Yeah, laugh while you still can!” he furiously added. “When I find out what you’re hiding, you can be certain the whole school will hear about it, even your new little fag group. And if it’s anything illegal... I won’t have to look at your stupid queer ass here ever again.”

"You’re the one looking at my ass, isn’t that pretty gay?" I replied, unimpressed.

Unexpectedly, he didn’t answer, just glared at me before storming out without even having taken a piss. Well, he certainly was not the first asshole I had had to deal with, but to think I seemed to have made an enemy on my first day of school didn’t make me too confident either. And it’s not like I was actually hiding something. Nobody had asked me anything, therefore I had never lied, right?

--------

more chapters are posted already on Ao3 @/ash_den

[alexendria-rose]

Evermore~

Sherlock Holmes X Reader

Warnings: sad times, cussing

I was the one who had it all I was the master of my fate I never needed anybody in my life I learned the truth too late I'll never shake away the pain I close my eyes but she's still there I let her steal into my melancholy heart It's more than I can bear

He knew letting her in his life was a bad idea, he knew falling in love with her was his biggest weakness. Looking at her from afar seeing her having a coffee from the sidelines as it poured outside, seeing her smile and laugh with someone other then him made his stomach churn in ways he didn't think were possible. He didn't understand this feeling, he never needed anyone, he was content by himself, but maybe he was wrong. Just maybe... he felt his heart drop as he saw the love of his life kiss someone else in front of him. He knew he let her go... all because of his selfish reasons all because he lied to her that he could never fall in love knowing that he was really protecting her from more pain

Now I know she'll never leave me Even as she runs away She will still torment me Calm me, hurt me Move me, come what may

"Sherlock why are you doing this!" She cried loudly as his back was turned not daring to lock eyes with her.

"I don't have friends, just like I don't do relationships. This was a joke Y/n..." He whispered softly. Y/n tears were rolling down her face, fist clumped together as she stared at the man she stupidly fell in love with.

"You're lying to me and yourself. Why are you doing this!" She shouted the tears just coming down her cheeks faster. Sherlock cleared his throat... he had to have her disconnect from him because he knew what he was going to have to do was going to hurt her more.

"Y/n you were just an experiment and its done, I cannot continue to be in this thing called "love" because I'm not someone who is loved. You need to understand." He says his face and tone monotone as he stared at her. Her lip trembled as she looked at him wiping her tears as she grabbed her coat.

"I never want to see you again." Her last words were before she exited the flat, his legs gave out as soon as she left the flat. And he kept to her word... she would never see him again.

His hand shock when he thought of the memory of the last time he saw her, knowing breaking her heart before he jumped off that building would save her and here she was with another man in love with her life, happy just the way he hoped, it didn't mean he didn't hurt. He's learned a lot since he's been away for two years, how much he missed her, how much he missed not being lonely and now he had to deal with the consequences of his own actions of pushing away the people he loved the most.

Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in And be with me for evermore

Sherlock stood by his window closing his eyes as he played the melody of what he was feeling in that moment on his violin. His melody was full of heart break, full of loneliness and regret. He hasn't told anyone but Mrs. Hudson that he was back, he couldn't bare seeing the betrayal from the ones he left to fend for themselves. He was so immersed with his playing he didn't hear the sound of the door opening but he did hear the sound of glass dropping which immediately made him stop his playing turning around to the source of the noise, his eyes widening at the beautiful eyes looking into his.

"Y/n.." He whispers softly his eyes darting over her features. Her face looked like she just saw a ghost. Sherlock slowly puts the violin down as he makes his way towards her.

"You're dead, you're supposed to be dead." She whispered softly his eyes darting towards the broken cup that sat next to her feet.

"I'm not, it was all fake. I had to take down moriarty's network. I had to protect you." He mumbles softly making his way towards her, but she just stepped back not allowing herself to get close to him.

"No no this can't be happening..." She says her eyes not believing that he was actually in front of her. He reaches up and grabs her hand to tell her that this was indeed happening. Her eyes snap down to their hands, her hand trembling in his.

