#like turning everything off and facing it while lying down trying to sleep is . harrowing

[angelmush]

magenta smoothie 4 breakfast, vibrant vase of tulips 4 my gf, black dragon dog 4 sharing the couch with, and a big stack of notebooks 4 writing

[fallinnflower]

(you’re my) home

seungkwan x reader (exes to lovers!au, angst, fluff)

a/n: this took far longer than i thought it would, but i hope i did seungkwan justice! title is taken from the lyrics of “home,” of course~ thanks @wangtuanian​ as always for listening to me when i’m throwing ideas at the wall. in the editing stages this was referred to as “like a slow burn but worse,” so... yeah, happy reading!

wc: 9,086

August 29

“So, you’re saying you want to break up?”

“Well, I mean — yeah. I just don’t think I can do distance. And if we break up while you’re abroad and end up hating each other…”

“It’ll be awkward.”

“Right.”

“Right. Okay. Then let’s break up, Seungkwan.”

December 25

It was only two days after that conversation with Seungkwan that you boarded a plane for Canada. Despite the content of the conversation, your attitudes remained the same — he still tacked a heart onto the last text message you received before your plane rose off the tarmac, and he was still one of the first people you messaged once you had settled into your dorms. Although over the months you fell out of sync and out of contact (at least, in comparison to how you used to be — attached at the hip), you found yourself always thinking of Seungkwan. With your morning coffee, at your evening meal, on a walk to campus; your first love was in everything you did, and it took weeks for you to fall out of the habit of sending him a picture of every little thing that made you think of him. 

When his name popped up on your screen for FaceTime calls, there was still a heart next to his name. Sometimes you almost slipped up and said you loved him when he bid you goodnight, and instead you would settle for ‘sweet dreams,’ tucking yourself into bed and wrapping your arms around a pillow like you used to do him. 

And in December, when you descended the escalators in the bustling airport, there was still one familiar face you found yourself searching for, the same way you’d found yourself asking him for a ride when there were plenty of other friends with cars you could have contacted. Old habits die hard, you know it the moment you see him and your heart still skips a beat, legs itching to run to him, unseen forces drawing you ever nearer to the only boy you’ve ever loved—

You take a deep breath, smile coolly and wave from the bottom of the escalators to get his attention. His eyes light up for a moment when he sees you, then fade back to their usual sparkle, as if seeing you struck his heart like a match. He waits for you to make your way to him, and yet when you stand directly before him neither of you knows where to put your hands, your eyes, your words.

“Hey,” he says, eventually, dark eyes boring into yours. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.” After a moment of deliberation, you both find yourself moving towards each other, your hand leaving the handle of your suitcase hesitantly, blood buzzing to be near him.

The sudden sound of the conveyor belt behind Seungkwan startles you both into stillness, and the both of you revert back to your previous positions, maintaining the distance between you.

“Is it, um— are you still using the purple suitcase?” Seungkwan asks, taking your carry-on from you and wheeling it towards the belt. 

“Yeah,” you say. He nods. The two of you stand side by side, eyes glued to the rotating carousel of luggage, waiting for the suitcase you’ve had since high school to come rolling by. The moment it does, Seungkwan lunges forward to grab it, taking hold of both of your suitcases as you follow him out of the terminal to his car.

Without thinking, you snag the aux cord as Seungkwan pulls out of the garage, but falter as you go to plug your phone in.

“Oh, um, did you want to play anything?” You ask, still holding onto the plug. Seungkwan shakes his head too fast,

“No, no, it’s fine. Go ahead.”

Your newest favorite song fills the car, and you shift your gaze out the window. Watching the bustling streets pass you by, you somehow feel foreign. With Seungkwan sitting beside you, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel, all you feel is the heavy weight of the silence, a burden you haven’t shouldered since before the two of you started dating. After a few anxious seconds spent at a red light, you find yourself huffing a breath out through your nose and pressing skip on your phone until you get to a song you know Seungkwan knows.

But even with his humming accompanying the tune, the overbearing awkwardness still speaks volumes. 

December 31

“Are you coming to Seungcheol’s party?” Soonyoung asks. You cradle your phone between your shoulder and ear, shoving your freshly washed clothing into the dryer. You hadn’t thought about how much laundry you’d have to do after being gone for a semester, but you’re glad you have the break to do it. 

“I don’t know,” you say. “Should I?” 

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he isn’t even thinking twice about the one person who gives you pause every second of every minute of every day. 

“We haven’t hung out in forever, Y/N. Come on!”

“Soonyoung…” You shove the dryer door closed and pass your free hand through your hair. “I just— I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“But we’re gonna do the countdown and everything! Josh even promised he’d make us some American food!” 

After a long moment, you let out a sigh.

“Fine.”

“Good! We’ll come get you at 7.”

“We?”

“Bye!”

“Soonyoung—!”

You check the time once you notice he’s hung up, frowning when you realize you only have a little over an hour to get ready but also get your laundry back upstairs before Soonyoung and whoever the hell else comes to drag you to Seungcheol’s.

If you’re honest, you’re not really in the partying spirit. You’re exhausted from cleaning your room and reorganizing all your things, catching up on sleep and readjusting to Korean time. All you want to do is lie around like a rock, but Soonyoung is right — it’s been a long time since you’ve seen your friends. For what it’s worth, you do miss them, but the drive back to your apartment with Seungkwan was a harrowing reminder of the time you’ve been gone and the changes that the passing sands brought. You just aren’t sure you’re ready to face all those changes head-on.

Nonetheless, you don a party-worthy outfit and attempt to put some care into your makeup, though the effort is exhausting enough that by the time you’re done you can’t be bothered to mess around much with your hair. You drag your fingers through it until it looks decent, then shove on a pair of slippers to go get your laundry. As you make your way back up, you think you have half a mind to just wear them to the party — who cares, after all? You’ll probably end up crashing on a couch and getting a ride back from Cheol in the morning. 

Or Seungkwan, a little voice in the back of your mind nags. You kick your apartment door open and then closed behind you, shaking your head to get the thoughts away. It hasn’t even been a week since you’d been home; a week since the evening you forced yourself to change his contact in your phone back to the bland ‘seungkwan’ it had been when you’d first saved his number. Somehow, it’s both too easy and too difficult to think about him; he’s too much and too often in your life and not enough, never enough.

When Soonyoung comes to get you, you realize the ‘we’ he was referring to is just Minghao, Jun, and Chan. You try to convince yourself you aren’t disappointed, but you’ve never been good at lying. Nonetheless, you manage to crack a genuine smile once smushed in the backseat between Jun and Chan, arms and legs all crammed together. As the music rumbles around you and out the cracked-open windows, you promise yourself that tonight, you’re going to have fun. 

By ten minutes to midnight, you’re on your third drink (some fruity, overly sweet concoction courtesy of a tipsy Hansol) and the party is in full swing. Soonyoung has taken charge of the music, all wall-shaking bass and beats that make your body want to move. You’re not much of a dancer, but you’ve got enough alcohol in you that you allow Junhui to pull you into the living room, mimicking his actions and frequently dissolving into fits of laughter when you realize how awkward and gangly your movements are in comparison to the lithe, graceful Chinese boy. Any stumbles simply make you laugh harder, quickly shifting from tipsy territory into drunkenness. The alcohol sloshes around in your half-emptied cup, and you feel suddenly very tired as the current song fades into the next. You make your way to one of the couches, dropping heavily down next to the party’s host and unceremoniously plop your head down on his shoulder. He reaches up to sloppily pat your hair, and you swat the offending strands away from your lips and the places where they stick to the sweat on your face. 

“Yah, Hoshi! Turn the music down, it’s almost midnight!” You cringe at the loudness of Seungcheol’s voice and lift your head from its perch on his shoulder. You run a hand through your hair, smoothing it down. 

“Five!” Joshua calls, emerging from the kitchen with a few of the other partygoers. The TV’s display is now taken up by a large slideshow of numbers. 

“Four!” you yell along with everyone else. Unthinking, your eyes search for the source of one familiar voice—

“Three!”

He’s standing on the opposite side of the room, flanked by Hansol and Seokmin, Soonyoung standing behind the trio with his hands on Hansol’s shoulders, squeezing at each tick of the second hand. Seungkwan’s gaze flits towards you, and for a moment his eyes catch yours and he turns his head. It’s almost purposeful, and you swear you see him turning his body in your direction until Soonyoung yells again, startling both of you. 

“Two!” 

A girl you don’t recognize under the current influence approaches Cheol, pulls him off the couch with a beaming, fond smile. You think you must have seen her before. Or maybe you just recognize that adoring look—

“One!”

It’s rude, you know you shouldn’t stare, but you don’t even realize your eyes are glued to them until the music kicks back up and Seungcheol is pulling away from this girl, only to cradle her in his arms. You press your fingertips to your lips, and suddenly you feel very far away. Just a year ago in this same space you’d stolen Seungkwan’s first kiss of the new year, and now you can’t even get him to properly look in your direction. 

You leave your cup on the coffee table and head for the bathroom, unable to walk straight and yet attempting to remain discreet. 

You don’t feel sick, but you still lower yourself to the ground near the toilet bowl. You close the lid and rest your arms atop it, dropping your face into the pit they create. The fluorescent light above your head buzzes, and the sickly sweet smell of alcohol comes wafting back up into your nose, tears stinging your eyes. 

You tell yourself it’s sweat beading down your cheeks, your chin, falling onto the toilet seat. You tell yourself so even as you watch the mascara-blackened pond grow ever wider within the white plastic valley between your arms. 

Three knocks interrupt the bass dropping out in the living room. 

“Y/N?” A soft voice calls. 

“Hannie?” you reply, voice cracking, breaths heavy. 

“Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“No,” you sniff. You aren’t sure which question you’re answering. There’s a pause, you hear his weight shift momentarily onto one of the creaky floorboards right near the door in the hallway. 

“I’m coming in.” He opens the door just enough for his slender body to slip through, gently lowering himself onto his knees beside you. He reaches over your hunched back to rip a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll, carefully dabbing under your eyes with a corner. You look up to the ceiling as he wipes at the mascara smudged below your lash line. When he throws the paper in the trash, you rock forward, pressing the crown of your head against his collarbone. 

“Tired?” You feel more than hear the words as they rumble up from his chest. You hum in the affirmative, and Jeonghan smooths a hand down along your spine. 

“Okay. Come on. I’ll drive you home.” You realize then that Jeonghan’s breath smells like juice. He helps you up from the floor, your knees aching from the cold tile. He wraps his hand around yours, guiding you as though you’re a child through the crowd, and you find your eyes searching, always searching. 

You catch a glimpse of Seungkwan mid-laugh, eyes shut and head tilted back. Your eyes remain glued to him, and even when he disappears from your field of view the image of him burns behind your eyelids.

“Jeonghan,” you start, watching his hands as he ties his shoes, unable to look away. 

“Hm?”

“Do you think he misses me?” Jeonghan stands up and sighs, running a hand through his hair. Your eyes follow his movement belatedly. He reaches out to smooth your hair down, looking at you with what you think is pity. It feels the same as the way your mother looked at you when you told her Seungkwan ended things. 

“I’m not the person to ask, Y/N. Now, come on.”

“Do you think he still loves me?” you ask as he pulls you out the door by your wrist. “Do you— do you think he ever loved me?” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until Jeonghan sighs your name and pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his hand, dabbing gently at your cheeks.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” You nod wordlessly, a lump in your throat making it hard to even breathe, let alone tell Jeonghan that home feels far beyond your reach now, just the same as Seungkwan is. That home isn’t home without him, not when you can only fill the lingering dip on the other side of your bed with your spare pillow and dream you hear a heartbeat where you rest your head. 

With that, Jeonghan pulls you out the front door and into the night. If he notices the fresh tear tracks on your cheeks when he sees you to your door, he doesn’t comment on it beyond his lingering hug and the gentle motions of his hand patting down your hair. 

You wipe away your makeup and brush the taste of alcohol off of your teeth, but each time you close your eyes you still see Seungkwan laughing behind your eyes, too far for you to reach.

January 1

More than a physical hangover, you wake up feeling emotionally dehydrated. Beyond that, you just feel plain stupid — you agreed with Seungkwan when he suggested breaking up, so why are you taking this so hard? It’s not even like he was kissing someone else to ring in the new year, you were just getting jealous of the ghost of yourself, a you that you willingly killed off.

There are a few messages waiting for you when you finally manage to reach your phone. One is from Jeonghan urging you to drink plenty of water when you wake up with his usual teasing of your drunkenness, there are a few in the groupchat that are mostly people asking if other partygoers had seen this or that forgotten object, and then beneath all of those is a short thread from Seungkwan. It appears to have come through right after you left the party, and you wish you could say you hesitated before opening it.

< hey, did you leave already? 

< nvm jeonghan said you weren’t feeling well… feel better!

< happy new year, y/n. 

You read the messages over and over, searching for something between the lines. How is it that mere months apart have made Seungkwan into an enigma all over again? You kick your sheets off impatiently and practically jump out of bed, itching to move but with no clear plan in mind. 

Despite the frigid morning air, you find yourself wanting to go out. The streets are nearly deserted, most people sporting hangovers in the comfort of their beds, and you feel drawn to the streets below. 

Your fingers are typing before you really think about what you’re doing.

happy new year! sorry for the late reply. hope you had fun at the party!! >

With the text sent, you shove your phone into your coat pocket and propel yourself out the door, breathing the frosty air in deeply. It’s cold enough that it burns down your throat, but when you exhale you feel cleaner, somehow, than you did before.

One of the many things you missed while studying abroad was your favorite cafe. You’ve been frequenting it since you started attending university, as it’s just around the corner from your complex and on the way to your campus. You wouldn’t say it’s a hole in the wall or hidden gem, because plenty of students frequent it, but it’s generally very laid-back because of its popularity amongst students. The front is all glass, with bar-style seating set up against the windows so you can look out into the sidewalk and dark wood floors that make it feel small in a cozy way. You’ve always been a fan of window seats, so you can look up when an assignment gets to be too much and catch a glimpse of the street, or the sky, and feel a little less overwhelmed and boxed in by life.

You’d taken Seungkwan here on one of your first ‘dates’ — unofficial, back in the early days when you were more acquaintances via mutual friends than friends yourselves, just getting to know each other and toeing the lines of the other’s boundaries. Your relationship blossomed due to a shared class in your major; he needed your help to pass it and you had suggested this cafe as a workspace. You can still remember it, the early-fallen autumn leaves crunching beneath your feet as you walked with him from campus down an already familiar street. Seungkwan had followed you dutifully — he was still so bashful, then, funny but holding himself back from saying too much, looking down more often than he was looking into your eyes. 

You still order the same drink almost every time, something Seungkwan often teased you for once you started dating. The fact that there were all these options and you always chose the same thing, never straying — you simply told him that you knew what you liked, and your obvious flirtation always got a reaction out of him no matter how often you said it. 

The cafe is emptier than usual, so you get your choice of seat; you move immediately to the open barstools with your drink and a muffin for breakfast, settling yourself in to watch the city wake up. You pull your laptop out of your bag, hoping that the familiar space will get you back into the familiar rhythm of work.

Looking up from typing in your password, you let out a scoff. Maybe this place is too familiar, because you swear you see Seungkwan at the crosswalk on the corner, coming this way. How pathetic, really, that you can’t seem to get him out of your mind—

The door opens, a gust of winter wind entering the shop, and as it does you instinctively turn to see who’s entered, heart nearly stopping at the familiar face that greets you.

“Seungkwan,” you say, without really meaning to. You hardly realize you’ve said it aloud until his wide, curious eyes meet yours.

“Y/N!” He chirps, grinning broadly at you. Your heart skips the same beat it always used to, and you can’t help but smile back. The two of you simply continue to stare at each other, wondering what to do about your current situation, and it isn’t until someone slips out the door behind Seungkwan that he finally startles back into action.

“Oh, um — is anyone sitting there?” He asks, nodding towards the barstool beside you. You shake your head, moving your bag off the seat.

“No, feel free.”

“Great, just— I’ll order and be right back,” he says, and you think you must be imagining the slight waver in his voice before he turns towards the counter. You force yourself to turn back to your work as he orders, willing yourself to stop lingering the way you have been for the past twelve hours. After a few minutes, you get so absorbed in your to-do list that you almost forget you have company until you hear the legs of the stool beside you being pulled across the floor, and a glass coming into contact with the counter.

���You still order the same thing?” he asks, a teasing edge to his voice. You take a look at his drink and raise one eyebrow. 

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, “You order that like ninety percent of the time.”

“And the other ten percent of the time, I try new things,” he says, sitting up proudly. You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to your laptop.

“As if anything is new here. We’ve been coming here for, what, two years? You must’ve tried everything on the menu by now.” 

“They have seasonal drinks,” he says, a little less convincingly, bringing his drink up to his lips. You hum noncommittally, unable to keep the smug grin off your face knowing you’ve won this time. Early in the relationship, the two of you had kept score of who got the last word in all your silly non-arguments, usually to determine who was paying for the next date. After a while, the number got too high to keep track of, and you found a better system to pay with. You find that your fingers have come to a standstill hovering over your keyboard, and you reach for your drink in an attempt to return yourself to normalcy. Thankfully, if Seungkwan notices your weird behavior, he doesn’t comment on it.

“So, how was the party after I left? What did I miss?” you ask, keeping your eyes on your screen. You know that if you look too long at Seungkwan it will feel like looking at the sun, and you can’t afford to be blinded right as the semester is beginning. Seungkwan lets out a little groan at your question, leaning heavily onto his elbows.

“Well, other than Mingyu almost ruining the living room carpet because he can’t hold onto a bowl to save his life, nothing.” You can’t help but giggle.

“What was it this time?”

“Salsa,” Seungkwan says, giving you a particularly disbelieving look. For a moment you hold his gaze, trying to mimic it, but it isn’t long before you both burst into laughter. A familiar warmth spreads throughout your whole body, and you feel the tension you’ve been harboring since you boarded the plane back to Korea finally slip off your shoulders. 

“Seungcheol would’ve killed him,” you say, shaking your head as you try to imagine the chaos that would have ensued, but Seungkwan merely purses his lips and takes another sip of his drink before replying.

“No,” he says. “It would’ve been Joshua, Seungcheol was too busy with his new girlfriend.” 

“Oh,” you start, leaning in conspiratorially. “Are they official, now?” Seungkwan lets out another groan, rolling his eyes.

“They would be, if he would actually ask her! He keeps saying he’s too nervous, he’s not sure what she’s going to say, but they’re so obvious about everything.” 

“As expected from Cheol,” you muse, shrugging lightly and sipping on your drink. “Maybe I should have a talk with him.” 

“Maybe we—” By some miracle, you cut yourself off before making your offer. You turn your gaze from Seungkwan so he won’t read the thoughts behind your eyes, stirring the straw in your drink as calmly as you can. 

“Maybe that’ll help. Light a fire under his ass.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan laughs, and you realize with the force of it that he’s already heard the words you didn’t speak, maybe he almost spoke them himself. “Maybe.”

How foolish it would’ve been, you think, how ironic if you’d suggested a double date for Seungcheol when there���s not even a date to invite him to double on. To imply that the two of you would be of any help getting Cheol into a relationship, like you aren’t the poster children for dating disasters right now. Suddenly, the silence of the city irks you, digs under your skin, and all you want is for the espresso machine behind the counter to whir back to life so you have something, anything to distract you. You’ve lost the rhythm with Seungkwan and you know, somehow, as you take a sip of your iced coffee and stare determinedly out the window, you won’t be able to find it again in this conversation. 

A phone buzzes against the countertop. You don’t even bother to turn yours over, as Seungkwan is already picking his up hurriedly. He glanced up at you nervously, free hand already reaching back for his coat where it hangs off the chair. 

“I forgot Hansol wanted to go shopping today,” he explains. You smile coolly, 

“Ah, I see. Don’t let him spend too much.” Seungkwan laughs weakly, watered down as he yanks his coat on in a rush. You remember when every movement was stalled, simply to linger together — 'accidentally' tying a shoelace wrong and undoing the whole thing to tie it all over again, just to hear the other’s teasing remarks for a few more moments before you really have to go — and although the atmosphere was less than comfortable you still feel his absence acutely as he finishes buttoning up his coat. He takes his cup into one hand and pushes the barstool back into place. 

“See you later, Y/N.”

“See you.”

After a few moments, Seungkwan is merely a silhouette in a crowd of others just like him, and you can almost convince yourself you imagined the whole meeting in your head. You glance at your untouched muffin and, after a long moment of losing yourself in your own silence, rip off a large chunk. 

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the sweetness coats your mouth. Your heart aches, hungering for something else which you refuse to name, and you distract yourself with work. 

January 4

Ever since the party, Jeonghan has been checking up on you. Not that he hadn’t before, because he’s always been the mothering type, but his efforts had doubled since you’d had your breakdown. 

The two of you are both particularly avid coffee drinkers, so any time a new cafe is opening you’re often the first in your circle of friends to check it out — the unofficial reviewers. Just such a cafe happened to be opening on the weekend before your classes start up again, and it’s a no-brainer that you’re going.

Saturday rolls around and you make your way to the apartment Jeonghan shares with Seungcheol and Joshua. The way is familiar; before studying abroad you could be found at their apartment almost every weekend, curled up on the couch beside Seungkwan as you all watched some stupid movie. 

Now it’s morning, edging onto the afternoon as you make your way up the stairs of their building. When you knock on the door it’s Seungcheol that greets you, hair still damp from his shower and eyes droopy with sleep. 

“Good morning, Cheol,” you say, ruffling up his hair teasingly. He chuckles and steps aside, shaking his hair out as he lets you into the apartment.

“Jeonghan is still in the shower. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “I’ve been up for hours, unlike all of you.” You shrug your coat off, hanging it by the door as you toe off your shoes. Seungcheol drops himself heavily onto the couch and you follow him, though you sit down less sprawlingly. No sooner do you take a seat than his phone buzzes, and you see his face light up when he reads the notification.

“Is that her?” you ask, shuffling across the couch cushions. “The girl from the party?” Seungcheol’s cheeks redden at such a fast pace that you know you’re right, and you can’t help but laugh. You nudge him with your elbow and then commence poking at his ribs playfully when he lifts his arm in an attempt to push you away.

“Stop,” he whines, trying to push your hands away, but the two of you dissolve into laughter soon enough, flopping back against the cushions. Seungcheol stares wistfully up at the ceiling, letting out a sigh.

“I really like her,” he says, softly. 

“So I’ve heard,” you say. “I hear she likes you, too. Why haven’t you asked her out yet, huh?” Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line and shrugs. You remember that feeling, the constant uncertainty regardless of how much you flirt or how many dates you’ve been on, unofficial or otherwise; the constant nagging feeling and question: do they actually like me? Or is it all in my head?

You pat his shoulder, getting his attention.

“Hey,” you start softly. “Listen, Cheol, you have to take a chance. You’ll regret it if you don’t ask her out. Don’t hold yourself back from happiness, okay? When you overthink things too much, you can end up getting yourself hurt, so just do everyone a favor and stop overthinking this.”

When you finish speaking, you have to clench your jaw tight to keep from getting overly emotional. It’s too much, even though it should have nothing to do with you or Seungkwan, and yet all you can think of is that if the two of you hadn’t thought so far ahead maybe you could still be together. All being cautious had gotten you was heartbreak and an awkward atmosphere you couldn’t shake, never-ending frustration with yourself and everyone around you for no longer knowing how to act or react. 

Before Seungcheol can say anything, or you can start crying, Jeonghan walks into the living area.

“Y/N-ah, you’re early,” he says, walking up behind you and Cheol. He places a hand atop each of your heads and proceeds to ruffle your hair.

“Yah, what is it with you two,” Seungcheol whines, leaning away and swatting Jeonghan’s hand. It only makes him laugh and come around the couch, grabbing at your wrist to pull you off the cushions.

“Come on, let’s go.” You manage to smile at him, though you aren’t sure how. The two of you are barely at the front door before Seungcheol is back on his phone, smiling away.

The two of you are seated at the cafe when you receive the text from Seungcheol that he has a date with the girl on Sunday, and although you manage to smile at the news your coffee and pastries taste far more bitter after that.

January 16

Objectively, of course you should have expected to be invited to Seungkwan’s birthday celebration. After all, your friends are still his friends, so it only makes sense — and yet once you’re actually sitting around the table with everyone in the bar it feels… weird.