"Y/n I'm here, I promise. I came back for you." Sherlock says his voice wavering just slightly. She drops his hand and scoffs.

"Came back for me? I needed you two years ago!" She sobs turning her back to him, her hands gripping her hair. "Two. Bloody. Years. You made me believe awful things about you. You said I was an experiment, someone you could just toy with until you had your fix of me." She whips her head towards him, her eyes red from anger and sadness. Sherlock heart dropped at the sight of her, he never wanted this to happen.

I rage against the trials of love I curse the fading of the light Though she's already flown so far beyond my reach She's never out of sight

He never wanted to fall so deep for her, for her touch but right now he just wanted to hold her, he craved her touch and warmth, but for some reason she was still so far from him, out of sight from him even though she was right here staring at him with those sad eyes, but also full of anger.

"Y/n I did it, so you could live your life without me... I didn't want you to miss me, to love me when I had to go." He said his eyes pleading with her. She shook her head and a dry laugh escaping her lips.

"I still did asshole! I mourned for you, I talked to your stupid gravestone." She started pacing the flat her arms crossed. "I loved you Sherlock, you hurt me, you broke me, but knowing you died.. you took a piece of me with you and knowing you didn't love me back, knowing I was just a game." Sherlock rushes up to her grabbing her shoulders.

"Fuckin hell Y/n I loved you, I still love you, you're all I think about. All I wanted when I was away. You weren't an experiment-"

"I'm engaged Sherlock." She whispered softly her eyes glossing with tears. His breath hitches hearing those words he was absolutely dreading to hear. "It's two years too late." She mumbled backing away from his touch. "I have to go, I came to visit Mrs. Hudson. I can't do this Sherlock." She turns away, the glass crunching under her shoes as she walked out the door in front of him.

Now I know she'll never leave me Even as she fades from view She will still inspire me Be a part of everything I do Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door

Sherlock stared at the open door in front of him watching her shadow fade away as she was completely out of his reach. His heart dropped, knowing he will never get her back because of what he did to her. Knowing what he knew now he wished he could go back in time and do everything differently.

I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in And as the long, long nights begin I'll think of all that might have been Waiting here for evermore

Later that night Sherlock sat on his chair his eyes never leaving the door as he idly played with his violin trying to distract himself that she will never come back, that she'll never love him the same way she used to. She was gone in an instant and even though it hurt the last time, it hit him harder this time. Knowing someone else had her heart. The door opens, his heart swelling but soon realizing it was Mrs. Hudson his heart dropped but he still smiled at the little woman.

"I've brought you some tea dear," Mrs. Hudson says with a small sad smile walking over handing him the tea before sitting on Johns old chair. "I'm assuming Y/n now knows you've been alive this whole time?"

"Assume, you mean you were eavesdropping," Sherlock says his face blank with emotions as he sipped his tea.

"I am the landlady I have a right to know." She grinned, Sherlock letting out a little chuckle.

"Ah there's a smile." She says staring at the man in front of her who she could tell was in a lot of pain, "You know dear, love comes in different forms. She'll come around, I promise." Sherlock shakes his head taking another sip before setting his tea down.

"She's engaged, it's never going to happen." He murmured his eyes looking anywhere but his landlady's eyes knowing he will break his emotional wall if he dared looked at her.

"Well you'll never know my dear. Now get some rest." She whispered softly before standing up and exiting out of the flat. Sherlock watched as she leaved his eyes back on the closed door, he rests his head back on the couch his hands resting on his face. He hears to door open again groaning,

"Mrs. Hudson really I'm fin-" He looks at the woman in front of him, his heart beating against his chest. Her clothes drenched in water, her hair stuck to her head as she was dripping from head to toe and her eyes red from crying.

"I can't marry him." Y/n whispered her hands balled up in firsts as her arms laid flat against her sides. Sherlock stands up from his chair walking over to her slowly, noting this time she wasn't walking backwards away from him.

"Why?" He whispered gently his body getting closer to hers. She sighs softly her eyes moving to her shoes back to his gaze.

"Because, I cannot marry someone that isn't you." Her eyes never wavering from his. His body is mere inches away from hers as he looks down at the woman in front of him.