Everything looks so similar to last year, except that you’re sitting far away from Seungkwan with Jeonghan by your side. Your ex-boyfriend is lively as ever, having consumed just enough alcohol to make him loud and red in the face, though you know that once this high wears off he’ll go on one of his late night walks to steep in his emotions. In this large a group you had hoped you would feel more comfortable, and yet all you can seem to notice is all the half-pitying looks all your friends keep shooting your way. They look at Seungkwan and then at you and their smiles falter.

You’re the one who leaves first. It’s a Thursday night and you have a morning class; and more than that you just feel awkward. You go to stand outside, even in the bitter cold, because it feels better to actually be alone than to feel isolated at a table full of people. There’s a bench just a ways down, so you take a seat and breathe into your hands to warm them. Still, you don’t want to go home just yet. 

“Y/N.” 

Seungkwan sits down beside you, though his approach is too fast and he ends up sliding along the bench until he knocks pretty forcefully into your side.

“Slow down there,” you laugh, helping him to sit up straight. As you move to take your hands off him, he suddenly takes hold of your fingers, squishing them between his warm palms. He leans in close to you, so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You’re coming to my recital, right? Next week?” You blink at him, feeling intoxicated off his presence alone. Your head seems to be spinning, and you find yourself unable to get a grip on anything. It takes you a moment to respond, but Seungkwan doesn’t seem to notice, still grinning at you with his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 

“You want me there?” 

He seems to sober up in an instant at that, brows furrowed at your question.

“Of course. I always want you there.” The words make your heart flutter. You only wish he wasn’t drunk. You muster up a smile, though it feels stiff, and nod.

“Then, I’ll be there.” 

Seungkwan doesn’t let go of your hands, not even when all your friends come pouring out of the bar onto the sidewalk, yelling and calling for the two of you. It isn’t until Seokmin and Soonyoung actually come to scoop him off the bench and into a taxi back to their shared apartment that he lets go. He waves at you, beaming as they pile into the back of a cab, and you wave half-heartedly back.

You stay sitting on the bench until you can barely feel your legs, and then you call a cab. In the morning, you almost think the conversation was all a dream — but your calendar now has ‘Seungkwan’s recital’ listed as an event next Friday. You bury your face in your pillow and try not to cry.

January 20

The weekend passes with almost nothing notable happening. Busywork occupies most of your time, falling back into the routine of classes and the structure of having a class schedule. It takes your mind off of the events from Seungkwan’s birthday, but at night, left to your own devices, you find you have trouble sleeping.

Monday rolls around, and you drag yourself out of bed to your first class of the day at nine in the morning. You spend the time between that and lunch in the library, forcing yourself to focus and get work done — you know if you go back to your apartment you won’t be productive in the slightest, so you stick around campus. 

It’s a little past eleven when you decide to go get lunch. You tend to dislike waiting in lines, so you’ve made it a habit over the years to eat a bit earlier whenever possible; luckily for you, your next class is at half-past eleven, so your schedule is pretty accommodating. Since getting back from your semester abroad, you haven’t actively eaten lunch with anyone. After all, the semester has barely started, and some of your friends are still sorting out their schedules.

Also, they all still look at you in pity, or like they’re worried you’re going to do something reckless. You wish they would just ask you about your time abroad, even if it means answering the same stock questions over and over again. Anything is better than being reminded of the loss you still feel so acutely yourself.

You’re searching the cafeteria for a seat, preferably one where you can listen to music and eat in solitude, when two pairs of excitedly waving hands catch your attention. When you look down the arms extended in the air, you find the familiar faces of Seungkwan’s roommates, Seokmin and Soonyoung. Both of them are beaming at you and wave you over to their table. For a moment you hesitate, but you can’t think of a reason not to join them, so you take the empty seat beside Soonyoung and across from Seungkwan. 

The two greet you loudly, as per usual. Seungkwan murmurs a greeting when he swallows his food, then stuffs his mouth full again before you can even respond. As you begin eating your own food, you can't help but wonder what Seungkwan is thinking. It's obvious to you he's nervous, but about what you aren't sure. You have a sinking feeling it's you. Maybe him asking you to come to his recital was just drunken antics after all, since he doesn't seem to want you at his lunch table. 

His own nervousness only makes you more nervous than you had been. It makes you feel like an intruder. While Soonyoung and Seokmin chatter away in their usual excited way, speaking almost nonstop, seemingly oblivious to the wall of silence beside them. One chews while the other replies and so it goes on — Seungkwan pushes his food around a bit awkwardly and you stuff your mouth hurriedly. You can't think of a single thing to contribute to the conversation, only what excuse you're going to use to get out of the situation. Your next class isn't for another fifteen minutes at least, but you're finding you'd rather spend that time in some hallway than at this table where you aren't wanted. 

Between bites you cast glances at Seungkwan, uncertain as to whether you want him to meet your gaze or not. You miss having him look at you, but even if he looks to you now you know it won't be the same. Somehow you're always feeling as awkward as you did at the airport that day. Since the moment you stepped back onto Korean soil, you feel as though you’ve been tripping over every obstacle life has given you in a struggle to catch up with everyone and everything you left behind for that semester. Especially Seungkwan.

It feels like you’ve been doing and saying the wrong things to him ever since you broke up, and distance made your heart grow fonder but it also made you two just different enough to not be able to talk normally now. You wonder, when you look at him, what’s causing the bags under his eyes to darken; what his day-to-day looks like now that you aren’t actively in it… 

As you stuff the last bite of food in your mouth, your phone buzzes. You tear your eyes away from Seungkwan, turning it over to find a message of no significance — just a banner notification for an app. Nonetheless you find yourself pushing out your chair.

“Sorry guys, I have to get going now. Thanks for letting me sit with you.” Soonyoung and Seokmin seem startled to find you still there, having been so caught up in their own discussion. Seungkwan’s gaze flicks up to you, a slight frown curling the corners of his mouth.

“Sure thing, Y/N,” Soonyoung says, nodding his head. 

“We’ll see you Friday?” Seokmin asks hopefully as you lift your tray off the table. You pause, glancing towards Seungkwan only for him to avert his gaze back to his food. Nervously, you chew on your bottom lip for a moment as you nod, thinking of the calendar event on your phone. 

“Yeah,” you reply, softly. “See you Friday.” Unable to bear the awkwardness for a second longer, you turn on your heel and speed walk out of the cafeteria, not slowing down until you reach the building where your next class is. 

For possibly the first and only time in your life, you almost wish Friday wouldn’t come at all.

January 24

For the rest of the week leading up to Seungkwan’s recital, you go back and forth on whether you’re actually going to attend. A part of you thinks that with alcohol came honesty, and he really wants you there — but there’s always that nagging feeling. 

And then Seungcheol turns your own words on you the day of, when you’re at his apartment and talking to Jeonghan while he chooses an outfit about how you aren’t sure you should go. You want to, because you always want to hear Seungkwan sing, but you aren’t sure if it would be right. If you would be welcomed.

Seungcheol walks in, needing help buttoning the cuff of his shirt, and as you do so he looks down at you with a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, and you look up. “Remember that thing you said about overthinking leading to pain?” 

“Yeah.” Seungcheol raises his eyebrows, looking at you pointedly, and you drop your hands into your lap once you’ve finished with the buttons. You avert your gaze, plucking at the fabric of your tights. “Point taken.”

“You should really talk to him about this, Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan says, meeting your gaze through the mirror. You press your lips together, biting at them nervously. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking back at his own reflection.

“Listen, you know I love you,” he continues. “But you can’t go on like this. And, frankly, I don’t know how to help you anymore.”

“I know…”

“He’ll hear you out,” Joshua suddenly chimes in, coming to lean on the doorframe. You frown and shift awkwardly where you’re perched on the edge of Jeonghan’s bed. 

“I know,” you repeat, voice smaller. You can feel your throat closing up, chest tightening and eyes pricking with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Seungcheol says, and suddenly all three men are enveloping you in a hug, making it hard for you to even breathe.

“I love you guys,” you sniffle, “But I’m going to get makeup all over your shirts.” They back off at that.

“So, you’re coming with us?” Joshua asks, as Jeonghan reaches out to fix your hair. You nod.

“You’re right. I told him I’d go, and we do need to talk, so… yeah.” 

You steal the passenger’s seat from Seungcheol so that you get to control the radio, and also because Jeonghan is your designated emotional security friend and even the backseat feels far enough to make you anxious. You’re pretty sure if you weren’t sitting beside him you’d ditch out the car and run back home, because Joshua wouldn’t be quick enough to stop you. For the whole ride you fiddle with the radio, switching the station almost ceaselessly even though the drive is less than twenty minutes. Nothing sounds good to you, everything little more than a constant buzz in your ears as your thoughts continue to run rampant. 

“Y/N,” someone says. It sounds very far away. “Y/N.” The added forcefulness behind the voice finally gets you to snap out of it. The three men are standing outside the car, Seungcheol holding your door open and leaning towards you. All their brows are creased in worry, and you offer a smile which you hope is reassuring but feels shaky even to you.

“Ah,” you say, unbuckling yourself. “Thanks, Cheol.” Once you’re out of the car, however, you all simply stand together, awkwardly clumped by the front of the car. Seungcheol closes the door behind you, and while you look at the auditorium ahead your companions all look at you, still concerned. You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out slowly through your mouth. Lifting your chin, you nod.

“Let’s go.”

Your other friends have saved the rest of the front left row for all of you, and so you slip into the seat nearest the aisle you can get in case you have a spontaneous breakdown. The program lists Seungkwan’s solo as the second to last performance out of the dozen in the evening, with the final being a full choir piece. The only person closer to the aisle is Soonyoung, who flashes you a smile when you sit down. 

“Y/N-ah!” He chirps, though attempting to keep his voice low in such a setting. “How have you been? We’ve barely talked you since you got back.” Hoshi’s grin slips into an exaggerated pout, and you let out an apologetic sigh.

“Sorry, Hoshi-ah,” you say, patting his arm. “I’ve… I’ve been better, and I’ve been worse, you know?” Soonyoung peers down at you sympathetically, placing his free hand atop yours and squeezing it in reassurance. You can tell from his gaze that he knows the true reason behind your inability to settle recently, why you’ve been out of the picture for your long-time group of friends. 

“I know,” he replies, voice dropping low. His gaze also falls, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Of course he would know, given his proximity to the situation. You can’t help but wonder just what he’s been seeing, what’s been occurring, on the other side of the situation. You nearly open your mouth to ask just that, heart pounding against your ribs, but the dimming of the lights keeps you silent.

Your hand remains on Soonyoung’s arm until the end of the first song, when you finally relax enough to not need emotional support in the form of physical contact. Seungkwan appears in multiple performances, and you feel refreshed hearing his voice. It feels as though it’s been years since you heard him sing, and you only realize now how much you had taken it for granted in the past. 

Seungkwan’s solo arrives quicker than you had thought, and it leaves you breathless. Even before your semester abroad he had been preparing endlessly, always worrying over every last detail of his performance. You’d bought him a throat soothing tea for his birthday, along with some organic cough drops. His practices had always sounded wonderful to you, but hearing it now, on-stage and polished, it’s possibly the best thing you’ve ever heard. It moves you to tears, though you hold yourself back from crying fully, not wanting to be disruptive to anyone else in the audience. 

By the end of the concert you’ve eased yourself off the brink of tears, though only to find yourself overcome by another emotion entirely: anxiety. Your heartbeat is loud enough to nearly block out the raucous applause as you stand. Soonyoung pats you on the back before resuming his own round of applause. 

All you can think of now that the recital is over is that you should have rehearsed something to say to Seungkwan. Seeing him on stage, practically shining in his brilliance, makes you all the more aware of what a wreck you seem to be. Your hands won’t stop shaking, your breathing shallow. As your friends swarm the edge of the stage, beckoning Seungkwan down into their arms, you find yourself falling back to the edges of the group, wringing your hands. The others are rowdy enough to make up for your absence while you try to arrange your thoughts. 

Caught up in your thoughts, however, you don’t notice Seungkwan’s eyes on you. You don’t notice him approaching, your friends parting ways for him to get to you. Your eyes remain cast down as you turn slightly away, still lacing your fingers together nervously.

“Y/N.” His voice is soft, yet it cuts through the din without obstruction straight to you, piercing your heart like an arrow. As you turn to him it feels as though you’re the only two in the room, Seungkwan’s shining face your only company, the sole captor of your attention.

“Seungkwan,” you say. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t bring you any flowers. Slipped my mind.” You lick your lips nervously, casting your gaze downwards. Meeting Seungkwan’s eyes feels like a Herculean effort — at least, meeting them without crying. 

“You were amazing,” you continue, more softly. “Not that anyone was doubting, of course.” At that you finally manage to smile at him, though it’s uncertain. You can’t contain your pride, even if your relationship isn’t the same as it once was; watching him grow in his talent and confidence has been one of the greatest gifts in your life, you’re certain.

“Thank you. That means a lot.” Seungkwan shifts his weight from one foot to another, “Can we talk?”

“S-sure.”

“Outside?” You can only manage to nod, feeling unable to speak. You follow him down the aisle and out the doors, coming to stand near him by the corner of the building. The sun has set, leaving only the yellowy glow of the streetlights to illuminate Seungkwan’s features, turning his eyes to a warmer, molten brown. For a long moment he just stares at you, seemingly soaking in your presence, and you find your cheeks warming beneath his gaze. When you look away, he finally clears his throat and begins speaking.

“Thank you for coming,” he says. “Again. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.” Your heart skips a beat when you realize that he does remember inviting you here. That he did it on purpose, not just on drunken impulse. The thought alone is enough to make your heart feel unbelievably warm. 

“Of course,” you reply, unable to keep from smiling. “I’m really proud of you, you know?” At your statement Seungkwan, too, starts smiling. It’s a sight you hadn’t realized you missed so acutely, the way his eyes light up as he’s looking at you. Although the atmosphere is still awkward, it feels far more natural than your previous encounters since you’ve been back.

“Right,” Seungkwan seems to snap himself out of it, shaking his head slightly. He rocks back on his heels a bit, a nervous habit. “I, um, I wanted to tell you something. Just… I’m not sure what to say.”

“The Boo Seungkwan, at a loss for words? I’m shocked.” Your lighthearted comment is delivered without your usual confidence; you feel a bit lightheaded to be honest, overwhelmed by anticipation and your own desire to say something.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “It’s going to sound really selfish of me—” Your heart drops, and you think it’s a miracle your knees don’t give out. Somehow, it feels like he’s about to break things off for a second time, except what is there to break off? Your barely-there friendship? You’re so caught up in your own thoughts you nearly miss the rest of his statement.

“—I want us to get back together.”

Only silence follows. Seungkwan is staring at you and you feel as though you’re staring through him. You can’t even be certain you’re breathing for a moment, and you wonder if you heard him right.

“What?” It’s a miracle he even hears you, given how quietly you speak. Hesitant, but obviously a bit concerned by your dazed appearance, he closes the gap between you with a step, taking your hands in his. It feels so natural, and yet both of you are staring at your hands as though they’re foreign objects. 

“Having you here made me realize that I don’t want to share these momentswith anyone else,” he says, slowly, carefully. “The whole crowd is meaningless if you aren’t in it… I want to make you proud. I want to share my accomplishments with you…” You lift your gaze at the tell-tale waver of his voice, squinting in the dim light.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” he warbles, and you slip your hands from his with a sympathetic chuckle, cupping his face in your hands. You brush away the tears with your thumbs, smiling wistfully at him. 

“Are you sure about this?” you ask, still holding his face in your hands. You’re reluctant to let go, in case this is the last time you get to hold him like this. He nods, swallowing hard.

“I know it was my idea to break up,” he replies. “But I regret it. I’ve been regretting it. I thought maybe you did, too, but I didn’t want you to feel pressured…”

“You’ve never made me feel that way,” you murmur. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Seungkwan. If you want me by your side, I’ll always be there.” 

You hardly have time to react when Seungkwan is suddenly kissing you, his hands reaching around your waist to pull you closer to him. You melt into his welcome embrace, quickly falling back into the familiarity of Seungkwan, winding your arms around his neck. It feels more like coming home than any plane ride ever could have — like you could have been anywhere at all and just being in Seungkwan’s arms would make it comfortable, familiar for you. He pulls away only to press his forehead against yours, cheeks burning bright red and lips curved into a broad smile. 

“Finally.” Both you and Seungkwan startle, pulling away just enough to look towards the auditorium. All twelve of your friends are clustered around the base of the stairs; it appears to have been Minghao who had spoken. Before either of you can reply, he turns his sharp gaze to Soonyoung, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Looks like you’re paying for dinner tonight.” At his words, Soonyoung looks exaggeratedly dismayed, whining to him in annoyance. Everyone else, however, comes to crowd around the two of you. Jeonghan drapes an arm around each of you, grinning cheekily.

“No more hasty breakups then, right kids?” 

“Yah, why are you bringing that up now?” Seungkwan complains, shrugging Jeonghan off both of you. He takes your hand as he continues to bicker with Jeonghan, who smiles serenely all the while as your massive group begins walking to the nearest barbecue restaurant. As you glance down at your hand in Seungkwan’s where they gently swing as you walk, listening to the familiar banter of your boyfriend and best friend against the background of all your other friends around you on the sidewalk, you can’t keep the smile off your face.

After weeks, you finally feel like you’ve come home. 

[vinummagicae]

Since arriving at Camp Godspeed, things have been harrowing for the Son of Dionysus in some way, shape, or form. Not to say that life before becoming a demigod was any less so, but the trials and tribulations that this newfound life can bring seems almost more extreme than anything else. But maybe it felt similar to his life before all of this. Maybe, this new life, was better or worse. That is for Ender to decide. While there might be less darkness and more light. It can also seem the opposite—more darkness, less light. 

With the exception of the Trial of Deimos. After what felt like far too long in a nightmarish dimension, testing himself and his allies, Ender is back with the rest of the demigods at Camp Godspeed. Perhaps he considers this his home now, if one could call it that. Sleep doesn't come easy like it sometimes would. There is too much on his mind. Fresh scars and emotional wounds from what they'd endured in the Trial of Deimos. Eventually, though, he finds himself drifting to sleep. 

He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but when he wakes up, he's not where he remembers he fell asleep. Was he sleep walking? Was this a dream? He opens his eyes and he sees something, a familiar landscape. 

Please describe where Ender is. Be as descriptive as you would like.

It was the sun on his face that first caught his attention. His eyes were still shut from sleep but he didn’t have to open them to notice that he wasn’t in his bed back at camp anymore. When he had fallen asleep he was cold, a bit chilly even with the body pressed up against him clinging to him in deep sleep. So the feeling of the warm sun on his skin was enough to shock him out of the dream he was having and into opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the brightness. Normally one to fall asleep in a pitch black room, he had to blink away the light that was piercing his eyes and penetrating his head. No, none of that. A groan escaped him and he sat up using his hands as a leverage when he noticed the second thing; he was no longer on his bed but instead had been lying on the dry earth. 

Fingers dug into the soil as he looked around seeing nothing but tendrils of vines along trellis as far as his eyes could see. A small chuckle escaped him as he fully stood up, stretching his bones as he did so, letting his eyes now look around him taking it all in. Rows and rows of grapes like an endless sea stretched out in front of him; Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, Zinfandel, even Merlot. They were all there waiting to greet him like old friends that had been waiting for the college graduate to return after a semester abroad. The smile on his face was blinding, ignoring every bad memory that threatened to rush up from inside him at the sight of the familiar landscape. For now there was only one thing on his mind-- 

He was home.  

The endless rows of different grapes stand before Ender like beacons welcoming him home. They smell hits him next, rich and plentiful. Everything seems familiar to him. It's a beautiful sight to behold and a sense of ease begins to creep between his shoulders blades, tension that he didn't know was there beginning to dissipate. 

He begins to walk forward and the rows of grapes seem to have changed. Instead of straight lines, they break off into different directions. One continues forward, the others go off to the East and West. Different grapes line each trail before him. The decision on which way is all up to Ender.

Fingers outstretched he looks around at the vineyard as he slowly walks away from the house it was attached to and deeper into the trellis of grapes. How many times had his brother and him ran through these exact rows laughing as their younger sister chased after them, demanding that they bring her along too? Then later in life there was the time he brought Greyson here, as a way to steal a moment after introducing him to the family that drove Ender insane whenever he visited. Of course there were the other memories too, ones that he didn’t focus on in that moment because the sun was beaming down on his face and he was happy. 

Well at least until he came to the fork in the grapes, one he didn’t remember from being there before. Perhaps, mom just replanted some of them, Ender thought to himself not letting himself get to worked up in the change of scenery and found himself heading East more out of curiosity than anything. 

As memories begin to flood him, Ender's feet take him East. The rows and rows of grapes that are yellowish in color and go as deep as a light green color. He knows that these are typically used for white wines, which isn't the usual that he enjoys. 

But the scenery does begin to change. The further he goes, the more narrow the rows begin to get. Then the rows of grapes begin to cluster together, the vines are thick, barbed, and they start to encircle him, blocking off the path he came.

The sight of the white wine grapes only added to the elated mood he was feeling. It brought back a sense of familiarity at the memory of how his mother tended to prefer a glass of chardonnay with dinner, it being the first wine she ever sold. It was also the first sip of wine he had at the young age of seven, sealing his fate of his addiction in that moment. Though that was in the past, not things he wanted to dwell on as he reached the rows of grapes that slowly began to encircle him, cutting his way off from where he came. Perhaps a bit too late, Ender realized that he was no longer on his mother’s property anymore, no longer in the vineyard where he grew up chasing his brother in games they had played. He was trapped. 

The vines begin to creep in slowly, the grapes popping to reveal sharp barbed like thorns. They start to circle around his feet, getting ready to sweep him off his feet.

“Shit,” is the first thing he says when he sees the thorns appear from the grapes. He attempts to jump back away from them out of instinct like a child would if they came across a snake in the wild. However Ender soon realized that he couldn’t escape from them, trying his best to stay on his feet as he hopped from one foot to the other as they reached out at him. Looking around he searched for a way out of this, wishing that he hadn’t let his curiosity get the best of him and followed the unknown path. The drunken demigod was now desperate to get back into the warmth of the sun and familiarity he had felt moments before. 

In a panic, Ender looks for a way out. He spots a way through the vines, he just only has to jump through it and get to the other side.

As soon as he sees it, Ender jumps. Legs bending at his knees, he gathers momentum before he launches his lanky self into the air and through the vines in what he hopes looks like one of those cool action moves that all the heroes do in the movies. Landing he takes a second to steady himself before looking back at the vines he had escaped and this time instead of walking away from the thrones, he runs. Runs like he has done all his life when he ran from the troubles in LA or the thought of marriage in London. Ender may not be athletic like the others at camp but he was good from running away from his problems and his past and this was no different. Keeping his eyes ahead he focused on his breathing, relishing the pain in his lungs as they searched for oxygen and kept running until he felt like he was no longer in California where he grew up. When he stopped his fleeing he was standing in the middle of a very busy road with skyscrapers all around him reaching up towards the heavens. 

Ender runs and he runs hard. Everything he's ran from his entire life is like the vines chasing him, the thorns reaching out to grab him. The rows and rows of grapevines begin to wither away and give way to skyscrapers that erect toward the sky above. 

Cars whiz past him, honking their horns as he stops in the middle of a road, panting for oxygen that burns his lungs as if he's not going to get enough air to keep him from falling over.

There are tears in his eyes and he isn’t sure if that’s from the lack of oxygen in his lungs or the realization of where he ran to. Just like when he was younger, a boy fresh out of high school with only a dream to his name, he found himself in the city of Angels. “Fuck.” He hissed out looking around only moving to side step over when a car whizzed by him. It was all familiar in the best and worst ways possible. Almost a decade ago he had ran to this city looking for gigs that he could make his name with, break away from the shadow his step-father casted over him. It was clear that if he was to make it into Broadway every role he took would only be an excuse to compare himself to the living theater legend that was Roger McKenzie. He had revitalized and brought Shakespeare into the modern age as well as opened some of the most well known shows as a lead in the Winter Garden Theatre as well as others. No, if Ender wanted to be known for his work and not as ‘Roger McKenzie’s son’ then he had to try to make his chance here. 

So he did. 

Walking when he felt like he could breathe again, his steps were slow and his mind lost in thoughts before out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse in the reflection of himself in the store window. Pausing he turned to notice that no longer was his curls long enough to pin behind his head to keep them out of his face but instead it was trimmed shorter and styled perfectly almost on the top of his head with a single curl in his forehead. “Fuck,” even his voice was a bit higher as he glanced around and the rest of the signs falling into place; a billboard for the last Harry Potter movie was staring at him across the street, Katy Perry’s ‘Last Friday Night’ blasting from a car stereo as it drove past him. 

Not only did he somehow manage to run to LA but he had also managed to run back ten years in the past when he was just a 21 year old boy whose life was about to be shaken. 

The time wind to the past sends Ender for a loop. This was a time of promise, when he could make a name for himself, forge himself into the person that he always dreamed of becoming. He looks down at his hands, but he notices that he hasn't actually de-aged himself. It's just his reflection in the mirror, that piece of him that was still alive and bustling with energy. 

He stares and he stares and then, finally, the reflection says something to him. 

"What went wrong?"

Is it his voice that he hears? What does this voice sound like?

To someone who would barely knows Ender they would have easily assumed that the voice was his; it was the same pitch, the same accent but the delivery of it was what was different. While Ender would have asked this with remorse and regret perhaps laced with a bit of disgust, this image of him was asking in a way that was kind and caring. It felt like an arrow struck him in the heart at the sound, realizing he had gone almost a year now since he heard the other speak. “Leo,” Ender said softly to the reflection almost with disbelief at the sight of his twin staring there at him. Of course he thought it was himself at first glance, they both had worn their hair similar at that age. “You know what went wrong...you’re the one who came to pick me up when I called you crying.” It had been 3 am but yet Leo still came when his world and dreams came crashing around him ten years ago. The start of his descent to rock bottom. “You wanted to slash his tires or at least let you leak it to the press but--” Ender wouldn’t let him, knowing that it would have done more damage to his name than good. “Why am I back here?”

The spit image of Ender looks at himself and doesn't move, doesn't flinch. "WAS THIS THE START OF IT ALL? YOUR RUINATION?" The voice asks. The same colored eyes look Ender up and down. "MAYBE YOU'RE HERE TO REMEMBER. MAYBE YOU'RE HERE TO REMIND YOURSELF HOW FAR YOU HAVE GONE. WHY ARE YOU HERE?" The voice asks back, curious of the answer that Ender might give.

“I don’t know,” he hissed out at the version of Leo in the reflection. It was eerie to see him this young again after so many months of not talking. Ender knew that it was mostly in his head, just a projection of his twin but still-- “I didn’t have a start to my so-called ‘runation’. My life was always headed down this path, I just never stopped it. You said it yourself.” Their last conversation pushed his way through to his mind but he just like every other time it threatened to make itself known. He locked it in a box and threw away the key. “I never wanted to come back here and you knew that.” A final glare and he continued to walk as if that could escape the reflection and the painful memories it brought with it. 

When Ender leaves the glass sides of the buildings, the reflection falls away. Instead, the shadow that follows him has the voice now. "AND YET, YOU CAME BACK." The voice sounds like it's whispering in the back of his ear, in the shell of it. 

"WHY? WHAT MAKES THIS PLACE SPECIAL?" Just like the real life version of his brother, this one wouldn’t leave him alone it seemed. It was almost comical the familiar feeling of Leo chasing after him trying to get Ender to talk about whatever was bothering him that day. All they were missing was a small blonde girl following Leo wanting to be included in what her brothers did. “I didn’t plan to come here. I was cornered so I ran and when I stopped running I was here.” At that last word he spun in a small circle with his arms outstretched to show where exactly ‘here’ was. “This place was never special to me-- it was just a place that chewed me up and spit me back out like everyone else that believed the first too good to be true lie that came their desperate way.” 

"DO YOU WANT THIS PLACE TO ALWAYS BE THAT FOR YOU? OR DO YOU WILL IT TO CHANGE?" The shadow ebbs and flows from beneath Ender with each step. 

The Los Angeles scenery continues to speed around him as he walks along the sidewalks. "SHOW ME WHAT YOU WANT THIS PLACE TO BE."

SHOW ME WHAT YOU WANT THIS PLACE TO BE. 

Normally not one for taking commands that wasn’t in a sexual manner, Ender would have bitten back and yelled at the shadow version of his brother. Always one to defy what was told of him wanting to show people that they were wrong about the image of him they saw, even if they happened to see more of the truth than Ender wanted to let on. Yet when he heard those nine words hissed out to him, he didn’t start cursing and caused a scene for everyone around in this reverie to see. Instead he paused and looked around and this time he really looked. The sights were painful, filled with memories that he was still trying to push aside forever but he kept hearing those words over and over in his mind. Show me what you want this place to be. 

Ender took a few more steps before turning to head to the middle of the street weaving between the cars as he moved. When he got where he could see things around him, he inhaled and stared at the nearest building to him. It was a simple record shop hidden among tourist traps and if you weren’t looking for it, it was easy to pass as you walked by. Thankfully he had stopped there enough times to know where it was but that wasn’t what caught his eye today. 

There was a movie poster hanging from the window as the shop sold DVD’s on the side to bring in a bit more clientele off the streets. This movie poster had faded in the sun but it was clear as a bell for what recent film it was promoting. It would eventually go on to win Oscars in many categories but that wasn’t what made Ender stare at it no. Right in the middle of it was a classically handsome man with blonde hair and a smolder that was meant to attract the ladies into seeing even if there was nearly no chemistry between him and the lead and plot holes that made swiss cheese look solid. 

It was him and all Ender had to do was turn his head to see that not only was this man’s face on the poster in front of him but on billboards promoting the same movie and others of his around the city.

“I want this place to be _mine_. I want to take what he took from me.” His voice shook with anger causing the buildings of the memory to shake alongside his words. “THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO KNOW MY NAME, NOT HIS!” 

"YOU HAVE THE POWER." He hears the voice in the back of his head again, a whisper that encourages Ender to believe it. "SHOW ME WHAT YOU'LL DO TO MAKE THEM KNOW YOUR NAME."

The buildings around him shook as the anger only fueled him on. Anger that was hiding the fact that he was hurt still. Ten years and he still was broken over what had happened in this city. “I trusted you,” he called out to the man in the picture slowly watching as the blond shifted into an image of Ender instead, as if he had been the lead in the movie all along. “I trusted you and you used me!” His voice cracked some and a few tears fell down his cheek as the floodgates of pain and memories he had spent so long trying to keep hidden came flooding out. “You told me you could make me a star,” with an elegance that could only come from being who he was, he hopped up onto the hood of a car only to step up so he was standing on top of it now. “You told me that you would make them know my name!” He continued to cry out, letting his pain flow through his words as he shouted at the nearest billboard, one promoting another one of the blonde’s movies. “Yet you _lied_, said I came onto you and got me blacklisted on every fucking directors list in this fucking city!” 

Just like the poster the photo on the billboard shifted and turned into one carrying his face and name as the ten years of pain slowly began to pour out of him. “I LOVED YOU AND YOU BROKE ME!” Buildings were still shaking, threatening to buckle just seconds before the glass shattered and liquid poured out of them filling the streets. Amber, clear, colored and deep red filled the streets as the liquor flooded out of the establishments alongside the street turning the section of LA they were in, into Venice. Panting as he watched the booze run down the streets, splashing the feet of the people who were now staring up at him as if he was some kind of idol, Ender paused his ranting. Just standing there, his anger shifting into silence as he stared at the street below him the faces peering up at him now. 

Yet it still wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until-- 

His champagne eyes landed on the figure in the middle of the running liquid that seemed to have materialized from his anger. It was as if whatever this was, whatever dreamlike state of reverie he was in knew that this was what he wanted all along. 

“Carter.” 

As the anger that wrestles inside of Ender begins to grow like a tide, the running liquid begins to form a shape that he has long since yearned for. Venice unfurls around him, the streets reforming, reshaping as if Ender has willed it. 

Carter stands there, made of liquid as deep and red as the wine that Ender drinks. It doesn't move, it doesn't do anything but stay there, swaying like the liquid that pours into the streets.

For a second time stops as he stares at the version of the man who had betrayed him so deeply that it lingered for this long. Carter is made out of wine but Ender doesn’t care, perhaps it’s a bit better that he can’t physically wrap his hand around the man’s real neck and squeeze the life out of it. Instead he controls the wine that isn’t making up the figure and turns them into tendrils as he hops down from the car. Each step he takes in the river of booze, he parts like he was Moses in the Red Sea not wanting to get his shoes wet as he crossed the distance between them. When he is in front of the figure he stares it down treating it as if it really was the actor in front of him. “Remember the photos you took? How you said they would be better than headshots when it came to getting directors attention?” Images of him lying on a bed, naked, filled his mind as a tendril of wine wrapped itself around the figure’s wrist. Compromising positions that were guaranteed to make him noticed, he was promised. 

“Or how about the way you encouraged me to get on my knees for one when he wasn’t sure if I was the right fit for a part?” A simple suggestion that had worked because even in Hollywood all it took was a blowjob to get what you wanted. Another tendril found its way around the figure’s other wrist pinning him in place now. “I still stay up at night wondering if that part was worth the backlash it got me. How it got exposed that I was sleeping with directors for parts because, according to the tabloids, I wasn’t talented to get it any other way. Now I wonder who leaked it? Oh wait, it was _you_.” It had been one blowjob, one suggestion to him while high on coke and everything crumbled around him; his world, his future, his name. 

A final tendril of wine snaked up Carter’s body and wrapped itself slowly around his neck like a snake constricting its prey but before it could squeeze too tightly, Ender paused. His champagne hazel eyes were now turned deep red as he stared at the figure, anger still flowing through him but instead of yelling all he could camly say was, “honestly, I forgave you years ago for all of that. You were manipulated and just as naive as I was. Fuck, you weren’t even out of the closet so why should I have expected you to stay beside me the whole time holding me hand?” A dry chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. “No, you want to know what I can’t forgive you for?”

Leaning closer, his lips were at the figure’s ears as if he was about to tell him a secret he then confessed, “because of you I spiraled into a deep addiction that nearly--no did kill me. If it hadn’t been for you--if you hadn’t pressured me with false promises and lies, well--” Then he wouldn’t have ended up on the bathroom floor in his step father’s penthouse to be found by Leo with heart attack, three brain aneurysms, only able to walk away alive because of the blood that ran through his veins. “I was younger than you, you took advantage of me in my vulnerable moments and left me with an addiction and trauma that I will never be able to shake off. And all because you saw a young boy fresh out of high school with dreams that would believe anything that you said,” he wasn’t sure when the tears filled his eyes until one fell down his cheek a mixture of anger that was still boiling deep inside him but also the pain he felt. “I TRUSTED YOU!” 

Letting out a blood curdling scream of anger and pain, the tendril wrapped around the figure of wine’s neck tightened. Tighter and tighter until it popped like a water balloon exploding splashing and covering him with wine that had made up the image of Carter seconds before. Covered in wine that resembled blood Ender sobbed before falling to his knees letting everything that he had been holding in for years out. All the pain, betrayal, all of it. 

He didn’t want to run from it anymore. 

Ender unloads years worth of pent up frustration and again. Everything that he has bottled up, every ounce of pain that has embedded itself into himself unleashes in a torret of blood-red wine. The creature's head explodes as the tendrils of wine wrap around it like lithe fingers, choking the life from it until there's nothing but a puddle left where Carter once stood. 

Ender stands there panting, chest feeling heavy but then it feels light. 

The scene around him calms down and out of the surface of the water, another figure begins to form. 

What does Ender see? Is it a person or a thing? Describe what this figure looks like in as much detail as you would like.

Silence. For a second there is only silence. It was Ender’s pet peeve, the sound of nothing and usually tried to fill the void with music or speaking. One of the many reasons he enjoyed the stage and the life it created through it’s art. Yet in that moment he relished the silence, accepted it and just focused on the nothingness as he came down from his sobbing spell. When he finally felt like he could breathe again, he noticed the figure in front of him, one that wasn’t made of wine like Carter had been moments before. 

Glancing up, he stared at the face that was similar to his own but it was no mirror this time, no reflection or mind tricks of Liza in New York. “Now what, Leo?” He huffed out softly, running a finger through his own curls. Ender was still on his knees in the middle of the street from when he collapsed with the pain from years gone by he had bottled up, so looking up at the figure of his twin was a bit straining on his neck. “Is this some sort of test? Do you want me to go back to New York now and relive our last conversation? What do you want from me?” 

As Leo stands before him, identical to Ender in almost every way, he reaches a hand out toward him, motioning behind him. "No, not New York. You have a new home now." The voice is still the same as before, identical to his own, but higher pitched, younger. He reaches down and places a hand on Ender's shoulder before he helps him to his feet. 

"You have been through so many things, Ender. You know who you are and you know what you can overcome. Continue your fight, continue forward." There is a tentative smile on Leo's face before he turns Ender around to look at Los Angeles' streets. They roll into the same vineyard he grew up in, somehow connected. 

"Make a name for yourself."

He pushes Ender forward, as if telling him to go and as Ender is forced to take a step, he jolts awake. He's back where he fell asleep—back in Camp Godspeed, in familiar sheets, in a warmth that encompasses his entire body. Tears have stained his cheeks, as if he was crying in his sleep. But his chest feels lighter than it has in a long time. There's a lightness to it. He feels his own blood surging in his veins and it feels...stronger, like a connection has been formed, something inside of him unlocked. 

He feels new, reforged, ready to, perhaps, take the world by storm. 

He falls back asleep after a while, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. It doesn't make sense and yet, he feels perfect clarity. When he finally falls back asleep, it's a dreamless sleep that feels the most refreshing he's had since before he can remember. He wakes the next morning and he feels powerful. It's a strange feeling coming from a place of powerlessness, but maybe now, in this new life he's been given, he's ready to embrace the power that he's always had inside of him.. 

[scarletemeterio-thesecond]

hey, i saw you write for tdp, could i request a soren x reader imagine where reader is a half-elf or something like that? please make reader gender neutral if you can

Omg, my first request! I love this idea, there are not enough Soren imagines, and of course I'll make it gender neutral! I hope you like it! It's a bit long because I had to put some context in it, much love <3

•••

Uncovered Secrets (Soren x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death

Genre: Angst, a lil bit of fluff.

Fandom: The Dragon Prince

Summary: See request

Word Count: 1978

part 2

I've always had to hide myself from everyone. I had to learn from a young age how to do it. I've always been told how, when I was a baby, I was found at the border and given to my father after saying he would take care of me, and he has ever since. I'm a hybrid, half Moonshadow Elf and half human, so I had to learn as soon as possible how to do magic in order to create illusions to hide my appearance. I remember when I first did it at the age of ten, I was so happy, all those years of covering my head and half of my face were over, I didn't even have to paint my eyebrows anymore; I could finally be normal and treated like any other human in Katolis.

Life from that moment really changed for me. My father was a respected general so I'd always lived in the castle, but I started hanging out with the other kids, Prince Callum and Lord Viren's children. We quickly became inseparable and did pretty much everything together. I think it's safe to say that everyone knew about my special friendship with Soren. I don't know why, but we just understood each other even from a young age, and it only got stronger as the years passed. He was always there for me as I was there for him, he'd helped me a lot when my father passed away and I trusted him with my life, we knew everything about each other... except for what I really was. I thought about telling him a couple times but I knew it was wrong, and I knew how much humans hated elves, even Soren. But this was the life I had, I was destined to hide from the people I cared about the most. Or at least, that was until Rayla appeared in our lives.

The two Princes, Rayla and I discovered that the egg of the dragon prince hadn't been destroyed, and we were going to take it home to its mother. During our trip, I decided to tell them the truth, if Rayla had been accepted as our friend then there was no reason to fear anymore. Thankfully, I was right, nothing changed between us and I even stopped using magic to hide my true appearance. It was weird but at the same time it felt right, it was freeing.

We've been staying with Lujanne for a few days now, enjoying the little dragon's company and giving ourselves a little break. Rayla and I knew we had to go, though, but the Princes weren't very interested on leaving yet, so we agreed to stay one more day. Everything seemed fine but the elven girl and I felt a bit unsafe, so we decided to take turns and keep guard in case something or someone decided to appear.

It was my turn to keep guard so I was looking for Rayla to replace her but when I found her she was lying on the ground, surrounded by two people. I prepared myself to attack, thanking my father for all those sword and combat lessons he'd make me take, I wouldn't let them hurt her.

"Get away from her!" I yelled as I approached them, but I stopped when I realized who they were. Soren and Claudia were standing a few feet away from me and it felt like I hadn't seen them in a lifetime.

"Oh, great, another elf?" Soren said. "So what, there's like a whole other group of you?" I could sense the hatred and disgust in his voice. He didn't recognize me, neither of them did. Before I could say or do something, Rayla woke up and took them by surprise.

She started fighting with Soren and I got out of my trance only when Callum showed up, trying to calm everyone down. He was happy to see them and I would've been too, but I just couldn't believe what had happened.

"She kidnapped you and Prince Ezran, how can she be good?" asked Claudia about Rayla. "And it seems like she didn't act alone because there's another one of them too!".

"No, wait! There was no kidnapping, Claudia. We went with her by choice" explained the older Prince. "And what do you mean by 'another one of them'?"

"Well, what does that mean then?" said Soren, pointing at me. Hearing him speak about me like that was the worst thing I could've ever imagined.

"That is (Y/N)" answered Rayla, clearly annoyed at the blonde boy.

"What do you mean? (Y/N)'s hair is not white and they don't have horns, or pointy ears, or those weird things under their eyes! Stop lying!"

"Soren, she's right. It's me" as soon as I said that I used my magic to change how I looked, going back to how they knew me. "I'm a hybrid, I've been using magic ever since I was ten to blend in".

I could tell he was shocked and he opened his mouth to say something but the words never came out.

"Listen, guys, it's late. Let's just get some rest and cool off, okay?" We all agreed to Callum's words and went back with the others but I could tell there was a thick tension in the air. And that tension stayed there until we all went to bed.

When we woke up, we had breakfast together and I started using my magic again, at least when Claudia and Soren were around, I already knew what they thought of me and I didn't want to put up with their looks too. I spent all day learning some magic with Lujanne, it was nice to learn from an actual mage and it didn't hurt to get my mind off some things for a while.

When I was done for the day and ready to go to bed, I heard someone knocking the door.

"Come in" I said loudly.

"You'll never guess what happened today, (Y/N)" said Rayla as she entered the room, we had become good friends in the last couple days and it felt nice to have someone kind of like me around. She told me about what Soren had done earlier that day, and about how she tried to talk to Callum but he didn't pay any attention to her. "And I just talked to Lujanne because maybe she would help me and I realized that the only way for them to completely trust me is by telling them the truth, even if it hurts them".

"The truth? What do you mean, Rayla?"

"This is not easy to say but... Their father is dead and I've been wanting to tell Callum but I just don't know how to and I-"

"Hey, Rayla. It's okay, you're just trying to protect them, I'm sure they will understand. We're friends, remember?" I interrupted her, trying to clam her down. She let out a deep breath and nodded with her head. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course, (Y/N). We're friends, remember?" she said, repeating my words. I smiled weakly before continuing.

"I'm not totally surprised about what you said about Soren, not after how he reacted with me at least. And you know what's the worst part? I'm sure that his father is behind what happened earlier today. I know him but he just needs Viren's approval, you know? And it hurts, a lot actually. I just hope he realizes there are people who truly care about him before it's too late".

"You like him, don't you?" I opened my eyes at her words, trying to deny it but all she did was smile. "You're not very good at hiding it, (Y/N)".

"I guess I'm not. I just hope that deep down you are wrong and that they both realize that what they're trying to do is wrong".

"I hope so, too" she hugged me tight, wrapping her arms around my neck. "It's late, I think I'm gonna go to bed" she said as she started heading towards the door to go to her room.

"Go, I'll stay up a bit longer".

And suddenly that 'bit longer' turned into at least two hours. I couldn't sleep, I just kept thinking about Soren and his attitude. I decided to get out of my room and go to the Moon Nexus, if I was going to stay awake thinking about things at least I would have a nice view while doing it.

I was standing against the edge when I heard someone coming. I started hiding my true appearance out of instinct but was interrupted in the middle of the act.

"You don't have to do that". Soren's voice sounded loud in contrast to the silence of the night. I stopped using my magic and he came to my side. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah... What made you change your mind?" He stood there looking confused, not understanding what I was talking about. "Yesterday you didn't even recognize me without the illusion and even looked disgusted at the sight of me. What's changed?"

"I noticed you hide your elf-like features when I'm around, but I've never seen you being more you than when you stop hiding" I looked at him confused, I thought I'd made sure to use my magic whenever he was around. I could tell he saw how disconcerted I was. "I saw you practicing your magic earlier today and then playing with the kids. I've never seen you so... Happy and free".

There was a brief silence between us until I broke it.

"That's because I've never truly felt like that, until I stopped hiding".

"I'm sorry for acting like that yesterday, I was a fool. And I think you look really cute like this".

"So you don't hate me?"

"How could I ever hate you? You're the most important thing in my life, (Y/N)".

I smiled at his words and turned my gaze to the water underneath us. I looked into his eyes again and we started getting closer and closer, but just when our lips where about to touch, I backed off.

"I'm sorry but I really need to ask you something. Why did you lie to the boys earlier, saying that King Harrow missed them?" he looked confused and a little bit scared.

"W-What to you mean?"

"There's no way you hadn't known that he was dead, you literally are a Crown Guard, Soren. So just tell me why you did it, please".

Again, there was silence, but this time it was tense and extremely awkward.

"I-I'm sorry but-"

"But what? You can't tell me? Why? Because it would ruin whatever plan your father has regarding the Princes?" I stopped to look at him but he was avoiding my eyes. "Because you don't want to admit that it was a strategy to be able to kill the boys a lot easier by making them trust you?" I said, remembering what Rayla had told me before about the zip line.

He just stood there, now a few feet apart from me and I could se how surprised he was, but I also could see something else, that I was right about my assumptions.

"You don't understand, (Y/N), I-"

"Oh, no, Soren. I think I understand really well".

As soon as I said that I left, going back to my room with tears running down my face, and ignoring Soren's voice calling for me. How could he even think about doing that? How would I tell the Princes? Would I even tell them at all or would I just try to keep them safe without destroying the image they had about his so-called friend? I had so many questions and not even one answer. I only knew that Rayla wasn't wrong at all.

•••

Oh, boy, this took a long time to write. I was thinking about doing a part 2 but I'm not sure about it.

-Mica :)

[jamaisjoons]

intro: her V ⤑ knj | m

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:〝 you enter namjoon’s life in the most unexpected of ways, but will you be able to stay, especially when he comes with three adorable but chaotic children, even more chaotic best friends and a bitch of an ex-wife? not to mention your own emotional baggage. 〞singe dad au.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: single dad!namjoon x marine vet!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: mentions of blood, more tooth-rotting fluff, some insane sexual tension, reader and joon pining over each other

➵ 𝚊 /𝚗: someone yell at me to make them bone already, please

⏤ Rewritten as of 26/02/2020

⇥ Previous || Masterlist || Next

Chapter 5: Sick Day Sunday

On Sunday, you’re awoken in a similar way you were the day before. Alarm blaring under your ear, barely muffled by your pillow, you immediately sit up before checking the clock, eyes bleary as you read the time. ‘5:08am’ it reads and you groan, wondering who the hell was rude enough to wake you up at such an ungodly hour with a phone call of all things. You pull your phone out from under your pillow, sitting up more alert when Namjoon’s name flashes across the screen. Quickly, you slide the call button, pressing your phone to your ear. Worry fills your being, stomach churning. Namjoon wouldn’t call so early unless it was urgent.

“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you ask, voice still rough from sleep.

“___! Shit, I’m so sorry for waking you up like this but I’ve got a problem,” Namjoon starts, his voice panicked. Your back straightens, Rap Mon whining as he jumps on the bed. However, you ignore him, your heart racing at Namjoon’s frantic tone.

“What’s wrong?” you quickly ask.