"Good because I couldn't let you be with someone who wasn't me." He whispered before grabbing the sides of her face smashing his lips against hers, their mouths moving in need and passion. Her hands move up to his curls bringing his head closer to hers. He groans against her mouth moving his hands down to his hips. They both needed each other in that moment, afraid if they both pull away this moment would be gone forever, and for the rest of that night they did not leave each others embrace knowing they both needed each other and also needed to make up from those two years lost.

[marigoldbaker]

a deeply feeling woman

this is NOT going up on ao3 (yet?) because it is quite short and i have not decided whether i'm willing to upend like. all of my own established unpublished canon to canonize this nonsense. but the idea hit me today and so now it's written. in which: khalid makes a new friend :) she's a dwarf. they have something very crucial in common.

“Oh!” said Khalid, eyes abruptly alight. “Briar, if you—th-that is, while you, you’re considering the, the best course of action, I…Jaheira, I’d like you to meet…” He squinted nervously around the small, crowded room. “That’s…odd,” he said slowly. “She’s…where did she go?”

“She?” said Jaheira, a slight edge to her voice. “Have you been making friends, Khalid?”

Khalid’s smile softened into a touched, knowing expression. He said, “You’ll, you’ll meet her. It will…clarify things tremendously.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will,” said Jaheira, her tone dropping dangerously.

“There!” said Khalid, and gestured. A stocky dwarven woman appeared to be having some sort of argument with a young human soldier, who, in turn, appeared to be unsuccessfully attempting to back away. “Thea—Thea,” he called. “Would you—that is—?”

Without turning away, Thea said, “Give me a minute, sunshine, this fucking imbecile thinks he can cheat people out of their rightful winnings! Listen, Brathos, you start the game, you lose the game, you turn the coin over at the end of the game, especially when the rest of us catch you trying to fucking rig the game. Fuck’s wrong with you that you think you’re not going to face any consequences? You know what I call my hammer, Brathos?”

“Consequences?” squeaked the boy.

“Consequences,” growled Thea.

“Oh, my,” said Safana, brows raised. “Khalid, do you have a type?”

Entirely ignoring his wife’s scathing expression, Khalid laughed out loud. He pressed his hand to his face and shook his head. “You’ll, you’ll understand when you meet her,” he said. “Thea—Althea. W-w-would you please come over here and, and meet my friends?”

“What friends?” said Thea, turning all the way towards him. “You’ve not got friends. Actually fucking depressing, the state of your social life.”

“You’re my friend,” Khalid countered.

“I repeat.” Thea hefted the hammer. “Actually fucking depressing.”

Edging herself in front of Khalid, Jaheira took in the other woman with a sharply assessing expression. “So,” she said. “My husband has been socializing with you in my absence?”

All the rock-hard irritation of Thea dropped away as her eyes met Jaheira’s. It reminded Briar of quite a lot of songs, which probably wasn’t the thing to be thinking in a moment where Jaheira was meeting some friend of Khalid’s she was already jealous of, but it was sort of hard to think anything else. Thea’s lips parted, her cheeks coloring, and she whispered something under her breath in Dwarvish that sounded almost like a prayer, then breathed, “Luckmaiden, Lady of the Fray, in all your glory, I beseech you, loosen your hold on my heart.”

“…What?” said Jaheira.

Khalid looked positively delighted. “Althea,” he said, “Jaheira. Jaheira, Althea.”

Thea reeled back. “Your wife?” she said to Khalid. Then again, as if confirming, “Your wife.” Finally, “You sadistic motherfucker, I don’t know how you knew but I know you knew I’d—ah, fuck, fuck, I’m going to go end the siege. Can’t be in close quarters like this,” and promptly turned on her heel, all but sprinting for the exit.

“She’s going to what?” said Jaheira.

“Oh, that. Ah. Backfired faster than I thought,” said Khalid, already moving after Thea. “I-I need to sort that out. Briar, would you—”

“Sort what out?” demanded Jaheira, particularly dangerously.

Khalid took in Jaheira’s expressions. He said, calmly, “Thea. Prefers. Women.”