“I- The boys are sick, they’ve all got a mild fever but Jimin is throwing up... I tried calling the paediatrician but they didn’t pick up because it so early on Sunday and none of the hyungs are answering their phone,” Namjoon’ replies. You immediately jump out of bed, running into the bathroom as you put Namjoon on speakerphone.

“How high is his fever?” you ask, mouth slightly muffled by the toothpaste foam as you begin brushing your teeth.

“It was 103 the last time I checked,” Namjoon says and you can hear the nervousness in his voice. Anything under 104 wasn’t a cause for major concern, but considering how close it was to that threshold, mixed with Jimin’s vomiting, has you worried.

“You need to take him to the hospital. If his fever is that high and he’s vomiting you definitely need to take him there. Text me the hospital and I’ll meet you,” you say, hanging up before Namjoon could object. You hastily finish your morning routine, not wanting to waste any time. One child being sick was already a cause for concern, but three all at once? Especially with Namjoon by himself? You couldn’t imagine that he was doing well at all, at least not from the panic in his voice.

Getting ready quicker than you ever had, you grabbed Rap Mon’s harness and lead before heading out. Inputting the address of the hospital into your phone, you quickly get into your car, practically speeding in your rush. Half an hour later, you manage to get there, parking your car in a hurry. You roll the window down slightly, turning the air conditioning on so Rap Mon doesn’t overheat. Then, practically running, you rush into the hospital’s waiting room, the people looking at your frantic state in bewilderment. However, you don’t care, and instead, you begin looking around for Namjoon and the boys. You don’t spot him immediately, causing you to run through the hospital, narrowly avoiding the nurses who send you dirty looks.

Eventually, you manage to find Namjoon. You skid to a halt, taking in his appearance. He’s slightly hunched over, his shoulders tense, Taehyung and Jungkook sit on his right, cuddling into each other as Jimin is seated on Namjoon’s lap, his father fussing over him. You quickly walked up to him, Namjoon’s head snapping up. You smile softly, Namjoon returning his own harrowed smile while you bend down. Gently, you run your hands through Jimin’s hair before pushing it out of his head, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand.

“How is he? What did they say?” you ask, taking a seat on Namjoon’s left. Jungkook shifts at your voice, opening his eyes slowly. He sits up straighter when he notices your arrival. Hopping off the seat, Taehyung flopping into Namjoon’s side bonelessly, Jungkook walks over to you. He rubs his eyes sleepily before making a grabbing motion for you. Without thinking, you pick Jungkook up, allowing him to crawl into your lap. Instinctively, your arms wrap around Jungkook, letting him snuggle into you.

“We only got here twenty minutes ago. They haven’t taken him in yet. They told me to fill in the paperwork and take a seat. We were just waiting for the paediatrician, he’s in with another child right now,” Namjoon says and you nod. He lets out a slightly disgruntled sigh, running his hand through his hair. Your eyes flick to his head: his hair is completely mussed up, stray hairs sticking up in random positions. He looks tenser than you’ve ever seen him - with dark bags under his eyes. You reach over, taking his hand in yours and squeezing, offering him as much comfort as you could. Namjoon turns to you, looking at you with his dark eyes.

“It’s going to be okay. If they didn’t take him in immediately, it can’t be that much of an emergency. Jimin will be alright,” you reassure with a smile. Namjoon’s shoulders slump instantly and he nods, lacing your fingers with his. He shifts, leaning his body into you before collapsing completely, head rested against your shoulder. You bite your lip before resting your own head against his.  Namjoon closes his eyes, basking in your comforting presence, letting both your words and presence wash over him and ease his worries.

The both of you sit in silence for long, drawn-out moments, Namjoon resting against you and your hands held together as Jungkook’s light snores fill the room. For most of it, Taehyung is completely still, lost in his deep sleep, feet kicking every now and then. Jimin however, tosses and turns in his father’s arm, whining in his sleep, undoubtedly uncomfortable from his fever and Namjoon’s body heat. Namjoon doesn’t mind so much, content to allow Jimin to move around as he leans against you. So, instead, you reach over gently, unbuttoning a couple of buttons on Jimin’s shirt to cool him down slightly. Jimin stills, returning back to his sleep.

You return back to your position, Namjoon mumbling a few words and squeezing your hand in thanks - most likely too tired to move. He isn’t dressed in his casual clothes and you wonder if he’d been up writing lyrics or producing music before he had to rush over to the hospital. If he had, he’d probably be even more exhausted. However, rather than pitying him, you only find a newfound respect for Namjoon. He somehow managed to keep up with a busy schedule while still caring for his three sons to the best of his ability - all at a young age of twenty-four. Suddenly, it makes sense why he’s so wise beyond his ears: he had to grow up quicker and more than most people your age.

A while longer, the two of you sit, Namjoon in a light sleep. You flick through your phone, scrolling aimlessly through Tumblr. A fansite photo of Namjoon pops up and you reblog automatically before freezing. Slowly your mind realises that you’re sitting next to Namjoon. You chuckle lightly to yourself at the absurdity of it, wondering what the fansite or any of his fans would do if they could see him right now, mouth slightly open and almost drooling. It was wholly different, a complete one-eighty from his cool and sexy stage persona.

Fifteen minutes later, a short, middle-aged nurse finally walks over to you both. You sit up straighter, gently nudging Namjoon awake. He quickly straightens up, rubbing the drool from his lips before turning to the nurse hopefully.

“Hello! Sorry for the wait. The doctor can see you now. One parent or guardian needs to accompany him. Do you or your wife want to take him in?” She asks, smiling kindly at both of you, looking through what you assume were Jimin’s health records. You blush at her words, shaking your head frantically.

Hastily, “I’m not his wife!” you interject. The nurse looks slightly taken back by your sudden outburst. She looks between the two of you and you realise exactly what the scene looks like. With the three boys and the way Namjoon was just resting against you, your hands still held together, you undoubtedly look like a family. Your blush intensifies as you stutter trying to explain the situation.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I just assumed,” she apologises, her eyes twinkling at the two of you. There’s a knowing smile on her face and you sigh, already knowing exactly what was running through her head.

“I’ll come with. Can you stay with Jungkook and Taehyung?” Namjoon asks and you nod, letting go of his hand. Namjoon stands, shifting Jimin in his arms so his legs were around his waist. Then, the two walk away and into one of the private rooms. Taehyung gets up at Namjoon’s sudden movement, looking around sleepily.

“Noona? When did you come here?” Taehyung asks and you smile at him, patting the seat next to you.

With a soft voice, you address him, “hi Taehyungie, just a little while back.” Taehyung shifts closer to you before looking around, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Where are daddy and Jiminie?”

“They’ve gone into that room with a nice nurse to see what’s wrong with Jimin,” you reply and he nods, lying down on the seat before placing his head in your lap. Automatically, you shift Jungkook’s leg, making more space on your thigh for Taehyung’s head.

“Jiminie was throwing up. Daddy was very worried. Is Jiminie going to be okay?” Taehyung asks as you pet his hair, playing with the long, soft locks.

“Jimin’s going to be fine Tae. He’s just a bit more unwell than you and Kookie. Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” you ask and Taehyung shakes his head, curling up further into the seat and nuzzling his head into your lap.

“My head hurts.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Taehyung nods, already falling back asleep. Soothingly, you run your fingers through his hair, adjusting it so that it’s not all over the place, watching as Taehyung slowly falls back asleep. He’s somewhere between awake and asleep when he lets out a sneeze and you almost jump from how loud it is. You gawk at him, wondering how someone so small could make such a loud sound - but Taehyung pays no attention to you as he drifts back to sleep.

Namjoon and Jimin are only in the room for another half an hour before they both exit. Namjoon looks relieved and the tension has finally disappeared from his shoulders. Jimin is awake and pouting, his chubby cheeks stained red and head rested on Namjoon’s shoulder, almost as if he was trying to hide. You sit up straighter, smiling at them as Namjoon walks towards you.

“You can pick up the antibiotics from the hospital’s pharmacy. Here are the bills. You can pay them at reception,” The nurse says, handing Namjoon some papers.

“Thank you for your help,” Namjoon replies, bowing.

“What did they say? Is he okay?” You ask, Namjoon nodding with a smile.

“He’s got gastroenteritis. It’s common in children apparently and the reason he was vomiting,” Namjoon says and you nod, looking sympathetically at Jimin.

“What about the fever?” you ask and Namjoon sighs.

“Bacterial infection. They’ve given antibiotics for it though,” Namjoon says, showing you the prescription.

“Wouldn’t that need a lab test?” you ask curiously and Namjoon rubs his face.

“Yeah, they took a…” Namjoon begins, then lowering his voice, “faecal sample,” he whispers lowly. You watch Jimin’s cheeks heat further, the apples of his cheeks a bright rosy hue. “It’s why he’s not happy. Didn’t like being woken up and having someone else take his… you know,” Namjoon says quietly. Jimin sniffles slightly, before he buries his face further into Namjoon’s shoulder at his father’s words. Well, that explains why he’s hiding in Namjoon’s shoulder.

“They got the lab results alright? That was quick?” you say, watching as Namjoon picks Taehyung up, carrying them both in one arm each. You pick Jungkook up, careful not to wake him up as you both walked towards reception.

“They said it’d take a while but I didn’t want to wait. I paid to have it expedited,” Namjoon says, greeting the receptionist before showing her the paperwork. Your eyebrows shoot into your hairline at the bill, watching Namjoon pay it off as if it were nothing. Then again, you think, it probably is nothing to him. He’s more than rich enough to afford it, especially if it meant Jimin would get treated faster. After a small stop to the in-hospital pharmacy, the two of you finally exit the hospital.

“Do we need to keep Jimin away from Jungkook and Taehyung? In case the infection spreads or something?” you ask as the both of you walking to the car park. Namjoon’s eyes widen slightly at your use of ‘we’, but once again, you’ve barely even noticed you’ve said it.

“According to the nurse and doctor, they’ve already been exposed to it. We just need to be careful, make sure they don’t share spoons or things like that. Other than that, they should be fine,” Namjoon says and you nod. You didn’t really want to think about how lonely Jimin would be if you couldn’t be around his brothers, especially Taehyung. The two were so attached, never being apart from each other due to being twins.

“I brought my car. I can drive you home,” you say, leading Namjoon to your car, Monie sitting up and barking as he spots you both approaching, his tail wagging. You calm Rap Mon down, putting all three boys in the back before buckling them up, Monie lays across the floor, his head rested on the seat between Jungkook and Taehyung as he whines at the three boys.

“Rap Mon! Don’t wake them up,” you reprimand quietly, your voice stern. Monie’s head bows down as he turns to you, with his best puppy dog face.

“No! Don’t give me that look, Mister,” you continue. At the firmness in your voice, Monie turns back, laying his head on the seat once again but no longer whining. Namjoon chuckles, reaching back and petting Monie. He turns back, smiling at you. Returning his smile, you start the engine; driving out of the hospital and towards Namjoon’s home.

By the time you pull into Namjoon’s drive, it’s already 8am. You kill the engine, turning to him before your eyes soften. He’s fast asleep, slight snores escaping his nose. You turn to the back, checking on the boys. They’re all fast asleep too, Monie’s head laying in Taehyung’s lap as he watches him. Turning back to Namjoon, you take him in. His head is leaning against the window, the sun shining on him through the glass, encasing him in a halo. You lean your head against your seat, taking the chance to watch him unhindered. His lips are slightly spread and you can almost see his teeth. Involuntarily, a smile creeps on your face. He looks so soft that before you even realise what you’re doing, your hand is reaching out, brushing some of his hair from his forehead.

Namjoon’s eyes slowly open at the light touch and you freeze as he catches you pulling away. You both stare at each other, eyes unwavering. Instantly, you try to pull back but Namjoon grabs your hand, and abruptly pulls your body into his. Your eyes widen as you’re thrust forward, Namjoon arms wrapping around your body as he holds you close to him. He places his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. The scent of sandalwood and vanilla fills your senses, and despite yourself, you find yourself leaning further into him, your arms wrapping around him, hands fisting into his shirt.

“Thank you,” Namjoon whispers, his voice low.

“For what?” you ask - internally cheering at how stable your voice is.

“For being there. For picking up my call 5am even when the hyungs didn’t. For coming to the hospital so early. For taking care of the boys. For worrying about them - even though they’re not your children. Just… thank you... for everything,” Namjoon blurts out, voice heavy with emotion. Your grip on him tightens.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ll be here. For them and you. For as long as you want me to be here,” you reply with a voice quiet. Namjoon pulls you in tighter, squeezing you against him. The two of you sit together for a little while, breaking up only when the boys begin stirring. The two of you let go of each other, smiling at one and other softly, despite the light blush on both your faces.

“Daddy? I’m hungyee,” Jungkook says, rubbing his eyes. You grin, laughing at his inability to pronounce the ‘r’ sound.

“Alright Nochu, let’s go,” Namjoon says, Jungkook grinning. You slowly wake Jimin and Taehyung up, grabbing their hands and following Namjoon and Jungkook into their home. Monie follows you both happily, already running into the house with Jungkook.

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Namjoon asks and you nod, smiling gently at him.

“I could do with some food. What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know if I have any food in the fridge. I don’t really cook. Most of the time we just eat out or with Seokjin-hyung. I was thinking we could just order something,” Namjoon replies. You bend over, the back of your hand pressed against Jungkook’s forehead before moving to Taehyung. With a frown, you shake your head at Namjoon.

“Whatever you order would probably be too harsh for them. Kook and Tae are still running warm and Jimin needs something mild or he may throw it up. How about this: we can go to the supermarket and get some ingredients and then cook? We can make some dakjuk for the boys, it’ll be gentle enough for Jimin’s stomach and all three can eat it. I can even make some extra for later on. And you and I can have omelettes, rice and tofu?” you suggest, Namjoon looking at you in awe.

“That… sounds good... yeah. Give me a bit to shower and change. I feel like I’ve been in these clothes way too long,” Namjoon says and you grin at him.

“How about this then? I’ll go and get ingredients by myself. Then you can shower and I’ll be back once you’re done,” you offer, Namjoon quickly shaking his head.

“No! I can’t ask you to do that, you’ve already done so much,” Namjoon refutes but you’re already grabbing your keys.

“It’s alright! Besides, I don’t think the boys will want to leave now anyway. Watch Monie for me and enjoy your shower,” you call, already leaving the house. Monie tries to follow you but you shake your head, making him whine. However, Taehyung call his name and Rap Mon immediately forgets about you, turning and leaving you alone. You watch, mouth agape as your dog ignores you. Dejected sigh escaping your mouth, you’re unsure if you should find the sight adorable or be upset that your dog likes Namjoon’s children more than you. You wave at Namjoon, exiting the house and getting into your car once again.

Forty-five minutes later, you’re back at Namjoon’s house, ringing his doorbell. You juggle the bags of groceries in your arms as you wait for Namjoon to open the door. However, you don’t have to wait long, because a couple of moments later, he answers. At the sight of him, your eyes widen, your jaw almost dropping to the floor. His hair is wet, droplets running down his thick, tan neck and along his collarbone before disappearing under his shirt. He’s dressed casually: in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, the latter of which is slightly damn and sticking towards his torso. Your mouth practically runs dry and instantly, you lose all your train of thoughts.

“Here let me help you,” Namjoon says, smiling as he takes the groceries out of your arms, his dimples deepening. He turns to walk towards the kitchen and your throat runs dry at the fullness of his thighs and ass in his sweats. You swallow thickly, trying to lubricate your throat before closing your eyes and breathing deeply in an attempt to collect yourself. You can’t just stand here, drooling over Namjoon, while his kids are sick. That’s absolutely not okay. And yet here you are, imagining what it’d be like to run your hands along his torso, or how his thighs would feel between yours.

“____?” Namjoon calls out and you immediately kick back into gear, smacking your cheeks and reprimanding yourself for your inappropriate thoughts.

Swiftly, you follow him, finding the kitchen easily. Your mind flashes back to the first time you had visited Namjoon’s house, the place feeling like a maze. But now, six months after meeting him and many visits to his house later, you could navigate his house almost as if it were your own. You step into the kitchen, Namjoon already grabbing pots and pans out of various cupboards. He turns to you, hands out as he gestures towards all the equipment, an adorable smile on his face. You break out in a grin before joining him, pulling the groceries out of the bag.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Namjoon asks curiously, watch you fill a large saucepan with water, putting it to the boil before you begin prepping chicken.

“Cut some onions for me?” you ask and Namjoon nods. You return to your task, finishing the chicken before beginning to chop some ginger and garlic. Needing the onions, you turn back to Namjoon. Instead, however, you’re left reeling in shock. He’s holding the knife upside down, barely managing to slice them. The one he has sliced is asymmetrical and practically smushed. Struggling to cut the onion, Namjoon puts his hand on the blade of the knife, pressing down.

“Namjoon no!” you call - but the damage is already done. Namjoon cuts his hand with a hiss and immediately, you rush towards him. “Namjoon! What is wrong with you?” you admonish, grabbing his hand and quickly running it under cold water.

“I was cutting the onions! You told me to cut the onions,” Namjoon gripes. You tut at him, grabbing a clean towel before wrapping it around his hand.

“Yes, but why were you holding the knife upside down?” you practically yell. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook walk into the kitchen, Rap Mon following them.

“Daddy!” The boys call out, running to him, tearing up at the sight of his blood.

“Daddy are you okay?” Jimin cries and you quickly usher them out of the kitchen.

“Daddy is going to be okay, I’m going to look after him. But I need you to be good boys and sit here with Monie okay?” you say, the boys nodding as they sniffle.

“Noona please save daddy. You’re a doctor yes?” Jungkook snivels and your heart lurches at the clear distress in his voice before you bend down to his height.

“It’s okay Kookie. It’s just a small cut, nothing is going to happen alright?” you reassure and Jungkook nods, Monie nuzzling into him out of comfort. Once the boys are settled down, you run back into the kitchen; Namjoon now seated on the chair as he applies pressure to his wound. You unwrap the towel from his hand, wincing at the cut. It’s deeper than you thought it would be.

“Do you have a first aid kit? I think you need stitches but I take it you don’t want to go back to the hospital?” you ask, Namjoon nodding.

“It’s in that cabinet,” he points out and you quickly walk over, finding the small toolkit of bandages, disinfectants and cotton buds. You wrap the towel around his hand again and order him to put pressure on the wound once again.

“Okay, I’m going to need sutures and a needle. Luckily, I keep a more fully stocked med kit in my car. Give me a couple of minutes, I’ll be right back” you call as you run out, smiling at the boys to reassure them when you pass them. A couple of moments later, you return with your first aid kit. You grab a bowl from a drawer, filling it with warm water before adding some disinfectant after washing your hands with the antibacterial soap you keep in your kit. Unwrapping the towel from his hand once again, you throw it onto the counter.

“Why do you just keep a medkit in your car?” Namjoon asks, curiosity winning over as he watches you dip a cotton pad into the disinfected water, slowly cleaning off his would. He winces slightly, almost pulling his hand away at the stinging sensation of the medicated water.

“Did you forget I was a veterinarian or?” you ask, glancing up at him through your eyelashes before returning to treating his wound.

“Oh… yeah, I forgot. I just associate you with working at the aquarium,” Namjoon replies, shrugging and almost jogging you. You snort, putting down the cotton pad before grabbing an antiseptic ointment from the first aid kit.

“Yeah, I work at the aquarium. Where I look after the fish and treat any of the mammals if they’re hurt,” you emphasise.

“But does that mean you can treat humans?” he asks, cocking his head to the side slightly, watching the way you work.

“Well… technically yes. Legally, no. I did go to med school for a year before dropping out thought. Animals were nicer and much more friendly and I enjoyed it more than med school. Then I decided to specialise in marine veterinary,” you recount, Namjoon nodding. He watches your lips purse, blowing on his wound as you slowly, but carefully disinfect it. Your hair falls into your eyes, but before you can move it, he’s already reaching out to push it behind your ears. You glance up at him again, your face slightly heated. Namjoon stares down at you, you look almost irresistible: staring up at him through your eyelashes, lips still pursed. He wants nothing more than to pull you into a kiss and taste you. He’s stopped, however, when he realises he’s once again bleeding.

“Umm… my hand,” he points out and you blink blankly before turning back to his, startled as you realise he’s bleeding once again. With a yelp of surprise, you berate yourself internally. Here he is bleeding, and instead of treating him, you’re busy thinking about his lips. Shame on you. You grab another piece of cotton, dipping it in the disinfected water and cleaning the leaking blood once again.

“Okay, I’m going to stitch you up now. It’s probably going to sting. Do you need to hold something?” you ask, opening a brand new sterilised needle before threading the suture through it.

“I’ll be fine. I’m a grown man,” Namjoon says coolly and you snort as his casual tone before shrugging.

“Your loss.”

You take a deep breath, steadying your hands before pressing the needle into his skin. Namjoon abruptly yelps, jerking his hand away. Luckily, your reflexes are quick enough that you pull the needle away before it can impale him.

“Namjoon! Be careful, I don’t want to hurt you more than you’ve hurt yourself,” you reprimand, grabbing his hand once again.

“Sorry, it hurt more than I thought it would,” Namjoon says sheepishly and you roll your eyes.

“Of course, it will. It’s a fresh wound and I’m stitching it up. Now, do you want something to squeeze?” you ask once again but Namjoon refutes your offer. You tut at him, this time grabbing his hand and holding tightly.

Once again, you press the needle into his skin. Namjoon winces, his other hand immediately shooting out and gripping your thigh. You freeze, staring at the way his hand is splayed across you, fingertips digging into your flesh. Namjoon jerks away, realising what he’s done but you shake him off.

“If you need to squeeze my thigh while I do this, then do it,” you mumble under your breath, “whatever you do, just stay still,” you continue. Namjoon nods, his hand moving back to its spot on your thigh. Once again, you begin threading the suture through his cut, Namjoon wincing and tightening his grip every now and then. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re glad his hand is on your thigh - it keeps you somewhat grounded; your heart pounding as you slowly stitch him up. He’s entirely too close and you want to drown in his intoxicating scent but you need to focus, lest you botch up his stitches.

Namjoon watches you work; unable to take his eyes off of you. You slowly lose yourself in your treatment of him. His eyes rake over your figure, from your hair all the way down to your hands. Somehow your shoulders are tense but your hands are completely relaxed as you expertly stitch him up. Right this instant, as you sew up his wound, he thinks you’re the most alluring thing he’s ever seen. You’ve lost yourself into your work and he’s slowly losing himself into you. His eyes flick to where his hands are perched on your thigh, gulping slightly at the soft flesh under his skin. The pain has long since faded from his mind, too focused on the way you feel under his hand and the way you look as you work.

Minutes pass agonisingly slowly as you work carefully, and eventually, you’re finally done. You knot the thread before clipping it, placing your needle down and letting out an exhale of relief. Namjoon watches the tension in your shoulders slowly escape. You turn over and grab the sterilised bandages, wrapping his hand up, making sure the wound is sufficiently covered. A couple of moments pass and you’re finally done.

“There you go! You’ll have to remove the bandage in a couple of days and clean it again to prevent infection but hopefully, it will have healed some more by then. It may be a bit uncomfortable to use that hand though. You’re lucky it wasn’t your dominant hand,” you say, tidying up the medical kit.

“Thanks. You really… are a doctor,” Namjoon says dumbly and you look at him before laughing.

“Yeah, that’s what I am. Also, never use a knife like that again. Better yet, why don’t you go sit with the boys and I’ll finish up breakfast,” you suggest, ushering him out the kitchen. Namjoon protests but you simply glare at him, pointing at the living room.

“Go! You’re already hurt and it’ll be quicker if I finish up by myself. Besides, the boys were worried about you,” you say, urging him out. Namjoon finally relents and you turn back to the counter. You put the towel for wash before throwing the needle and cotton out. Once you’ve washed your hands, you get back to work, starting on breakfast again.

An hour later, you’re finally done. You grab the pot of dakjuk for the boys, placing it on the dining table before returning and grabbing the rice and additional banchan dishes you had whipped up for you and Namjoon. You have Namjoon set the table, the boys and Monie following him around. Namjoon almost walks into Taehyung, apologising profusely as his son just shrugs him off, more than excited at the prospect of finally having some food. Rap Mon whines before you place a bowl filled with plain boiled chicken down for him, Monie yapping before eagerly eating his breakfast.

“Alright boys, breakfast is ready,” you call, serving the boys. Jungkook bounces in his seat as you pour him some of the rice porridge. Taehyung grinning as you place his own bowl in front of him before doing the same for Jimin. Taehyung and Jungkook immediately grab their spoons before tucking in. You smile at both of them, Namjoon smiling at you. Meanwhile, unnoticed by you, Jimin looks at the dakjuk, looking at you and then back at the dakjuk before he lets out a small smile, a blush on his face.

“How is it?” you ask and Jungkook immediately grins, his baby teeth on display.

“It’s good! Even better than Jin-hyung’s,” Jungkook praises and you grin at him.

“Shh! Don’t tell Seokjin that,” you whisper in jest - as if Seokjin could hear you. Jungkook nods sagely before he returns to his meal.

“Thank you for helping daddy,” Jimin says politely and your face crumples at his manners. Jimin’s far too soft and far too polite for his age, completely different from some of the ruder children you’d seen running about at the aquarium. He’s the perfect child: the son parents could only ever dream off. Even Jungkook and Taehyung are polite; though not as polite as Jimin and definitely not as subdued. Still, it’s a true testament to Namjoon’s parenting skills.

“Anytime puppy,” you say, reaching over and ruffling his hair. Jimin blushes at your nickname before melting into your touch. Namjoon’s throat closes up, feeling more than moved at the touching scene. He can’t help but feel as if you’re a family right now. Despite them not being your children or having no real connection to them, you played the role of a mother so effortlessly and without a second thought.

A small part of him wonders what his life could have been if he had met you all those years ago in high school instead of Jihee. How different could his life have been? Would he have fallen in love with you? He imagined what his life would be like if you were his children’s biological mother instead. Would you have stayed? Or would you have, like Jihee, changed? Looking at the way you interact with his children, he doesn’t think you would. You have a natural, soothing charm to you. Not to mention, you love his children - more than their biological mother ever had. That, in itself, made him fall even deeper for you.

The five of you spend the next hour having breakfast. Jimin is quiet for the most of it and you worry that he still feels sick or that he’s going to throw up, so you keep an eye on him. Taehyung and Jungkook, for the most of it, seem like they’re better. After breakfast, the five of you move to the living room, the boys wanting to watch a film. You and Namjoon take a seat on the sofa, Jimin sitting between the two of you, Jungkook on your other side and Taehyung on Namjoon’s side. Rap Mon jumps onto the sofa, sitting beside Jungkook, the latter leaning into your puppy's body.

“Is he allowed on the sofa?” you ask, not wanting to be impolite, but Namjoon only shrugs at your question.

“Yeah, I don’t mind. I think the boys like cuddling him too much for me to stop him being on the sofa anyway,” Namjoon says, nodding towards Jungkook and Monie. Rap Mon’s head is in Jungkook’s lap, Jungkook absentmindedly playing with his fur - entangling your pup’s long hair between his little fingers. You giggle at the scene and throw an arm around Jungkook, letting him lean into your side.

“Can we watch One Piece daddy?” Jimin asks and Namjoon nods; he reaches for the remote and turns the TV on before playing the anime. Suddenly, you understand Jimin’s obsession with pirates. The five of you spend most of your morning watching a mix of One Piece, Pokémon and YuGiOh. It’s almost 2pm when Namjoon gets a call. When he answers it, you can hear frantic yelling from the other side, Namjoon sitting up stiffly.

“Interview with Mnet… That’s today? I completely forgot! I don’t think I can make it. My kids are sick. I really don’t think I can come,” Namjoon says, eyes flicking to you and the boys, “can we reschedule?...” he asks hopefully and you watch as he deflates, frowning slightly, “We can’t? Fu- damn,” Namjoon says, quickly catching himself, “I think we’re just going to have to cancel. Yes, I know it’s a big deal but there’s nothing else I can do…” Namjoon says disappointedly.

Hesitantly, “Namjoon?” you intervene.

“Sorry, can you hold on,” Namjoon says to the person on the phone before turning to you.

“If you need to be somewhere, you can go. I can stay and watch the boys,” you offer and Namjoon looks at you hopefully before shaking his head.

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Seriously, go. If it’s really important and you can’t reschedule then it’s better to just go rather than cancelling. Your new album is going to be released soon right? You can’t turn down Mnet right now. Just go, seriously. I’ll be fine,” you say and Namjoon hesitates for one minute before nodding.

“Hey, yeah sorry. Plans have changed, I can make it today. I’ll be there in an hour,” Namjoon says to the person on the other side of the phone before hanging up.

“Thank you so much! This was an important thing but with them suddenly falling sick, I completely forgot,” Namjoon says and you shake him off.

“I get it! You’re just lucky I was here,” you tease but Namjoon’s face straightens out into one of complete seriousness.

“I am. Thank you,” he replies, causing you to flush.

“Don’t you need to go get ready?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“Oh! Yeah I do!” Namjoon says before he runs out the living room and up the stairs towards his room. Twenty minutes later, he runs back down; dressed in dark jeans and a hoodie. He enters the living room only to find the boys and Rap Mon all spread across you, practically pilling on top of you. You smile reassuringly at him, letting him know you don’t mind at all.

“Alright, boys. Daddy has to go to work. ____ will stay with you okay, please behave for her,” Namjoon says and the boys nod. He bends over and presses kisses onto each of their foreheads.

“If you need anything, anything, please call me. I’ll come back even if I have to walk out of the interview,” Namjoon says earnestly and you roll your eyes at him before smiling.

“Namjoon! We’ll be fine! If there’s a problem, I’ll call you, I promise,” you reply and Namjoon nods. Then, before he can think, he’s bending over and pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

“Thank you. I’ll see you when I get back,” he calls, running out of the living room. You stay frozen, your brain slowly processing the action. The boys giggle at you and you snap out of it, face burning as you touch your forehead, where you can still feel his lips lingering. Briefly, you wonder if he made it his mission for you to fall for him - because it’s definitely working.

It’s already dark when Namjoon returns home. He trudges through the dark house, instinctively navigating through his home. He’s completely exhausted, both from the interview and from the long day. It’s only worsened by his lack of sleep due to needing to take Jimin to the hospital earlier in the morning. Entering the living room, Namjoon frowns. You’re not there. He walks into the kitchen, a soft light emitting from it. There’s a small light on, some rice and banchan lying on one of the counters, with a note for him.

‘In case you’re hungry after a long day - xo’

He can’t help the smile that crawls across his face, his stomach churning as butterflies soar in his abdomen. You had thought of him. He can’t help but feel as if he’s come home to his wife. Namjoon shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. You aren’t even together yet and here was, thinking about marrying you. He takes the lid off of one of the dishes, trying a bit of the pork. Letting out a small moan, he relishes in the flavour. are you good at everything? Is that it? Are you some sort of perfect woman? His stomach grumbles and he can’t resist taking a seat, eating as much of the meal as he could.

Once done, he tidies up, placing the bowls in the sink before continuing his search for you and the boys again. He checks each of their rooms, frowning when he spots none of them in their respective bedrooms. Finally, he stumbles across his room. The door is slightly ajar, a dim light emanating from it. Why is his reading lamp on? He opens the door slowly, careful not to make a noise. Then, he pauses in the doorway, taking in the scene.

You’re lying on your side under the covers, Jimin curled into your stomach. Jungkook is on your other side, against your back, Taehyung curled around him. Your arm is thrown loosely around Jimin as you snore. He laughs, wondering how you hadn’t woken the boys up. He spots Taehyung’s favourite storybook resting on your hip, deducing that the four of you had fallen asleep after you read to the boys.

He pads quietly into the room, grabbing his pyjamas before entering his bathroom, stripping and changing into his sweats and a t-shirt. Throwing his clothes into the hamper, he turns to the sink, brushing his teeth. Once he’s done, he tiptoes out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom door, deciding to sleep in the guest bedroom.

“Daddy?” Jimin’s sleepy voice calls out and he winces, turning to his son. Jimin rubs his eyes before sitting up. Namjoon smiles despite the situation; Jimin’s hair is all mussed up and his cheeks are slightly swollen, his lips pulled into a pout.

“Why are you in my bed Chim?” Namjoon asks, slowly approaching his son before crouching down to eye level.

“Taehyungie wanted a story and only your bed was big enough for all of us,” Jimin replies. Namjoon hums, he had guessed, but he just needed to be sure.

“Are you going to join us, daddy?” Jimin asks, snuggling closer into you to make space for his father. Namjoon pauses, flicking his eyes towards your sleeping figure before his cheeks heat.

“I was going to sleep in the guest room,” Namjoon says and Jimin pouts, his eyes watering.

“Please daddy,” Jimin whines and Namjoon sighs, knowing he can’t refute his son. Awkwardly, he crawls into bed, Jimin cuddling into the warmth provided by both you and his father. Finding a comfortable position, Jimin falls back asleep.

Namjoon, for the most part of it, is completely stiff. Your face is entirely too close to his, your feet almost touching. His heart races at your proximity. You’re close enough for him to touch - for him to hold - just like he had wanted to for a while now. He takes in your sleeping form, unable to resist the urge to reach out and push your hair behind.

Automatically, his hand traces from your hair and down your cheek. You sigh in your sleep, nuzzling into his hand. Namjoon’s eyes soften and he slowly pulls away. His body relaxes, sinking into the bed. He takes in your features one more time before letting out a small smile. Unable to bring himself to hold you close, he settles for just watching you sleep.

He thinks back to the day; the way you had rushed to be with him at the hospital without even second-guessing yourself. The way you had looked after his sons, stitched him up and making all of your breakfasts. He remembers how you had selflessly offered to look after the boys just so he could go into work; even going so far as to prepare him a meal to come back home.

Every little thing you did made him fall deeper and deeper into you. He hadn’t thought that Jungkook meeting you would have had such a huge influence on his life but here you were, months later. Was it fate? Was he destined to lose Jungkook that day so he could meet you? He has no idea. All he knows is that he’s more than glad you’re in his life. To the point he cannot even imagine his life without you in it anymore.

Namjoon stares at you a bit longer, thoughts of you running through his mind before he finally makes a decision. Snuggling deeper into his pillow, he scooches closer to Jimin, feeling your warmth and taking in a deep breath - your scent filling his nose. He turns the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. Your breathing, mixed with his sons, fill the quiet air of the night, the soothing sound slowly lulling him to sleep. By the time he nods off, he has only one thought on his mind.

He’s going to make you his.

a/n: things are FINALLY heating up... but also I planned this story in more detail and it’s looking to be 15 chapters or more so,,,,, buckle up for a ride lads

⇥ Masterlist | Chapter 6

[prince-toffee]

She-Ra #0

- Karma -

[Two Years After The Defeat of Horde Prime]

Plumeria

The moonlight of the many Etherian moons rained down and coated the greenery of Plumeria. Plumeria was one of the smallest kingdoms on the planet, there wasn’t anything fancy or kingdom-ly about it. No enormous castles, not even real towns, just a bunce of tree-houses and empty fields. Which in a way was perfect for the refugee clones, the open fields were filled with makeshift tents, with tired, injured, and or defective clones with conditions that had to be looked after, taking up residence in them. Over the two years more and more shelters accumulated since the defeat of Prime and his main armada. It all worked out fairly well, with the clones populating the ground and the Plumerians residing in the trees. They much like most Etherians had mixed feelings about the clones, some were more welcoming than others. Fortunately brawls didn’t break out as often as in some other parts. It was clear that the Princess of the land, Perfuma, wasn’t too thrilled about their presence, but she put on a smile and played nice.

Modulok wasn’t quite sure what the title of ‘royalty’ or ‘Princess’ meant on this world, but it seemed as if the success criteria involved owning some land since there were apparently hundreds of Princesses, some with kingdoms the size of a town, or a nightclub, believe it or not. How the political landscape worked, he did not know. But he didn’t really care either. It was peaceful that was all that mattered to a surgeon and medic like Modulok. The settlement at Plumeria was one of the smaller ones, nowhere near as developed and packed as Doormat or the New Salineas. And again that’s why he liked it, quiet, far away from anything and everything, a grasshopper here, the rustle of leaves there. However something always seemed to go out of its way to find him. Case in point his quite drunk brother, Vultak, who barged into Mod’s tent in the middle of the night.

Vultak clumsily stumbled into the tent, two glasses of some sort of alcoholic drink in hand. He set the glasses on the operating table Mod was currently working on. Before Mod could protest, as he opened his mouth Vultak raised his pointing finger up to him to stop him. V then proceeded to drag a chair from the side to the operating table. V sat down and took a swig emptying one glass. The drunk clone just stared dazed at the patient Modulok was operating on, but caught a glance coming from Mod that was disapproving.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, carry on.”

That drew out a sigh from the medic, he was all too familiar with those snappy comebacks as well as his delusional pessimistic rants and ravings, which Mod was sure were about to follow. The two just looked at each other, a sedated individual between them, it was quite a comedic scene to be hold if there were a third party observing.

Modulok had lost his arms in one of the countless wars and had replaced them with cybernetics which could split in two giving him the total of four arms to work with. As a defect Modulok had blood red lenses, eyes and teeth. Not to mention his skinny frame, and lack of weight, and inability to gain weight. He wore a black and red tech suit, not bulky like Hordak’s, much thinner with tubes and cables hanging here or there. Under it you could see his bones and rip cage pressed tight around his skin, in some areas the white bone broke through the skin forming vein-like patterns across his body - common side effects for defects. A unique defect to Mod was that his skin was coloured red, it didn’t mean much, but others thought it looked neat.

Vultak was far more odd and different, some clones even called him the strangest clone alive. One of the oldest living too. V was a defect too, defects liked to stick together, at least most of them, not Modulok specifically. Vultak was thin too, like a walking toothpick. Vultak’s top half of his head was a red glass-looking dome resembling a radar display. No eyes. However a long witch-like nose. And shark-sharp teeth, though that was common with all clones. Possibly his most iconic aspect were his retractable wings being able to extend out of his under-arms, unveiling metallic feathers as sharp as knives. Various experimental technology was incorporated into his arms, giving his wings the ability to cause micro-hurricanes, and gusts of wind. And flight, obviously.

Also, he was thousands years old.

“V, you clearly want something so just say it and get it over with, the less time I spend with you the saner I’ll remain.” Modulok stated tiredly knowing fully well conversations with V could be exhausting. He leaned on his right arm which he placed on the table.

“What? Come on, can’t a brother just want to hang out with his other clone brother from another mothership?...” Mod was unamused and unphased, in the pause and silence his expression did not change. “And also my dearest, most awesome, talented brother, who is a doctor... I could... use some of that reeeeeally good tastin’ medicine that only a certified medic like you can hand out.” Vultak gave him a smile and tilted his head.

Mod gave him an eye roll, “I am not handing you the pills!”

“Oh come on, Mod! This stuff’s getting out on the street anyway! You’re not upholding some moral high-ground, you’re not holding society together! Come on, please, just one.”

Modulok waved him off, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. And I’m not trying to up hold anything, I don’t care what happens out there, but it just so happens that when some stupid non-sense takes place out there it means I’ve got more work here.” In a way he was right, Modulok was the most famous medic from the Galactic Horde, known across countless galaxies, being a defect medic and a medic for defects, that increased his infamous status. If anyone, any clone was in need of aid they turned to him for help, to say Mod was busy would’ve been an understatement. “Don’t even get me started on those pills that Hordak and Dryl made, I have no idea what they were thinking.”

The Isle Pills. Small capsules of biochemical engineering, synthesized from the ‘infected’ ‘tainted’ plants of Beast Island. That was the way people described the island, there were many theories about the landmass, a lot of scary campfire stories, disputes about whether it even existed. Its existence was apparently confirmed by the Princess of Dryl. Something about backstabbing and being imprisoned on the island, the clones weren’t sure, and they didn’t care much. But the nature of the island had been kept secretive, partially perhaps because the lab-partners studying the location don’t know many thing about it either.

It is also to be noted that they, the pills, weren’t meant for wide spread public use, apparently the Drylian Princess herself was against the production of it. But somehow they got out. Modulok was sure Hordak wasn’t thrilled that his experimental treatment for his defection was being distributed like hot buns at a bakery sale.

The pills have an altering affect on the consumer’s mood and how they perceive reality. Where the island would have enraptured an individual in their own fears and insecurities, somehow those mad-scientists altered the effect of the flora to envelop the individual in numbness and sleep-like paralysis. Hordak no doubt developed the pills as a way of coping with his defection and all the pain that came with it. So the product became quite popular with other defects. Including V, to no surprise. The pills were addictive and seemingly untested, and someone was making a profit off of it no doubt.

“They probably weren’t thinking, that’s what! If you ask me that Hordak guy is insane. All his bad decisions always seem to bit us in the rear.” The infamous Hordak, a general from a previous life, a defect that was sent to the frontlines by Prime personally, some even have speculated that he was meant to be Prime’s next bodily vessel. So in a sick twisted way, that defect saved him. Funny how life works.

Hordak somehow ended up on Etheria, he doesn’t even know how, somehow he amassed a large following and took over half a continent, destroyed a lot in the process. People hate him, his face, and that means of course many weren’t thrilled about hundreds of thousands of clones falling from the sky and finding a home and shelter on Etheria. Honestly, Modulok didn’t like him much either. Vultak unlike Mod actually quite liked Hordak as he served under him once, V trusted him.

“Mod, they would’ve hated us with or without him at the helm, at the end of the day he’s one of us, the whole universe hates us, we gotta stick together.”

“Where’s your ‘screw everything’ mentality gone to?”

V downed his second glass and wiped his mouth, “Washed away and washed down...” V just stared at the now empty glass inspecting it suspiciously as if he was looking if the glass was withholding additional liquid from him. It became obvious that V was thinking, contemplating something, he placed the glass down with a ‘clink’ on the table. “...I’ve been getting the nightmares again. And it’s getting worse, it always does. It’s not long ‘til the nightmares start coming out during the day, while you’re awake.”

Modulok understood, of course he did. He too had went through some harrowing experiences, war is never a good thing for the mind. Mod was an excellent surgeon and doctor, he can do some miracles with scalpels and bandages, he could take care of physical wounds. But there were wounds and scars that he couldn’t heal.

Vultak continued, “Do you believe in karma, Mod?” The question gave the medic pause, he didn’t quite know how to answer that, and he was sure this was one of those questions you don’t answer as V was going to no doubt continue and give his own answer. But the short reply would’ve been ‘no’, Mod didn’t believe in any higher power or any metaphysical concepts such as fate or destiny, it all rather felt far-fetched to him. “That our actions and deeds from our previous lives affect and decides our fate and fortune in the future?

That the future takes roof in the past? You do good, you have good fortune, a good life awaits you. You do bad, you have bad fortune, hell’s coming your way. Revenge and retribution on a cosmic level. It’s the universe’s way of punishing the evil and the wicked, that’s us by the way.

And we do deserve it, don’t we. I mean we’re literally walking, breathing, war machines, our sole purpose was to destroy, perpetuate war and cause all around carnage.

Everyone always wants to blame Hordak for Etheria hating us, but every single one of us has had a part in conquering half the damn universe! Countless worlds either chained or turned to dust, all thanks to us, all of us.

All the terrible things we’ve done, and now what? We just get to have a happy ending? No. No, no, no. Karma’s just getting ready, reeling back, ready to backhand all of us to oblivion. We gotta suffer first... Karma’s balance, karma’s proportional. Which isn’t good for us since we did a lot of wrong-doings. Remember the Siege of Denebria, the War for Primus, the Taking of Trolla, the centuries-long Massacres at Epsilon-19, everyone wants to forget that hellscape death-trap. But we just can’t, some things claw their way back to the surface from below all that brainwashing-sauce.

And that’s just the horrid stuff we remember!... Can you imagine how many lives we’ve forgotten? How many years we’ve lost? How many people we’ve forgotten? That four eyed freak robbed us of everything that made us, us!... All that stuff’s gonna bite us in the back.”

Modulok simply listened, he was used to V’s rants and ravings, but all that... seemed different. Usually V made out everything to be a joke, never taking anything serious, he was a jokester. The nihilistic joker seemed to be subdued, some sort of seriousness, some existential dread on his face. Vultak was genuinely opening up to Mod, and he appreciated that. But it was a shame they had to get drunk first before having conversations like that.

Mod became gradually more worried as V continued with the dialogue, after he paused and just began to stare blankly at his glass again Modulok responded, “I appreciate you opening up, kind of, V, I just wish it didn’t take the influence of alcohol... [sigh] Look, V, I know tomorrow is never certain, and that we all carry the weight of scars on our brittle shoulders... but please believe me when I tell you, that everything will be okay, everything will get better. Don’t drown yourself in poison. The world’s not falling apart, and neither should you.” Mod placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to comfort his friend.

Vultak simply looked up at his brother, his face blank, he knew Mod meant well, but it didn’t help much to comfort him. And so V hopelessly replied, uttering almost a warning, “Just you wait doc, the sky’s gonna come crashing down on our heads.”

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #25)

(cw: drug use, graphic descriptions of gore, blood, insects) ----------

01/11/88  11:01 PM

Hey.

I wanted more GC, and I wanted it quick.

For the first hit, though, I at least had the sense to wait and let my code settle back into place. Which sucked, big time. I came out of that first trip maybe a couple hours before the arcade opened, and I spent the whole work day in my den nursing the most brutal form of buff hangover I’d ever experienced. I had aches on my aches. It was like I’d done five full-body workouts with my guts full of rocks and my head in a vice.

Once the arcade closed, I actually fell asleep and stayed asleep, which was for the best. By the time I woke up the next morning, my body felt right again and my pupils had faded enough to be clear by quitting time, so Tapper wouldn’t be tipped off by an incriminating glow when I went to see him.

I did try to draw some portraits from memory during the day, but my brain was too fried for that to work. I had to wait until closing and chase down some Good Guys, ones that would probably cooperate if I told them what it was for. Whatever anyone thinks of me, everyone loves Tapper. Thankfully, I got one of Mario. Good ol’ plumber-pants sat still without much of a fuss.

Tapper was happy to receive the portrait, and I was happy to get paid. I smiled and waved and played along, before immediately going to break my promise again. I should definitely have felt bad about it, but I kinda didn’t. Nothing was more important to me than GC.

It’s really easy to fall in love with something that makes you feel the way I did in the last entry. 

After that, I ended up thinking that GC could do no wrong. I thought that if I could manage a steady, controlled diet of GC, sleeping away my sobriety between hits, I could make a new, happy life for myself inside my own head. Maybe that would seem sad to the losers stuck in the arcade. All they would see is my body lying around, only ever getting up to get more GC. Looking at it with the mind I have now, that is sad as hell, not to mention impossible, and something I can hardly believe I liked the idea of stooping to. But at the time, I was like one of those pining romantics, madly infatuated with my new lover. I loved GC. I could see nothing wrong with spending the rest of my life with it. I probably would have married it, if I could have.

It wasn’t long before the honeymoon ended.

My second hit started out very much the same as the first one, minus the arousal. Nothing seemed different at first, but I felt good. All my sick feelings had been sucked away and my mood was climbing, so I felt compelled to get up and stroll through the woods. If I remember correctly, it really was a fair bit of time before anything happened. Long enough for me to forget I’d taken any buffs.

Finally, I found something exciting. A tree’s bark shone in a particular, familiar way -- I went over to touch it, and found red stained across the palm of my glove, yet again. Beyond that tree, even more were the same. They reminded me of the cherry syrup, of course, so I followed their trail through the woods. They led me right up to the edge of the map, where the accessible forest cuts off, and the out-of-bounds forest stretches into darkness.

I wondered for a moment why I’d been led there. I couldn’t go any further, and even if I could, none of the trees ahead had any red on them. Uncertain, I inspected a red tree a little closer, and immediately sneezed. It didn’t smell like cherries at all -- it smelled like paint. All of them did, as I could suddenly smell strongly. How I missed that along the way, I had no idea. I’d been following paint splatters the whole time. Once I turned to look into the dark forest again, I jumped a bit.

The trunks that had been clean not seconds before were now splattered with a full spectrum of pungent paint. I took a moment to take it all in and wait for something else to happen, but nothing did.

Seeing how the paint led further into the dark, I figured it had to be another trail. I’d been trying for years to get through the edge of the map, so it seemed impossible to follow. But I stepped forward anyway.

There was no wall. I walked straight through.