“Pref—” The penny dropped. Jaheira’s face went flaming red.

“Goodbye,” said Khalid, squeezing Jaheira’s shoulder, and darted after his friend.

As soon as Khalid was gone, Briar fell into a fit of giggles. Dynaheir was covering her mouth delicately, but the smile was eminently visible.

“Oh, would you all SHUT UP?!” snapped Jaheira, her blush intensifying. “What was I supposed to think? Khalid is hardly a social person when not in my company, hardly with women—”

“Well, it seems like maybe he found someone who has something really super crucial in common with him!” Briar wheezed. “Like, oh, I don’t know, being really super into you?”

“He didn’t—I didn’t—I have never met—stop laughing, Briar, or I will stop letting you carry the wands of lightning!”

“I haven’t used them,” said Briar, then, “since the incident.”

“What incident?!”

Khalid returned, now with Thea in tow. “Althea,” he said, “l-let’s try that again, yes?”

“Nope,” said Thea, who was already trying to leave.

Jaheira’s eyes darted between Thea and Khalid, almost contemplative, before her blush returned and her scowl intensified. Firmly, she said, “Khalid, you should have opened with the fact that Althea prefers the fairer sex, rather than letting me humiliate myself into thinking—”

“Oh, please!” said Thea hysterically. “You’re hardly the one who’s humiliating yourself here! Khalid, let go of my arm, I’m ending the siege and I’m going home.”

“You, you haven’t even exchanged a, a proper conversation with Jaheira.”

“I am going to say something proper fucking insane to your wife if you let me talk to her,” said Thea, “and you are, no question, the only person I can stand round here. Not burning that bridge. Look, I can end the siege—”

“You ha-have been saying that since you arrived,” said Khalid, “and your only plan appears to be to—to—run at the troops with your hammer.”

“Worked before.”

“Worked bef—” Khalid sent Jaheira a help-me look that somehow also managed to convey quite a lot of irritation.

Jaheira, whose cheeks had finally begun to edge back towards a normal color, rested her hand on Thea’s shoulder. Thea froze. “I would appreciate the chance to get to know you,” said Jaheira, tilting her head and smiling at Thea with an expression of terrifying sweetness. “Properly.”

“Oh, fuck you,” said Thea. “Emotional fucking manipulation, the pair of you. See if I tell Khalid anything again.”

“What did you tell my husband?”

“None of your fucking business!”

Casually, Khalid said, “She—she mentioned a particular weakness for a-assertive, forthright elven women.”

“Fuck off!”

“Well, it does help to have it on the table,” said Jaheira. She actually did smile. “Am I that bewitching, then, that you are desperate to run from me rather than jeopardize your friendship with my husband?”

“Your husband’s the only one round here with integrity,” said Thea resolutely. “Certainly the only one round here I’d trust to keep an eye on things. The other fuckers keep talking big talk about pummeling the crusaders into submission with forces we don’t have; he’s the one looking for a way around that. Good that you and your crew found a way in—if we can get more of you, piece by piece, we might stand a chance. Course we’d stand an even better chance if we went with my plan—”

In a tone of voice that suggested he had said this quite a few times before, Khalid said, “You running in to single-h-handedly dispatch crusaders is n-not a plan, Althea.”

“That’s the one thing he’s wrong about,” said Thea to Jaheira. “But the rest of it he’s right about. Rare to find a fella like that in a line of work like this.”

Jaheira’s eyes had taken on an approving glint. “I agree.”

Thea exhaled, blushing slightly, and said, “Yeah, so. Mind letting go of me? I do mean it, I’m going to say something—fucking outrageous if I keep looking at you, and I can’t do with losing my only friend here.”

Jaheira smiled. "Outrageous? Like what?"

“You aren’t helping.” Khalid steered Jaheira away from Thea. Over his shoulder, he called, “Drinks tonight?”

“On you!” Thea called. “To fucking apologize for putting me through that!”