I only took a second to look back before continuing on. I’d been standing around long enough, and I don’t think my impaired brain could comprehend the gravity of what I’d just done. 

The trail went on for a little while, until the darkness grew thicker. Curiously, the paint stayed just as clear and bright, but sank deeper towards the ground as I went, until it was just smeared under my feet. When I looked back to check out the colorful footprints behind me, I realized I couldn’t see the forest anymore. Apart from the paint and myself, everything was pitch black as far as I could see, in all directions. 

My gut sank and my head churned. I may have mentioned I’m not really a fan of endless dark. Part of me wanted to lower to the ground and find a way to hold onto it, but I was relieved to hear something.

There was movement. Some fabric shifting, some heavy breathing, some soft, wet sounds. My blood rushed for a moment -- finally, it was time to pick up where I’d left off the previous time. I followed the sound eagerly, and quickly found another smeared paint trail. After a surprisingly long time following it, I finally found what I’d been looking for.

A little ways off, I saw an unusual but familiar sight. It was me, very much the way I looked in the mirror during the last dream, only fully clothed. I was lying down, and I saw a shadow bent over me, but it didn’t look like it was alone. I wondered for a moment how weird it would get if I joined, but the longer I watched, the more I realized that something was off.

My face was turned away. I wasn’t panting, I was heaving like a fish on land. I couldn’t see the edges of the figures, but they still looked a whole lot bigger than the one in the first trip. That’s when I noticed one painfully obvious, crucial thing -- the paint trail led right up to my clone. There was paint all around her, and every color imaginable swirled in a lethargic way like droplets of oil on its surface. And beneath her, a pool slowly spread out from her body. It wasn’t just paint.

It was blood. 

The shadows were eating her alive.

My heart nearly stopped. I wanted to run, but I felt rooted to the spot. All I could do was sink into a crouch, covering my mouth in a desperate attempt to keep quiet. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t look away. I was forced to watch the ghostly monsters rip my look-alike into bite-sized pieces.

I heard fabric tearing and some sharp snaps. One of them had torn the lower half of one of her pant legs right down to her ankle, and had locked its jaws down on her calf, tugging hard. The others dropped what they were doing to dive in and fight over her leg, which shook the rest of her body like a ragdoll. They had been at her for a little while, it seemed. Paint spilled out of her open wounds as if from a broken jar, and as it did, the very color in her sprite seemed to drain out with it. She was gnawed within an inch of deletion. Heaping bites were taken from around her hip joint, eaten right down to the bone, all shredded and glistening in a garish rainbow. Her smock was torn right open, her tank top nothing but strings. There was a gaping hole chewed right through her white, wooden ribs, which were splintered outward like a broken cage. Through it, I could see a disgusting bulb of pink bubblegum that swelled and shrunk with her heaving breaths. Needless to say, the gore was a horrifying sight. Part of me was waiting for her belly to just fall apart and spill her gummy guts everywhere. But, honestly, the most harrowing sight for me was just a few simple cuts. 

Your name once again stretched across her chest, weeping fun colors that practically laughed in my face.

It was then that the careless jostling of her body flipped her head to face me. I had to clutch both hands over my mouth when I saw her.

Her face was golden, bent, punctured, misshapen, bleeding from a dozen scratches. The same face I saw reflected in my warped paint can, the day of the attack. All things considered, she seemed pretty calm for someone being eaten. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was sweating, seeming to strain from the effort of staying alive.

Then one of her eyes cracked open, and she saw me.

Her eyes went wide as saucers, filled with fright. They darted towards the shadows, then back to me, and her breathing quickened. Even with a twisted face, the urgency in her eyes screamed just as loud as any voice:

“What are you doing!? RUN, DUMBASS!”

Her leg tore completely free of her body at the hip, and I screamed.

The darkness burst to light. All of it, in all directions, woke into a blinding, humming white light that shocked my eyes for a second. When I adjusted, I saw them. Tall, white, splattered with paint, standing alert around the severed leg, each staring right at me, were dogs.

I bolted.

Vicious, metallic barking gave chase not a second after. My first instinct, one that I’d forgotten was no longer an option, was to fly away. When I grabbed my brush, however, rather than finding red, orange, and yellow, I found nothing. Just a normal, dry brush, out of an empty can. I couldn’t believe it. I ran as hard as I could, beseeching my body to please, please just freakin’ fly. They were almost right behind me, just about close enough to snap at my heels, and I had no idea where I was going. There was nothing. Endless, white void. 

Then, SPLAT. I quite nearly tripped at a splattering sound so loud, it might as well have been the beat of an enormous drum. I didn’t pause to look, but I found that I didn’t need to. The sound beat through the wide white world again and again, until the source spread into my line of sight.

Falling like raindrops the size of hulking boulders were globs of paint, all of them a mess of that infuriating red, orange, and yellow. When they hit the ground, they burst apart in a crashing splatter that colored the endless white like a canvas. The smell smacked into me like a brick wall, quickly reaching suffocating levels and making my vision blur with tears. I didn’t know what they meant, or how I was supposed to avoid them. I was just certain that one would fall directly on my head and break my skeleton into pieces.

Better than being eaten alive.

My worries were cut short. A drop fell not on my head, but right in front of me. I barely had time to see it. The next few moments came so quickly that my brain couldn’t even keep track of them.

The paint splash hit me like a full-body tackle. I was knocked back and fell hard. Before I could move, a dog drove its bony body down onto my gut, and… I don’t know how to explain it, but, just like that, we were falling. As if the force of its dive broke the ground under us. 

Everything went dark, and my scream echoed with a metallic twang. I suddenly found myself tumbling down what felt like a metal shaft, with sharp angles and corners that beat the absolute hell out of my body, all the while tangled up with a nearly skeletal monster that I hadn’t even seen up close yet. But I didn’t care what it looked like. I was more concerned with the claws ripping through my clothes and skin, and the teeth snapping wildly above my hands as I pushed its throat away from me.

Then, within seconds, we shot through the bottom of the shaft, and crashed into the ground hard.

Dog-first.

The thing just barely broke my fall. My whole body slammed flat against the floor. Being profoundly disoriented and beaten halfway to hell, I found it incredibly difficult to push back up off the ground. But in the few moments I had to take in my perceived reality again, I noticed a few things. 

One, the dog was gone. Its body wasn’t even there. All that was left was a huge splatter of white paint that soaked the front of my clothes, and a pair of hinged, golden jaws that looked like they might have been crudely cut from my brush cuff.

Two, I was in a weird, waxy, yellow room, and the walls ran with slowly dripping honey.

Three, there was a baseball bat lodged in the floor in front of me.

And four, barking was echoing through the hollow metal shaft above me. A second dog was on its way down, and I was right where it would fall.

I didn’t think. I just moved. With every ounce of strength I could muster, I leapt to my feet and grabbed onto the baseball bat, but that thing was stubbornly stuck. I planted my feet and yanked as hard as I could, and it shifted a bit, but not nearly enough. That barking was getting closer at a speed that spelled my doom. As far as I could tell, my very life depended on the stupid thing pulling free. So, I did the same thing I always do, and survived.

It all happened in a single second, in one fluid motion. I drove my foot hard into the floor that trapped the bat and finally yanked it free. The momentum whipped my body around and threw the bat behind my head into a loaded wind-up, the very moment that the horrid, snarling thing dropped down in front of me. It lunged at me, and a millisecond was just enough time to see a gaping, golden trap of jagged teeth and white fur stained with haunting rainbow blood, before I let my swing fly. I slugged that thing in the head with enough force to break those jaws apart at the hinges. Once more, its body burst into nothing but a pungent, white splash that sprayed me from head to toe. 

I killed it.

The room was silent. The scramble was over. My entire body quaked so hard, I thought I would crumple to the floor. Apart from the night I was attacked, I’d never been so shaken in my life. But there was a strange thrill to my adrenaline, too, a sort of moxie. I killed one of those monsters, two if you count the lucky fall. Once upon a time, I’d been tied up and at their mercy, of which they had none. This time, I could fight back. This time, they ought to have been scared of me.

For a time, the barking stopped. I knew there was a third still alive, and I had no idea if it was still after me or not, so I was loathe to let my guard down. But I let myself look around. 

The room was small. Big enough for a small sprite to live in, but still really small. As I mentioned, the walls definitely were yellow, but something in my head must have been knocked loose in the fall. For a few seconds, those yellow walls glitched and flickered a spectrum of crackling, blinding colors, pushing nails into my temples. As painful as it was, I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure why.

I was in a beehive. If the honey wasn’t enough of a tell, there was a fat, fluffy bumblebee almost as big as me shivering in a corner, staring at me, clearly paralyzed with fear. 

They looked completely harmless. But I was nearly killed and not in a trusting mood. I backed up and gripped my bat tightly. I asked them, “Are we gonna get along or are you gonna try something stupid?”

They buzzed.

“I don’t speak bee. You nod, understand? I’m gonna ask you again, are we gonna get along?”

They nodded vigorously.

I thought about it for a minute, decided I could kill a bee with my bare hands if it came to it, and let up on my stance. “Well, alright then.”

Just like that, without another word, they crawled up the wall and burrowed through it, out of sight. I called after them once, but decided I didn’t care. Instead, I addressed the multiple points of stinging pain over my body. From that scuffle during the fall, my smock was torn in several spots, opening up windows to dirty, ragged claw marks that sent blood trickling down. There were a few on my biceps and chest, but the very worst of them curved over my shoulder and onto my back. 

The white paint splatters sure didn’t help the pain.

There wasn’t much I could do about the wounds, but I decided to ditch my smock. The way it hung on me might have gotten in the way if another fight came up. That’s just the way I was thinking.

That’s when I heard the click-click-click of a dog’s claws wandering around. It came from everywhere -- above, below, all around. It was the third dog. It had to be. I hadn’t killed it yet, and it got into the hive. I grabbed my bat and slowly backed around the room. I wanted to be ready for it, but I couldn’t even pinpoint where it was. I tried to harness that moxie again, that vengeful semi-bloodlust, but I was still anxious. To say the least.

“C’mon!” I shouted. “COME OUT!”

There was a waxy squeak, and a door split out from the wall. I let out a wild yell and leapt for it with a killing blow loaded. But it wasn’t a dog -- it was another stranger. I just barely caught myself before I could crack their skull in. It’s safe to assume they screamed, but, somehow, it sounded like silverware tumbling together.

I slowly lowered my bat and got a good look at them. They were another bug, an ant this time, all reddish-brown with an orange chest and black butt. Not as cute as the bee, which peeked out shyly behind them, but they didn’t seem all that hostile. They had all four weird “hands” up in a pacifistic way, and they were braced in a long stance, as if trying to keep their body as far away from me as possible. Once I eased up, they emitted a sound like someone scraping their knife and fork together.

“...Uh...huh,” I said, backing away from their extended hands. They were confident enough to advance a little bit, but I pointed my bat at them. “Now, you stay right the hell there. Not another step ‘til you tell me who you are. In English.”

They looked affronted for a second, and gestured to themself with a metallic squeak. Their sound-language was starting to piss me off.

“Oh, for Litwak’s-- I don’t understand metal, damn it. I don’t have time to-- Wait.”

I paused to listen to the nails clicking around again. The ant squeaked, but I shushed them. “Listen. Hear that?”

They shook their head.

“There’s a dog. There’s a dog in the hive,” I said, following the sound. “I took out the first two, but there’s still one more. It’ll come after me, so you’d best clear out if you know what’s good for ya. This is my--”

I saw it. Right behind the ant and bee, in the low lit corridor, it bent its spidery legs to stalk down low, and it looked right at me with a disgusting golden grin gaping wide.

“THERE!”

Everyone jumped, including the dog. It instantly scrambled, slipped, turned tail, and ran. There was no way in hell I was letting it get away. I lunged for the door, but I was blocked by the ant waving their arms in front of me. I rammed my foot into their gut and dashed past them in pursuit of the monster.

I followed its footfalls up a couple spiraling passageways, until they fell silent. I ended up in a corridor much like the one I entered below, although I took a moment to notice that the wax was quite thin at several points in the walls, with dim, warm light glowing through. Little rooms just like the first one, I figured. My cowardly opponent had to have been in one of them. 

Flipping my bat in my hands, I crept past the rooms. That aforementioned vengeful semi-bloodlust really began to boil over. I just yearned for the satisfaction of killing the thing that quite nearly killed me. It was an odd feeling. I’d never had the actual intent of killing something before, outside of self-defense. But I told myself that this thing would kill me if I didn’t kill it first, so, in a way, it was still self-defense, I figured. I hadn’t become unhinged. My actions were completely rational. 

So, feeling securely justified, I started whistling. “Here boy. C’mon out, now.”

I only stopped when I came upon a light that felt cold. The dog was just on the other side of the wax. I was sure of it. 

So, I hit a hole in the wax and kicked it through. Sure enough, it was there, arching its back hard into the corner. Finally, I actually got a solid look at it.

I immediately wished I hadn’t.

I didn’t see it so much as I felt it. Looking directly at it felt like squinting against dry, freezing air, and its pixels seemed to shudder and blur as if my very eyeballs were shivering. Its fur was a dead, icy white, stained in colorful blood. Every part of its body was long to the point of being grotesque. I could barely focus on its paws, but they looked far too long and bony, more like gnarled hands than anything else. Its face redefined hideous, and I was glad to not get a clearer image of it -- there were holes where ears should have been, a blank slope where a nose should have been, wide, quivering, pitch-black eyes over drooping lower lids, and, of course, those hinged, golden jaws. Calling it a dog was generous. It was no ordinary sprite, no creation of the Devs’. It was, in its entirety, wrong.

It was up to me to correct it.

“There you are, you spineless hellhound,” I sang as I advanced on it slowly. Staring at it felt like inhaling ice water, but I endured it to enjoy the sight of my fear so afraid of me. “Aw, you look so scared. Like you’ve seen a ghost,” I spat, “Spooky, huh? You gonna cover your eyes? Or, maybe you’d prefer to be blindfolded. Yeah, and then I can chew your legs off. You could even tell me your master’s name so I can cut it into your chest. How’s that sound?”

Its hand-like feet pushed and slipped against the honey-slicked floor. It visibly shook, blurring its pixels even more, while it let out a loud whine that was like rusty brakes.

“Oh, shut up,” I said. When it screeched more, I stomped. “I said shut UP! This is nothing compared to what you did to me. A sick, miserable monster like you doesn’t even deserve the mercy of a quick death, but every second you’re alive is a monumental waste of memory.”

Close enough to end it, I raised my bat, and with every ounce of venom in me, I said, “Now, get the hell out of my head, you filthy dog.”

A red-hot claw clamped on my right arm. I shouted and dropped the bat, which clunked to the floor, and the dog immediately bolted. I was angry, I was in pain, I was confused -- even more so when I twisted around to see the ant holding onto me. Only now, they had big red lobster claws in lieu of hands, one of which grabbed the bat and tossed it away. They weren’t squeezing hard, but the contact hurt in a way I didn’t understand until I kicked them away from me. 

“Why the hell did you do that?! Why’d you protect that thing!? Who are you?!”

They rattled in response, but I froze. Everywhere on my arm that had made contact with their claw was sharply tingling. I was conscious enough to remember how being touched makes me feel, but this was so, so much worse.

In a ring around my forearm, there was a dense team of tiny ants. Burrowing under my skin.

Naturally, I screamed. 

“What-- WHAT THE HELL?! WHAT DID YOU DO!? WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!?”

I ripped my glove off and intervened. I dug my nails in as hard as I could and scratched. The ant came at me again, but I ordered them to keep away from me, maneuvering away as I had to. Every second, I could feel all of their tiny pinchers cutting away at my insides and digging deeper. The feeling alone made me want to throw up.

Finally, my skin broke and peeled away like plastic wrap. I ripped all the way around the ring and, without pausing to look, shook all the bugs out. They went flying around the room and disappeared into the honey. I stood there, panting, my mind sort of rattled, my head starting to seriously ache.

“Devs, my head… Listen,” I said to the ant, “I don’t care who you are, what game you’re from, or if it will get you unplugged. If you do that to me again, I will tear your skinny limbs off and bleed you out. You hear me?”

They nodded quickly. 

“Damn straight.”

Even with the bugs gone, my arm still hurt in a different way. I had clawed into it, after all. But when I looked at it, I didn’t find blood. I found feathers. Shining, red feathers pointed out of my skin. I’ll admit that I got a little excited. I picked a bit more at the ripped skin, and, sure enough, more feathers unfolded. I could feel them under my skin, all over, if I squeezed and prodded. They slipped around under my touch.

“Hey,” I said, chuckling weakly and lifting my arm. I found that I could fan the feathers up and down just by tensing my muscles. I pointed to it and looked at the ant. “How cool is this?”

Then I turned my hand around, and my palm caught my attention. There was a rip across the fabric of my glove, and a single red feather unfolded from a slit in my skin.

That’s around the time that things turned upside-down.

The pain in my head spiked so hard, it felt like a stake slowly driving into my skull. My vision cut in and out with crackling binary, until it gave one hard flash, and my surroundings made a sudden, staggering shift. In a split second, I found myself outside the hive, as if I’d teleported. 

Really, I’d just lost a chunk of time.

My heart was pounding, though I wasn’t sure if it had been from exertion or adrenaline. I had no idea how I went from there to wherever I was. But I stood before a disgusting sort of marvel. There were hills and hills of rotting fruit as far as I could see, all of which was crystalized, looking almost candied. Up above, the sky was nothing but a sea of shifting, buzzing flies, shimmering like polished pebbles.

I paused and looked at my arms, some feathers poking from holes that weren’t there before. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me, and I didn’t have my bat anymore, so I was a bit wary of moving forward. With nothing else to do, I found myself walking anyway. The rocky fruit clicked together under my feet in a very unstealthy way, and part of me wondered if I’d wake a garbage-dragon protecting their garbage hoard. That’s when I heard something.

Dragon or not, there was a sprite somewhere. I heard fruit clicking and snapping over a hill, and a deep rumbling sound similar to a mug sliding across a countertop.

That’s all I saw of the rotten hoard.

There was another stabbing pain, another flash, and I lost another chunk of time. 

Next thing I knew, my vision was cutting in and out. I was screaming something, but it was too choppy to remember. The main thing I remember is that I felt the bugs again, over every inch of me from the neck down. I was on the floor, I think, thrashing and scratching.

Flash.

I was back in the hive, in another small room with the same ant from before. I was standing on what could only have been a table. I was panting a bit, and the ant was a safe distance away, also winded, as if we’d just had a chase around the room. They squeaked and scraped a bit louder than they had been before. I still didn’t understand a word they said.

I was clutching my arm, holding it up for them to see. More and more of my skin had been pulled back over feathers, and, remarkably enough, my fingers were curled into pearlescent, white bird claws.

I shouted something. I don’t remember what.

Flash.

I had a blanket over my shoulders. My fingers were bare, cold, and slick. There was a destroyed piece of cherry pie on a plate in front of me, and I was enjoying the feeling of its insides on my skin instead of eating it. 

I think from here on in the dream, my brain really started to shut down. I got pretty stupid and embarrassing, and, honestly, I don’t think I absorbed a whole lot of what was said to me, or even what I said. There are hard-lined blips of dialogue that are just missing from my head. I’ll cut them out as they happen, moving forward. 

I only caught the tail end of myself telling what felt like a long story.

“--and two fingers in here, comparing side by side with your eyes closed, I promise you couldn’t tell the difference.”

I was looking at Fix-it. Plain ol’ Fix-it. I was in his plain ol’ apartment. Apart from a few things knocked over, everything was where it should have been for a moment.

Fix-it sat across from me at the table, his hair a mess, his eyes rimmed red from either crying or lack of sleep. He leaned his cheek heavy into his palm and seemed to be fighting with all his might to keep his eyes open. There was coffee in front of him, but I got the impression that it had gone cold.

I was very disoriented. I had been facing down an ant mere seconds ago, as far as I could tell. I had no idea how I ended up there. Part of me wondered if it was real. I wondered if Fix-it was real. I squinted at him, as if I could read his code if I tried really hard.

“Fix-it, is that you?”

His eyes drooped. “Mm-hmm.”

I just stared at him, surprised at his tiny response. I actually found it a little unnerving.

“Fix-it, wake up. You’re creepin’ me out.”

His eyes opened, and he studied me for a second. With a defeated sigh through his nose, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Make-it Mavis, weirdo?”

At that, his face turned hopeful, and he straightened a bit. “Do you know who I am?”

“The Hammerhead. Duh. What’s the matter with you?”

He held his chest and thanked the Devs for a moment. My head throbbed, and for a second, his sprite flickered in every direction. He reformed with black eyes and pinchers for a frame, then creepy bug arms, then he was covered in ants, and then he was just himself again. I took a deep, steadying breath, wanting to ask the very programming what the hell that was.

“Okay, Mavy,” he tried to smooth his hair, and spoke carefully, as if this wasn’t his first attempt. “Can you tell me… what you remember about this evening?”

The question seemed easy, but the answer was slippery. I sucked my teeth, pinched my brow and wracked my brain. “I was just… there was an ant. They were trying to ---------- had a sort of, like… bird hand.”

He nodded slowly. I continued.

“They put bugs ---------- tore them out. I somehow ---------- of dead fruit and a sky full of flies. I had a monster dog cornered--”

I jolted up. “The dog! It got away! Where’s my bat!?”

“Mavy, Mavy, Mavy!” He lifted slightly from his seat, hands up. “It’s okay! It’s okay. Please, stay seated. Relax.”

“No! No, no no, I can’t relax! There were three, and only two are dead!” I gripped the table, my bones rattling. “The last one’s ----------! It wants my color!”

Fix-it paused. “Your… color?”

“My color! The color in my veins!”

“Your blood.”

I flew into a sort of panic induced rage. “My COLOR! They eat color! The entire kaleidoscope’s inside me! Don’t ----------?! I am color! I AM COLOR, DAMN IT!”

“Mavy, listen to me carefully, okay? Just take deep breaths,” he said softly and clearly. It seemed to me that he’d been saying that a lot that night. “You’re safe. You’re in your own game. You’re with me, and I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?”

“No,” I said, and snatched up the fork next to my plate. “Just look -- this is what they want!”

He jumped to his feet. “Oh-- Mavis, no, no, don’t!”

I slammed my left hand down onto the table and drove the fork into it. It was like stabbing into a thick, dense steak that spit buttery juices. There was no pain at all.

Fix-it squealed in alarm. He rushed over, but I stuck my foot out. “You keep away from me! Look with your eyes!”

“Mavy, you’re bleeding!”

“I know! Look!”

I yanked the fork out of my hand and held it up for him to see. Looking like a peculiar bite mark, a neat row of holes spurted yellow and orange paint that ran down my arm.

“You see?!”

Then it just turned red.

Flash.

[fanficreadingcorner]

Warmth

Author: Rachel

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Words: 4023

Masterlist

A/N: Ok guys this has literally taken me a good few months to write and I’m gonna be honest it might have gotten away from me and honestly I am so proud of it so I hope you guys like it.

Summary: The heater in the bunker is broken and it's the middle of winter. The reader can’t keep warm despite her best attempts. Time to call in reinforcements.

           ‘It’s fucking freezing’ were the only words currently invading your mind. Snuggling deeper into your blankets you readjust the blankets tighter around your shivering body. Doing a once over you were looking for any holes in your fortress that the cold air might be able to take advantage of and slip her cruel hands in, fingers wrapping around you, grasping in an unyielding hold. And yet no matter the 5 blankets you have on top of you, the countless mugs of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate that you’ve taken, nothing seems to warm you up, you’re beginning to wonder if you were even warm blooded at this point.

           “I’m a fake human” you mumble to yourself as another shivers moves its way through your body shaking you like a wind does a tree and it’s leaves during a particularly nasty storm. “Can’t even keep myself warm” the words being swallowed up by the fuzzy blanket that’s pulled up all the way up to your nose at this point. The bunker heater had chosen to break at the worst possible time, right when winter had her hand firmly placed over the northern hemisphere in what, as the news would so dramatically put it, was deemed the coldest winter in the last 10 years. Although was it really dramatic if it was the truth? The bunker wasn’t made for the cold, if anything it was made to make sure that in the summer it was comfortable to be in. The concrete keeping the temperatures down, especially considering it was underground and as a way to make sure that the humidity was mild enough.

           ‘Who the fuck designs something to only cater to one type of weather in the middle of the united states It’s not like we’re close to the equator where the temperature varies one to two degrees. OK maybe that was exaggerating it but to be fair you were pretty sure that you would be needing to amputate at least a toe after this harrowing ordeal you were going through, suffering through the cold like someone that was climbing Mount Everest. It was decided, when you died, if you ever saw any one who was responsible for the design of this place you would never leave them alone. Now that you thought about it, how did they keep warm before heaters were invented? Did they all sleep in the same room to share body heat? Maybe that’s why the war room was so big. You let out a very undignified snort at the thought of 20 men piled together just to share body heat.

           Readjusting yourself you came to the conclusion that you could not continue like this, how were you supposed to survive the following days to come until the boys came back from their hunt? You had already called them when the heater had broken about a day ago, and Dean had so kindly recommended, to take all the damn blankets in the house and tough it out until they were able to get back to fix it, well that wasn’t working out so well and they wouldn’t be coming home for another day or two.

           “Ugh” you groaned out the noise coming from deep inside your chest. “I can’t live like this, it’s too much” you groaned as you flopped down on your side, the amount of blankets cushioning your fall, unfortunately for you, you miscalculated, thus causing your blankets to ride up just over your ankles exposing you to the cruel mistress of death that is the cold.

           “GOD DAMMIT” You yelled while kicking the blankets up in frustration, tears welling up in your eyes, all you wanted was to be warm, was it too much to ask! After a few moments of fighting with the blankets you finally gave up lying face up, chest heaving from the exertion of kicking the blankets around with so much force to try to get your frustration out, tears pricking at the edges of your vision, worst of all you were still freezing and had kicked off the blankets in your battle to the death which they had apparently won considering most were on the ground and the one or two that did survive were too entangled in your legs to be of any use now that you were completely at the mercy of winters cold grasp. Groaning your reaching your hands up to cover your face while slowly dragging them down.

           “Is this how Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes felt when they were frozen during all that time cause damn now wonder they’re messed up” you spoke to yourself, hand muffling your words, making them almost unintelligibly. Once your hands finally made the long trek down your face, they then quickly took up residence on your side while you calmed down, talking deep breaths to calm yourself down. Biting your lip your quickly ran though several options, buy a heater? nah that would mean having to get dressed, leave the bunker and use money, plus you were sure it was colder outside than it was in here. Get more blankets, at the rate you were going it was possible the number of blankets needed to warm you up would crush you before doing any good. Wait! There was one option, but who knew if he would actually come and help you?

You could call Lucifer, but why bother him the poor archangel probably had enough on his plate as of recently thanks to having taken over heaven after Chuck and Michael went M.I.A, but it wouldn’t hurt to call right, I mean he was your boyfriend after all not to mention he had the most gorgeous pair of wings on his back, the only pair you had ever seen really but still, the way he held them up with pride, and rightly so they were huge, the black iridescence of his wings made them roll with the color of the rainbows when they shifted and yet they still kept the midnight black color that you had come to identify with Lucifer’s wings. You had always wanted to ask permission to touch them and yet had refrained from doing so thinking that they must only be a personal thing and you were nothing more than a friend.

           Well that was until about a year ago when you had started dating then and everything had changed, 3 years after the archangel had come back and proven that he had in fact changed that you started getting acquainted with him and feelings for him had blossomed faster than you thought possible, like a tulip coming up from the ground and growing quickly in late winter, yet much like the tulip feared for a later frost to come through thus quickly killing any progress it had made so quickly. You had feared that Lucifer would deny you should you choose to tell him of your feelings this early on in the friendship, you chose rather to bury your feelings content on having him as a friend for now, content to enjoy his company which did include it’s fair share of getting in trouble, some might say too much but you thought it was just enough, and it came with the added bonus of staring at his wings whenever he had his back turned. Why you always saw then, you never asked maybe he just trusted you enough to show them around you, but you would rather not ask least he rid you of such a beautiful sight.

           Up until today you hadn’t even thought of asking him to let you touch his wings, it just never seemed like the right time, it was almost like he purposefully made sure they avoided you, maybe it was just so that they didn’t hit you or make you feel uncomfortable but you had always wondered what it would be like to touch then, run your hands through his feathers, curl up with him while he had his wings wrapped around you. The violent shiver that shook your body quickly snapped you of your daydream, well looks like it’s now or never. Closing your eyes, you directed a quick prayer up to your boyfriend.

           ‘Hey Lucifer, so I know you might be busy, but I just had a favor to ask of you if, you know, you’re not too busy and might have some time to come visit me.” Almost immediately you were greeted with the sound of wings and a slight breeze that disturbed the frigid air around you causing more goosebumps, if that was even possible at this point, to prickle up on your skin while another shiver rolled through your body. You were quick to curl into yourself while you kept shaking and glanced over to the end of your bed where stood Lucifer in all his glory.

           “Well shit y/n, I’m not affected by the temperature but even I can tell the difference and darling it’s way too cold in here for you to be uncovered like this, what are you doing?” Lucifer’s voice was a mix of concern as well as amusement at seeing you obviously very uncomfortable.

           “You know what Lucifer if you’re not gonna be helpful then you can go fuck yourself” you muttered not only uncomfortable but also a little embarrassed right now at being found like this by Lucifer. You immediately curled into yourself to try to get warm since it looked like your boyfriend was not going to be as much help as you thought he was going to be. You let out a frustrated huff before another shiver moved through your already shaking body making you let out a small whimper of discomfort. Suddenly you felt the bed dip behind you and arms that you knew very well wrap around you instantly enveloping you in warmth that had your stiff muscles uncleaning almost instantly making you sigh out in relief. Lucifer took the opportunity to curl up around you and bury his face in your neck making you giggle slightly.

           “I’m sorry for making fun of you” he apologized while nuzzling your neck making you hum contently the amount of love pouring out of the angel towards you always made you melt in his arms. You honestly wouldn’t mind if you died right here and right now warm, loved and in the arms of which you loved. Alas winter was not to be ignored as a draft moved through the room, the slight coldness reminded you why you had even invited Lucifer over in the first place. Biting your lip you thought to yourself, maybe you could just ask that he cover both of you in blankets and call it good, that way you could be warm and then you wouldn’t risk destroying everything that you had built with him, but if it wasn’t now then when? Welp here goes nothing.

           “Hey Lucifer” you mumbled out, oh gosh you barely spoke up, maybe it was a sign from Chuck and maybe he hadn’t heard you, oh who were you kidding, he was an archangel, how could he not have heard you, it would take a miracle.

           “yeah sunshine?” he asked, damn well he had heard you, well now or never, how come you were so nervous all of a sudden? You had been so sure of yourself just a few minutes but as soon as those wings had come into your sight it had been like something had slapped you across the face.

           “I was wondering…” You trailed off, while bringing your cold feet up to rub against his legs in hopes you warming them as well. Suddenly it seemed like the wall on the farthest side of the room was the most interesting thing in the world, as you stared harshly at it while you gnawed on your lower lip with your teeth. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, blankets and his body heat were good enough, yeah that would be more than enough. You were suddenly pulled from your thoughts as delicate kisses were placed on your neck making you giggle and try to push Lucifer’s face away from you. “stop that tickles” you giggled again as he kept attacking your neck.

           “Only if you tell me what you were going to say” he mumbles in between his constant attack on your neck causing you to giggle louder.

           “Ok, ok! I’ll tell you but I can’t if your distracting me like this” You managed to get out while turning around to look at him. He brought his arm up to rest his head on it while looking at you expectantly. You took the time to just take him in for a little bit, he was gorgeous, how was it that this man was all yours.

           “Y/N” he mumbled effectively snapping you out of your love induced trance. Making your face heat up in embarrassment at being caught staring so openly at him, though who could really blame you. “If it makes you feel better” he started while slowly leaning closer into your face making your breath catch in your throat as his ice blue eyes looked into your eyes. “You hypnotize me too” he whispered right against your lips before placing a delicate kiss on your lips and withdrawing leaving your lips tingling, wanting for more. God this man was going to be the death of you. You quickly snuggled into his chest head resting right over where his heart was situated. While fisting a hand into his shirt, the cold all but forgotten in the love induced haze that Lucifer and brought onto you. You felt his arm tighten around you anchoring you more fully into the moment while his head rested on top of your but not before pressing a quick kiss to your head. If you could die like this, you most certainly would. Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself for what was about to come out of your mouth, not knowing what this was going to do to your relationship.

           “I know this is probably not the best time to ask and I know I’ve had more than enough times to ask this and, you know you really don’t have to feel obligated to say yes or anything I respect your boundaries and such because like what kind of relationship would this be if we didn’t respect each other, not a very good one I think” Your ramblings were cut off by a quick tight hug from Lucifer who then pushed up away a little bit to look at your face.

           “Darling, what has got you so riled up?” he asked, concern just barely lacing his voice, much like the cold barely gracing your toes, close to trying to take ahold of thing and yet still manageable. Taking a deep breath, you quickly spilled it out.

           “I want to touch your wings” you mumbled, while quickly lowering your head to trace patterns on his chest, just loud enough for you to hear but you were certain that Lucifer had heard you with his archangel hearing and such. Almost as soon as the words had left your mouth you felt Lucifer stiffen next and around you, almost as if someone had taken a dinner fork and stabbed him with it. Oh no, you knew this was a bad idea.

           You kept quiet letting Lucifer process your words are you continued to trace mindless patterns on his chest, hoping and praying that the worst he would say was no. You could feel him slowly relax around you but still you held your breath waiting for the answer that as sure to escape his lips any moment now, however what you were not expecting was another question.

           “Can you see my wings?” he asked softly, almost like a reverent whisper, at that you raised your head again to take a good look into his face. When looking over his face you saw two things, love and hope. While his question confused you a bit you decided that now would be just a good a time to come clean as any other. So, you nodded softly gauging his reaction hoping it wouldn’t mean the end of your relationship as you knew it. However when he rested his forehead against yours and kept eye contact with you, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief that at the very least he had not simply started with a no and left you there to suffer in the cold. He opened his mouth to speak again while you held your breath waiting for a question or an answer at this point you didn’t even know you. “How long?” were the only two words that left his mouth this time causing you to gulp loudly, oh well here goes nothing.

           “Since the first time I saw you” was your response, which elicited a deep warmth to overtake your face. Chuck why was he even asking this is so embarrassing. You hoped that he would answer quickly but as it seemed as he was taking his time making you more nervous. Burying your face in his chest you tried to hide your shame, you should have known that this wasn’t a good idea. You buried your face deeper into his chest and staying quiet letting him process the information while trying to warm yourself, hiding your embarrassment from Lucifer for obviously asking something very personal, ugh could this day get any worse?!

           Another shiver wracked your body causing Lucifer to tighten his hold on while he adjusted himself, what was he doing? You tried to move her face when you suddenly felt Lucifer bury his face in the juncture between your neck and shoulder and whispered softly against your skin, “wait”. So, you stop trying and just left your face in his chest and left him continue what adjusting himself until he was sitting and you were curled up on his lap. When suddenly you felt him bring his hand to your chin and tug slightly on it making you look up at him before he connected his lips to yours softly. In that simple act you swore you felt him try to convey all the love and emotion he could felt for you before pulling away slowly and resting him forehead against yours while his eyes locked onto yours, the intimacy of the situation could not be denied but the love that was felt from both of you and him had made your heart melt even more than before, if that was even possible, and your body relax even more from the constant state of tension it had been under due to the cold. When suddenly Lucifer spoke softly breaking the comfortable silence that have enveloped you both.

           “Father” he paused a bit, seeming to think on how exactly he wanted to phrase his next words. Being so close to him, forehead to forehead you could see the emotions flitting through his eyes. He swallowed loudly brought his hands up to caress your face, softly brushing his thumbs over your cheeks as he continued talking. “Father once said that when he created us, he created a perfect companion to us. Someone that would complement us wholly. He said that they were waiting for us somewhere, someplace, sometime, but that he never would tell us specifically where or when he just said that when the time came we would find them and they could literally be anything to us. Friend, child, mother, lover, anything.” He took a breath to watch you take the information in and process it making sure you were understanding before he continued. “We were worried that we would never be able to identify who this companion was due to the fact that of so many souls how were we to identify the person meant for us, so father took mercy on us and said I will allow you one way to be able to identify them and they will be able to identify you” at that Lucifer went quiet. All that was heard was your quiet breathing and your blood thumping through your ears. What was Lucifer getting at?

           Suddenly a new sound filled your ears, rustling, you quickly realized, the rustling of feathers. Then he was everywhere you realized surrounding you and him in your own little cocoon of warmth, your breath hitched while tears of joy filled your eyes, you could feel his brushing against you, the pieces were starting to click, was he saying what you thought you he as saying? Were you that to him? You tried to pull away to look at his wings but before you could he tightened his hold on your face making sure that your eyes were still focused on him and then swallowing loudly again he kept talking.

           “He told us” his voice breaking with emotion while you tried your best not to cry. “He told us that they would be able to see out wings without need for help” taking a breath you could no longer hold your tears in, the slowly starting to make their way down your face, as your suspicions were confirmed he was your, perfectly yours. Lucifer took the opportunity to wipe them away with his thumbs. “I never thought that someone so perfect would be made for me” he whispered while looking at you like you had created the universe itself. “I hope those are happy tears” he said after a pause. Immediately you started nodding as much as you possibly could while your face was trapped in his hands.

           “So happy” you said shakily from all the emotions running through you. Then slowly Lucifer released your face as if giving you permission to look now that he had explained everything. You slowly pulled away and slowly tuned to look around you. Bringing a hand up to your mouth you stifled a sob at what you saw. Obsidian Black wings that were still touched by the iridescence that simultaneously gave them every color of the rainbow while also drowning in black. You reached out to touch them but suddenly you stopped not wanting to overstep your boundaries. It seemed that Lucifer felt your uneasiness because he took his hand and pushed yours forward into his feathers. As soon as your hand touched his feathers you let out an elated giggle. You never thought you would be here, that he would let you touch his feathers let alone basically tell you that he was your soulmate.

           “They’re so soft” you whispered turning to look at him, hand deeply buried in them. He smiled at you before bringing his wings closer around you two so that you were not only warmer but now cuddled up against his chest. He placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before he rested his cheek against yours while your hand kept running through the long feathers.

           “I sure hope they are soft” he started, “I take very good care of them” he stated while he started humming softly causing his chest to rumble where your head was placed. You shifted a little bit so that you were curled up on his lap sideways, head on his chest, one hand intertwined with the one that was wrapped around you while the other one was still in his feathers, basking in happy glow that you two had created. Soon enough, the warmth that came from Lucifer and being wrapped in his wings had you falling asleep, trying to stay awake Lucifer chuckled, placing a kiss on your head again he spoke into your hair “Sleep darling, the cold will not bother you tonight” you hummed your body relaxing into him.

           “ ‘m glad the heater broke” you mumbled half asleep. Your breathing quickly evened out after that while your hand went slack in his wing. Lucifer took your hand and put it on your lap and tightened his hold on you a little more before responding to your question while looking down at your sleeping form with all the love in the world. “Me too”

[dumbwaystodeviate]

Home

The violent revolution had passes. Androids were considered equals when proven to be deviants. Machines though, they were still very much second class citizens. Years passed and RK900 was bounced from post to post. Nobody wanted the responsibility of employing an obedient killing machine. It was just as well he didn’t need much. An empty room to call his own, there were charging ports dotted around the city and thirium handouts happened once a month. As a top of line android, he didn’t need a top-up all that often. So he floated around the city, haunted the streets as he tried to find somewhere to fit in. Circadian rhythms meant nothing to him and he could be on the streets at 3am or 3pm, it didn’t matter to him. He was down by the waterfront, letting his feet get soaked in the lapping waves by the foot of the bridge when someone growled at him.

“Fuck off, this is my spot. Find your own!” The ‘fuck’ was slightly mangled and the voice rough with a lingering infection. RK900 looked around to find the source of the words.

“I said fuck off you plastic prick,” the lump of discarded bedding moved and a harrowed, scarred face glowered at him. He might have looked menacing and wild to a human but to RK900 is was like a kitten hissing at him. Full of rage and indignity but about as harmful as sandpaper if it lashed out.

“I believe that this is communal area owned by the city council so we have equal rights to be here,” Nines replied easily and wriggled his toes in his soaking shoes. “I’m an RK900, what can I call you?”

“You haven’t earned the right to call me anything, dip shit. Now get the fuck out of here before I beat you to a pulp.”

More out of respect than fear, RK900 got up and took sopping, wet steps as he retreated but still heard the grumble of “fucking androids” from behind him. Even though his room was stark white, empty of all personality, at least nobody could tell him to get out of there.

The next night, he found himself back at the foot of the bridge just before sunset. Carefully stashed away, the bedding was folded up into a holey bin bag. They were rolled tight and a quick scan suggested that clothes and other knickknacks were hidden in the centre. Whether they were valuable or not, RK900 didn’t have the time to scan because a voice was yelling at him again.

“Get the fuck away from my shit!” The same man from yesterday was hobbling towards him, fury etched into every line of his face.

Obediently, RK900 stepped away, hands up to show he meant to harm. He was surprised when the man all but ignored him, instead, turned to his worldly possessions and fussed over them.

“Get lost,” he grumbled to RK900 but didn’t look up.

In the light of day, he looked even less intimidating. Dirt and grime were embedded in his skin, making his wrinkles and scars even more prominent. He couldn’t have been much older then 40 but his situation had aged him beyond his years.

“I mean no harm,” RK900 tried to placate him but went ignored.

The bedding was unrolled and a book was pushed aside, along with a change of clothes which looked just as ragged and worn as what he was currently sporting. Something metallic was quickly palmed and shoved in a pocket with a muttered “thank fuck”.

RK900 watched him make his bed under the bridge, the support leg provided some shielding from the elements but it was no doubt useless against the bitter cold that was creeping in at nights.

“Is there not a shelter you could go to?” he finally asked.

The snort and side glance he got were as bitter as the reply. “They’re all full. Government spends all their money on android shit. They’re cheaper and easier to support and make their numbers instantly look better. Why care for a human when you can sort out eight androids for the same price?”

There was nothing RK900 could say to that. After all, he was one of the ones the government was providing for. He looked over at the man as he heavily sat down in his bed, rubbing his hip with a hiss.

“What happened to you?”

“None of your concern, now piss off.”

RK900 retreated a few steps but sank onto the ground and watched. His scans indicated a low level fever was plaguing the man, given his condition, it probably was the tail end of a chest infection. But given how bad the weather forecast was, there was a 57% probability of a relapse.

“Holy shit, you’re not a deviant, are you?” The man rasped from where he’d burrowed down.

“No, I’m not.” There was no point in lying or denying it. RK900 was what he was, he felt no shame in it. He felt nothing at all. What he didn’t expect was a barked laugh that ended in a hacking cough.

They said nothing to each other until RK900 left close to midnight. His silent companion had been fitfully dozing, obviously not used to the company.

Over the course of the next week, it became a bit of a habit for RK900 to sit by the water under the bridge for the first half a the night. His chosen companion said nothing most days, they just stared out at the water and waited for the sun to go down.

“Hey,” the man called one night as RK900 got up to leave. “I know it may mean nothing to you other than a dictionary definition but thanks.”

Puzzled, RK900 nodded and returned to his room. He didn’t know why he deserved gratitude. They were just two strangers occupying the same space for a little while. It wasn’t like they talked. Still, it was nice to know that his presence wasn’t outright loathed and feared like it was by most people. RK900 had detected many things in the man but not once did he see fear.

“Evening Nines,” the man was propped up against the concrete of the bridge, huddled in his blankets. Rain pelted down around them and was slowly soaking the bedding. “Was wondering whether you’d turn up in such miserable weather.”

RK900 dropped gracefully down next to him, water dripped from his clothes but he didn’t care. Left exposed to the elements as he was, he at least shielded what he’d started calling ‘his human’ from some of the rain. He turned to look at him with a question, “Nines?”

“RK900 was a bit of a mouthful.” It looked like there was a shrug accompanying the words but a shiver swallowed half the movement up.

There was a hiss and, as it had become almost habit, the man rubbed his hip.

“Does it hurt?”

“The cold sets it off. Old battle wound. You know what it’s like.”

A quick scan showed the piece of scrap metal was clutched in his hand and Nines filtered through his potential responses.

“What happened?” He finally settled on. It was open enough to give plenty of choice in response.

Once the coughing had subsided, his companion too a breath. “What happened to everybody else. I trained years, no, decades to get where I was for my job. Then a piece of plastic waltzed in, fresh off the production line but had downloaded all the knowledge that took me years of study to accumulate.”

“I was designed for fighting in the arctic against Russian. Then the revolution happened. Now I am without purpose. Without a sense of self.” It only felt right that Nines would share a little of himself in return.

“Damn. That sucks. I had “Reed, you’re a drain on our resources, taken too many sick days, we cannot keep up this kind of wasteful behaviour.” Not even a sorry or asked to help train up cover. As I walked out with my box of shit, an android arrived, prim and proper as you please. Ready to pick up and do so much better than I did. Not like i had so much time off because I got fucking shot on a case.”

He fell silent after that, eyes tight with the pain of the memories. Nines didn’t want to press, he had a name now and that was enough. Eventually, Reed’s head tipped forward a little, face slack with sleep. On quiet feet, Nines rose up. For the first time in a long time, he had a mission objective.

Hacking into government files wasn’t a chore for an android of his calibre. Personnel files were less heavily protected. Searching for ‘Reed’ brought up several possibilities but sorting by rough age, gender and narrowing it all down to the Detroit area finalised it down to two potential people. A quick look at the attached photo and Nines had found his friend.

Gavin Reed, 41, discharged from service as a homicide detective two years ago. No known address as of 18 months ago. His last case involved a shootout where he’d jumped in front of an undeviated android, took a bullet to the hip. Insurance only covered so much of his bills and time off work. With a slow recovery hindered by infection, the DPD couldn’t keep his position open and filled it before he was fit to return to work. With no job to return to, he was fired on the pretext of too much time off work.

When Nines went to see Gavin the next day, he asked as much. Half expecting to be yelled at for such a breach of privacy, Nines didn’t expect Gavin to let out a bitter laugh.

“That’s the official story, yeah. What they don’t say it that I took the bullet for her and fell on her. Dented her chassis a little. She lodged a complaint but by the time internal affairs conducted a hearing, she’d had it replaced for an upgraded version already. Claimed that the shock of it all forced her to deviate in a traumatic way. Agreed to waive any charges if I was reprimanded and fired. Otherwise she was going to take the DPD to court over her deviation.”

 There was nothing Nines could say to that, something simmered in his circuits, burned with something he’d never experienced before. Instead of speaking, he watched as Gavin got up and limped to the water, swirled his hands in it a couple of times before splashing his face. It didn’t seem to serve a purpose other than to human eyes, hide the tears on his cheeks.

“Couldn’t pay the hospital or the mortgage. Sold everything I could and have been trying to make ends meet on the street since.” He coughed weakly into the crook of his elbow as he settled back down and closed his eyes. “I’m tired Nines. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next evening saw Nines back under the bridge. He didn’t expect Gavin to push something at him. Wrapped in a plastic bag was a brand new scarf.

“For putting up with me,” Gavin shrugged and Nines ran his fingers over the material. Cheaply made polyester that was rough against his fingers. Unlikely to keep him warm and it wasn’t exactly fashionable either.

“With the cold coming, thought you might look a little less out of place. Wanted you to have something of your own.” He carefully didn’t say how the colour made him think of Nines’ eyes.

Nines tucked it in his pocket with a soft ‘thank you’, completely at a loss as to how to handle such a gift. He left shortly after, ignoring he sad look Gavin sent him.

Only at home, when he sat in the corner of his bare room did he fish the scarf out again. The tags were still attached, the price hastily torn off but a quick scan of the item and Nines knew it cost a couple of dollars from a discount store. Realisation hit Nines then. It wasn’t an extravagant gift by any means. But those couple of dollars probably meant a day’s food for Gavin. He’d sacrificed that so he could make warmth flush through the circuits of an undeviated android who sat with him most nights because neither of them had a place in the world.

The walls around Nines were cracked, holes were letting the colours of the world shine through. He picked away at them for the rest of the night and wondered whether Gavin was sleeping well. His chest infection had been getting worse, his breathing shallow and rapid even in his sleep. The more Nines let the walls crumble, the more an overwhelming sense of worry crept through him.