To Jaheira, Khalid said, “I, I really didn’t realize she’d—that is, she’s a very, ah, d-deeply feeling woman, but I didn’t expect—well.” He smiled ruefully. “I, I was much the same when I met you. Sh-should have considered she might feel sim—similarly.”

“I like her,” Jaheira decided. Her brow furrowed. “Will she derive false hope from that? I do not wish to be inconsiderate, if—”

“Oh, she—she won’t,” said Khalid. “She’s—” His smile softened. “Chivalrous,” he said. “Noble.”

Noble, Dynaheir mouthed to herself. Briar was the only one who caught it.

[melongraph56]

This survey will contain questions that may be of a concerning manner, and could cause discomfort.

By selecting 'I Understand', you consent to this experience.

Did he really understand?

(cheeky response to @yogscastshipbracket's survey)

A zap of electricity stung the chill of night. The energy made its way down from the heavens striking an artifact in the hands of a being sitting in front of a fire, crackling against the sounds of rustling leaves blowing in the wind. The crystal gem encased with refined metals pulsed with a soft hue in his palm. He held it up as it conjured a mirage, the following words appeared:

[SURVEY_024.GF]

[PLEASE RESPOND]

It can't be... How have they sent him a message? A Yoglabs rat escapee. A better question how did they find him? He ensured there wasn't a trail attached to him when he ran. Though the message was something he didn't expect, it was a form. To be honest, if he were to receive word from the facility, they wouldn't have said a thing especially, if it was a warning if they found him.

His empty hand rose to the holographic screen created by his communication stone, reading the terms and conditions. His hand reeled back in hesitation before he could press 'I Understand', he shouldn't. It would expose him, leading him back to being captured and locked away for more testing. The underground laboratory's precious sentient being, created from a plant of unknown origin to house ancient magicks. They've been constructing a method to hone such magical strengths for quite some time and he was the product of their curiosities.

His lip quivered as his chest tightened, holding in a breath. He found himself pressing next, proceeding through the survey. Slowly his index scrolled through the form, clicking each answer that applied to him. Why is he taking part in this? More than half of the questions didn't make sense to him. This was a trap, he knows it is. However, something innate compelled him to keep responding. Perhaps it was all the testing done to him. He felt like he had to or else he'd suffer consequences if he didn't comply.

He answered as honestly as he could but by restrictions of the survey, or possibly it was his will faltering, the choices became limited to one answer.

Are you sure?

No.

The answer contradicted his response to the previous question. He could change his answers around to make it correct though that would be lying. The situation felt forced, a trick question to keep him stumped and left pondering. A common trend the scientists used against him as they quizzed him on his intellectual abilities. He was unsatisfied with his choice but he had to move on.

Is the chip in your neck active?

A hand shot to the nape of his neck, scratching at bandages hidden under his cloak. He felt himself take a sharp breath through his nose, his chest rising. There shouldn't be a chip in there, he removed it as soon as he could when he escaped their clutches.

Have you lied to me?

No.

Are you sure?

The magical artifact cracked under the strength of his grasp, his other hand tugging away at the medical dressings around his neck. He touched little tuffs of hair and bare skin as he ran his fingers back and forth searching for the wound. Where- He furrowed his brows. It should be- No... No no no. The wound, it should be here, right? He clenched his jaw as his breathing picked up. He can't- Why can't he find it? His fingernails dug into his neck, his eyes wide as he stood up. He could feel his magic swirling through his veins causing his heart to beat even faster than it was previously.

He threw the messenger stone straight into the campfire set at his feet. The fire swelled and engulfed the new fuel source, the smooth iron finish tarnished under the heat, turning black with soot. He closed his hollowed eyes and took a deep breath, allowing his body to calm itself, though he couldn't shake away that feeling. He couldn't bring himself to finish the rest survey, not like he could anyway. He opened his eyes once again and stared into the flames, watching his gadget char. The screen remained for a short period before it frizzed and faded as the last of the magic stored in the device disappeared. He caught a glimpse of the last line of the form before it was gone for good,

You really shouldn't worry about it.

A chill ran down his spine, taking in a staggered breath. Even though he was near a fire, he shivered. He packed his things with haste and left just as fast into the night.