With nothing better to do, Nines decided to surprise Gavin by being at their usual spot by the time he returned from the city centre. Some days he tried finding a job, other days he sat with a sign begging for change from strangers who barely even glanced at him.

Walking towards the bridge, Nines watched how pages from a book were scattered along the shore. They flipped and floated in the wind, pretty in their own right. The cover of the book at some way ahead of him, ripped pages fluttered in the breeze. It was surrounded by clothes strewn in a trail with familiar bedding that was half dumped in the river, sodden. Dread finally forced its way through the gaps in the wall which crumpled under its weight.

Gavin’s things were scattered all over, ransacked and destroyed in anger when nothing valuable was found. As Nines got to the bridge, he finally saw a familiar figure lying face down on the ground, one hand outstretched. Nines ran. He was kneeling next to Gavin in the matter of seconds and rolling him onto his side. Blood coated half his face, eye swollen shut, breath a shallow wheeze.

“Gavin?” Nines shook him a little. “Gavin?”

No response. All logic suggested that Nines calls an ambulance but he didn’t know how Gavin would be able to afford any kind of medical care. He’d left his chest infection untreated for that very reason. An ambulance ride and hospital stay was too costly.

A minute later, Gavin’s lashes fluttered and he whined as the pain registered.

“Nines? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my friend,” the reply was all too easy. It earned him a soft smile from Gavin. His fist uncurled and Nines watched as the scrap of metal his scans had picked up so often before was finally revealed.

A police badge. Or rather, what has left of it after a bullet had passed through it.

“The bastards couldn’t get this. I wouldn’t let them.” Gavin smiled proudly even as blood welled up from a split lip again.

Mind made up, Nines gathered Gavin against his chest and stood as gently as possible. None of Gavin’s belonging were salvageable. The bedding was sodden, the clothes deliberately ripped beyond use. One step at a time, Nines carried him back to his room. It wasn’t much, barren and white but at least it provided a shelter from the elements.

Since activation, Nines had been without a purpose. A machine without a function in the world he was built in. Now, as he looked at Gavin curled up and small in his room, he knew what he needed to do. Lists of mission objectives filled his HUD, maps to the nearest free treatment clinics, food banks, forms to fill in for government aid which Gavin may not have been told about yet alone given the means to access.

They were two people society had shunned, wanted to forget even existed. Nobody needed an obedient killing machine or a disabled ex-detective but somehow they’d met and, as unlikely as it was, found themselves needed of each other. The future may have looked bleak but Nines finally saw the glimmer of hope.

[deathbyvalentine]

Harrowing Commissions

Sebastian

The light from the fire flickered, making the shadows in the room shudder and jump. Starting, the maid in the armchair jumped up, adding another log to the flames. It was a room with a lot of shadows - part bedroom, part parlour and part study, odd objects littered side tables and shelves alike. The walls that were not dominated with bookcases were dominated instead by windows or portraits. The room was dark, the windows blocked out by heavy curtains. In all of the clutter, it would be easy to miss the young man lying in bed, surrounded by pillows and cushions, holding a faded blue book in his pale hands. 

Only his cheeks had colour in them - a feverish flash of rouge. His hair and eyes were dark. His lips moved in silent prayer as his eyes flickered over the paper thin pages. A cough came over him, wracking his thin body. His attempts to muffle it did no good - the maid immediately bustled over with a tray of bottles and ointments. Propping him up, in a business like manner she rubbed a foul smelling liquid onto his chest. It appeared to the job and the odd whistling his breathing had taken on faded. She lay him back down and began to fluff up the pillows around him, fussing in such a way it betrayed her fondness for her patient. 

 He caught hold of her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “It’s soon, isn’t it? It’s going to be soon.” She stared at him, unsure of how to respond. It didn’t matter. A few more moments and he picked up his beloved gospels, resuming his study.

*   

Alice

The clock was just chiming... a number when the latch to the servant’s entrance to the kitchen lifted. The hearth fire was still burning, so when the young lady slipped in, she managed to avoid kicking over the mop and bucket just to the side. One hand held her boots, the other her skirts to keep the rich fabric off the dirty stone floor. Now safely inside, she placed the shoes down beside the door and collapsed onto the bench alongside the long wooden table. Idly, while looking into the small flames of the fire, she picked a grape from the fruit bowl and popped it into her mouth, enjoying the sweet burst of flavour. 

She pulled the pins from her hair, letting the curls cascade down her back. She winced a little and inspected her fingertip a moment after. One of the jewels had caught her funny and sliced her. A small bead of blood welled up. She blinked at it for a moment before placing her finger in her mouth too, soothing the wound. Outside, the sun was beginning to creep up over the horizon, painting the sky in pinks, indigos and purples. She should slip to bed before the breakfast preparations begun - she knew her mother had slipped an extra coin to one of the servants to report on her, but she wasn’t sure which one yet. If she slept now, she had enough time to be woken for breakfast and pretend to be as fresh as a daisy. 

She stood, stretching once. Then she disappeared up the servant’s corridors, knowing the route to her room by heart. Her boots lay forgotten by the door.

*

Thomas

“Behold, a story for the ages! Be dazzled, wondered and amazed at the power of - “

No, that’s not right. You’re not writing a circus side show. 

“Come and be welcome in an epic spreading centuries. Heroes, lovers and villains convene in this - “

You’re not writing a fairytale either. Think Thomas. What are you trying to do here?

“This year, a new play arrives that will reveal not only the essence of characters within it, but those who watch it. Watch the story unfold and let it awaken something within you too. We all wear masks. The hero, the lover, the villain.... This is an invitation to find out exactly what is behind yours. If you dare. If you’re brave enough.” 

That’s the advertisement done. Now I just have to finish the damn thing. 

*

Eloise

“He loves me... He loves me not. He loves me... He loves me not - ” Petals drifted to the floor like morning snow, to be crushed as the woman paced barefoot, releasing their too-sweet perfume into the air. The floor was almost slick with them, the top layer bright and pink, the bottom little more than browning sludge. Her skirts trailed, disturbing the petals enough to reveal how many lay beneath. It seemed that everything in the room was coated with petals or dust. But still, she walked.

“He loves me.” She stopped short at the mirror, allowing a slight smile to spread across her beautiful face. She reached out with gloved hands, her fingertips just touching the spotless surface. Her fingers left a slight smear and she recoiled, finding the bell on the sideboard to frantically call a maid. The mirror being obscured simply would not do. She stepped back and let the bustling girl come in with a cloth, the door creating a semicircle of clear floor. The girl didn’t touch anything else, didn’t even ask about the petals. She cleaned the mirror and was gone in a flurry of business like activity. There was a breath, a moment where everything was still.

“He loves me not.” The slow chant resumed, almost lyrical in its cadence. Another petal tumbled to the ground. Another step was taken.

*

Charles

Day 15 “... My sleep was greatly disturbed last night by a number of dreams. Such visions! Such phantasms! I believe this is a sign that my work is taking me closer than ever before. A number of studies has found that sleep is when the mind is most susceptible after all. I plan on capitalising on this by distilling a mineral (imported from Italy) into a chemical that is supposed to induce a most coherant train of thought. Lucidity and revelation are of course, key and I have high hopes for this latest experiment granting me fresh sight and new contact.”

Day 20 “Well, that did not go exactly to plan. The chemical did indeed induce a number of wonderful sights, but as always, the body was not willing. My hands trembled so violently it shattered the simmering glassware and I was forced to retire, bedridden for several days. Every failed avenue is a clue however, and I refuse to consider it an utter waste. In brighter news, a letter has arrived from my Vatican friend’s expedition. He promises to send his logbook as he believes there are some encounters I will be interested in. I await this with baited breath - he has always given me fascinating data before.”

Day 23 “A small break while I was forced to deal with one of the children’s latest indiscretion. Did the good lord grant us families purely to curb the progress of the human race? I can only assume so. No matter, tomorrow I try some new components from America, promising to engage with the energy that sits around us all, invisible but present all the same.”

*

Elizabeth

She tutted and held the glass up to the light, turning it this way and that. Placing it back on the table, she snapped her fingers at a passing maid, steering her towards the sparkling glassware. “Do you really think this is good enough?” Not waiting for an answer, she shook her head. “There are still fingermarks on the stem. Polish them again. I shall check on your progress in an hour.” 

Sweeping from the room, she entered the busy hallway. Preparations were underway. Everywhere you looked there were maids carrying fresh linen, silverware or carpet beaters. Butlers converged in corners, talking about how best to organise the cloakroom, the game room, the parlour. A smile tugged at her lips. She was rarely as pleased as when the house was alive like this. There was something pleasing in the shifting bodies, the business of it all. It reminded her of a great beehive of which she was the queen. 

Pausing on the upper landing, she rested her hands on the (gleaming, shining) banister. The house would be perfect for the ball, of this much she was certain. If only her family were as easily polished up.  Or perhaps as easily put away as the silverware was, only to be brought out at special occasions. With an amused smile, she shook the thought out of her head. They would be perfect. She would make sure of it. When she set her mind to something, she never failed.

*

Georgiana/Mystery Member #1

She held a fork up to the light, turning it this way and that. Frowning at what she saw, she clicked her fingers at a passing maid. With an eyeroll, the girl sloped over, hands placed in her pinafore pouch in a most slovenly manner. Letting the fork fall to the table with a clatter, she clucked her tongue. “There are still marks on the cutlery. Fix it. At once.”  “Yes ma’am.” The maid replied, though she could swear she saw a hint of a smirk on her face. Her cheeks flushed red though she kept her head up high. What impertinence. She may not be the lady of the house but she still deserved respect. Elizabeth would never deal with such nonsense from her servants and yet these girls thought they could get away with it with her. She stalked from the room, being sure to make her heels click on the floor in a way she thought of as most stately. 

She got the same response when she found a smudge on the guest linen, two scullery maids very almost giggling. Hating herself as she did it, she invoked the most compelling line she could think of. “Of course, if you would like me to explain to Elizabeth why your work is not up to scratch, I would be happy to explain.” Instantly, their smiles disappeared and a solemnity appeared in their eyes. The rush of power only lasted an instant. It was borrowed, after all.

One day she would be married and she would have her own house, bigger and grander than this. She would have maids that straightened their backs whenever she swept past and butlers that refused to lift their eyes to look at her directly. She would hold all the keys to the house on a chain on her waist and she would never have to ask for something twice. One day. 

*

Mystery Member #2

Dearest friend, I write to you with a matter of great urgency. Too long I have been silenced and now the time has come for me to finally beg for help. I am not sure what may befall -

I am not sure if harm will - I am sure great harm will befall me if this letter was discovered, so I beg you and your servants to be discrete. If you investigate, keep my name off your lips and papers. You must be wondering why I chose you. Well, your kind and - 

your gentle and good - 

Well, you would believe me. The constabulary would surely find me mad if I approached them with my tale of woe and I would be in Bedlam before the month was out, which would suit my captors fine.  To be clear, I do not want them harmed - I do not want violence -  I just want to escape. A safe haven. An oasis. Away from this den of iniquity and sin.  Eagerly I wait for your reply. I know you shall not fail me. With love.

*

The House

It sat, quietly for now, among gardens and fields. If arriving by carriage, it snuck up on you. A turn in the road and there it was, looming and large, casting shadows easily around it. If arriving by foot, it simply waited for you to arrive, watching you with its many windows, glistening in the sun. 

It had been used to house soldiers once and it hadn’t forgotten it. If you looked closely enough, the marks were still there. A scuff on a door frame where a sword had caught passing through, the basement with a forgotten box of munitions sat, covered in cobwebs and caked in dust. Soldiers had slept here, loved here, mourned here. Entire lives had been acted out with the house as a constant backdrop.

It used to house monks and it remembered this too. In its carvings, its windows, in paintings of men that nobody could recall the names of. There was a reverence that could not be simply scrubbed away like old paint. It lingered like perfume. It stayed in the bones of the place, the memory becoming as essential as the bricks.

A ball was to be hosted soon enough. The servants and the family prepared, gardeners tidied the grounds and merchants came to and from carrying exotic goods. It was not the first party it had seen and it most certainly would not be the last. The house looked its best when filled with people. It was not a place made to be empty, to be unusued. It always had a purpose and its purpose now was simply to host. 

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 57

Chapter Summary - Danielle wakes in the middle of the night feeling very sick, but doesn't tell Tom, when he finds her a while later, he realises she is not fully at ease with certain things, telling him that their talk is all the more important. The next day, feeling better, they talk about their issues and insecurities, hoping they are on the same page.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @damalseer​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​ @salempoe​ @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

When Danielle woke, she groaned slightly; her head was spinning and all she could think about was how much everything seemed to be hurting. She gently removed herself from Tom's arms and rushed to the door, choosing to go to the main bathroom and not her en suite one. Keeping as quiet as she could, she ran to the toilet bowl and vomited violently, after several minutes, she finally finished dry-heaving and realised she had a splitting headache to go with her nausea. Grabbing the towel from its rack, she placed it on the tiled floor and lay her head on it, her breathing slowing again now that she did not feel like her blood was on fire.

Tom's brows furrowed as he felt the sheets next to him for Danielle, only to find them empty, forcing himself to awaken more, he turned on the light next to him and looked around. There was no light from the en suite, the door of which was slightly ajar and the sheets next to him were cold and...as he felt them, he realised they were damp, as was the pillow. Concerned, he rose to his feet and grabbed his boxers, which were still beside the bed from the night before and rubbed his hand over his face to help wake himself, the cold chill of the winter night caused him to shiver slightly and he then realised the bedroom door was opened slightly, so he walked into the hallway. "Elle?" He called as he opened the door, noticing the light beaming out from under the main bathroom door, he walked over and knocked. "Elle?"

"Tom," Tom's heartfelt as though it was about to explode in his chest when he heard how faint and pathetic her voice was. "Tom."

He pushed open the door and winced slightly. The stench of sweat and vomit were the first things to hit him, but when he saw Danielle covered in sweat and shivering on the cold tiled floor, he forgot the foul smells and knelt down to her. "Elle."

"I think I'm sick."

Tom looking at her for a moment before he chuckled, "I think you might be." he agreed. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to disturb you."

"You are the silliest woman." he shook his head. He reached down to pull her into his arms and walk her back to bed. "How long have you been here?" He asked worriedly, realising just how cold she was.

"I woke at about one."

"Elle, it is four-thirty, you have been here for over three hours on a cold floor, what were you thinking?" He snapped worriedly.

"I'm sorry."

Danielle's response was so feeble and meek, Tom felt guilty for even sounding clipped. "I know, I'm sorry if I sound mad, I just don't want you to be getting more sick." He stroked her hair and scooped her into his arms.

"No, I smell." Her attempts to wriggle out of his grip were laughable.

"I know, because you are sick and I am going to bring you back to bed and you are going to get some medication and we will have you right as rain again soon," he promised as he walked through the hallway and back to her room.

"But the bed."

"Elle, the sheets are already damp because of you."

"I'm surprised you are not trying to take credit for that." Tom chuckled at her words. "I'm sorry I ruined Christmas."

"Elle, you did not..."

"I went into hospital Christmas Eve, I made Emma mad again Christmas day, and I am sick on Stephens' Day." She listed.

"You had a fall, Emma is being a brat and you cannot help whatever this is, what is it anyway? I am not sick, so I don't think it is food-related."

"I don't know," Danielle groaned, curling into a ball as soon as she was placed in the bed.

Tom went to retrieve some paracetamol and ibuprofen she kept in the bathroom. "Which ones?"

"Only the panadol, you can't mix ibuprofen with diffene," she explained. Tom fed her the painkillers and got in beside her, using his body heat to warm her. "I am so run down." She moaned.

"Could you be...?" Tom asked warily.

"Could I be what?"

"Pregnant?"

Danielle froze for a moment. "I could, but I don't think so." She dismissed.

"We have sex, a lot, and I don't think in the time we've been together, you've..."

"Bled? No, I don't on the bar. It is the reason I am on it, if I wasn't, you'd know, trust me. As for pregnancy, it's the best thing on the market and I don't feel like my boobs are sore or bigger, nor do I feel bloated, I don't think it's anything like that, so I don't think you have to worry."

"It's not that I am worried, it's just..."

"Too soon?" She answered. "If Emma thought us spending the next few months seeing if we can go without strangling one another was bad," she laughed. "I think it is just being run down, not enough sleep, food and fresh air, my body is telling me to behave and look after myself." She dismissed as she began to warm up again. "Don't worry."

"Well get some more sleep, and I mean it, wake me if you feel ill again, alright?"

"I promise," Danielle swore, falling back asleep, her body warming as she did.

A few hours later, it was actually Danielle that was first to wake, and bar a small twinge in her temple, felt as though she was well-rested, if not tender-stomached and hungry. Tom was snoring ever so slightly in his sleep, causing her to grin and look at him before slipping out from under the covers, and even with the heating having warmed the house, she shivered for a moment as she made her way to the bathroom and took a diffene for her wrist, knowing it would help her head too. Feeling crap from her night, she decided to just throw on the shower and begin the day feeling fresh. As soon as the steam began to come out of the showerhead, she jumped in, moaning as the warm water hit her, making her feel almost human again. She was in there a few moments when she remembered she was wearing the brace and took it off, popping it on the radiator in hopes of getting it to get dried once more.

She was barely in there a few minutes when a shadow came into view. "Are you joining me?" She grinned.

Tom opened the shower door, naked and smiled at her. "Feeling better?"

"Stupid migraines, I haven't had one with vomiting in years, that wasn't fun."

"I can well imagine." He stepped in and closed the door behind him, sighing contently as the warm water hit him too. "I am glad you feel better, but you are going to have to start talking to me when you are sick."

"I know." She gave an apologetic smile. "I will."

"You say that, but you said so after your fall too, why won't you trust me?"

"I do trust you."

"Then why is this something you fight so ardently?"

"Because you're Tom Hiddleston and can have any woman you want and I am just a no one, frumpy, short and boring, seeing me sick is not going to make me any more attractive and when I am injured, I am not the strong sort of woman you like." She explained.

Tom stared at her for a moment, in truth, he thought she had to be joking, but her sheepish demeanour told him that she genuinely thought herself beneath him. "Elle, we all get sick, everyone does, the sexiest person alive gets sick and no one can pull off sick as sexy, and as for you not being strong, you came over here, alone, and made the life you wanted for yourself, you refuse to take shit from anyone, including the biggest brat to ever hit the music industry and you got her to back down from you, not the other way around and you think yourself weak, you are terrifyingly strong." He declared. "I am terrified you want someone stronger than me, someone, who can deal with things better than I can."

"You deal with everything so well, you don't ever seem phased."

"I shit myself all the time, interviews, auditions, hell even if I see a camera pointing at me or a fan walking over to me in the street, because I have no idea what is going to happen and I can't control it, but you, you take control, Taylor Fucking Swift came up to you and you dismissed her as a talentless nobody whose opinion was irrelevant, think about that, she had the gumption to state she was not complicit in any of that song of its lyrics, then was caught lying on camera and still held her head high as though she was not caught out and you had her scuttling off like a beetle. You are terrifying and fiery and I am so often terrified I am not good enough for you."

Danielle gave a small grin, "Well, yeah, when you say it like that I sound badass." She let the waterfall on her face for a moment before wiping it off again and looking at him. "How about we have breakfast and have that talk?"

"I think we need to." he agreed. "But before we go any further, this is not to end things, not to destroy what we're building, right?"

"I want to talk about everything, not just the random statement about two to three kids and a house in a suburb, a proper conversation on it all."

"Well, any boy is going to Eton, that's a must, and don't let Benedict say that Harrow is better because that is bullshit, I will tell you that now." He stated, causing Danielle to smile before she reached for her shampoo.

*

"So, sitting room or in here?" Danielle looked at Tom as she placed the last of their dishes on the side of the sink to drain. "To talk." She looked at him slightly apprehensively. "You seemed so sure about it a short while ago."

"I was hoping we could go out and do it." Tom frowned at her. "Walk Mac and talk. I feel like I haven't walked my own dog is a couple of weeks and after being cooped up all yesterday and for ages before Christmas, I want some fresh air."

"What if someone spots us?"

"We'll go to the woods, if there is someone there, they deserve to get photos. We don't have to." she backtracked.

"You...you want to risk being seen?" There was a glint of excited hope in his voice.

"I want to be with you, Tom, I don't particularly like the idea that someday, I will be on a tabloid comparing me to Taylor and being viciously attacked for existing by random people online, but yes, I want to be with you in public, well, start the process anyway." She smiled.

"I'll get Mac's lead," Tom stated, rushing off with a large goofy grin on his face. Smiling, Danielle dried her hands and retrieved her jacket. "We'll take the car out since you were ill this morning; actually, should we call the hospital, you did have the fall, are they related?"

"I don't think so, I think it was just an exhaustion migraine."

"Maybe we should anyway..."

"Tom, if I feel ill again, I will fully consent to you bringing me to the hospital, but I feel fine, so please, let's just go." She stated.

"Fine, I need a cover for the back seat, I cannot imagine Mac is going to be overly clean after our walk."

"In the press where his lead is, there are plastic-backed blankets just for him." She instructed. "Here."

"No, you're injured, I have them," Tom went and got what was needed. "I am going to get some old clothes so I don't care if I get ruined, you get yourself and Mac ready." He instructed.

"Yes, sir." Danielle gave a small military salute and giggled. "Tell your mam where we are going too, she would go mad if the day after she warns me to be good, I run off and ignore her."

"She'd appreciate that." Tom nodded. "Off with you." He walked over to his mothers, his Jaguar still outside Danielle's door from collecting her from the hospital two days previous, when he entered his mother's, he chuckled slightly. His niece had apparently not forgotten she only say half of the movie and forced them all to watch it again, much to her father's chagrin. "Elle and I are walking Mac in the woods, we'll be back in about two hours." He informed them.

"The two of you?" Sarah smiled.

"Yes, we need to talk about a few things, and Mac needs a walk, so it makes sense to sort it all together."

"Is everything alright?" Diana asked worriedly.

"Great, we just want to talk about some things in general mum, nothing to worry about," Tom promised. "She just wanted me to tell you we were going because she knows after the last day, you would be worried."

Diana gave an uncertain smile, "Thank you, darling."

Giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, he ran upstairs and got what he needed before he ran down again, with his car keys in hand and ran out to his car, where Mac and Danielle were waiting patiently. "Ready?"

"We are." Her smile filled him with confidence that they would easily be able to talk through everything and achieve whatever they needed to.

There was very little said between the house and the woods, both thinking over everything they had to say, Mac Tíre happily lying on the back seat looking at the world going by. They parked up at the gate that Danielle had waited for an ambulance at. "Where is your bike, by the way?"

"It got badly damaged in the fall," She sighed. "The guy that found me works for the park, he said they will scrap it, it's all it's good for now." She explained as they got out and locked the car. "Will this be alright here?" She pointed to the car.

"How many are going to try and rob the only Jag I have ever seen around here?" Tom chuckled. "It is fine." They walked in a little, Mac off the lead so he could sniff around, but Tom kept his lead ready in case they needed it. "Where do we start?"

"Well, we could do a loop and come back here, but you have to makes sure on the fourth crossroads you take a right."

"I meant in this conversation, Elle."

"I know, I was just trying to not be the one to start it," she explained. "Right, so I guess we start with what we want from this. Both of us aren't in this for some fun I take it, this is a serious, wanting to try and start a life together relationship."

"Aiming towards marriage and kids down the road in a few years if it works," Tom stated.

"So that's a start. I am not overly bothered on marriage, I mean if I get married, great, but to me, it is a piece of paper, it is not as important as people make it out to be." She explained.

"You still feel like that?" Tom asked, remembering her saying something to Emma a few years previous on the matter.

"I want a proper happy relationship, a piece of paper does not dictate your happiness in a relationship." She explained further. "If in a few years, you and I are still doing this, and marriage seems like a good step, I would happily do so, but it is not a requirement for me is what I am saying."

"Alright, and kids?"

"Nice, but again, not a requirement. I have plans I want to get done first." She explained. "You?"

"I don't want to have children in the same position as I was in, I want it to be done properly, two parents, happy together."

"Is that part of the reason you discuss my parents, you think I have the background that would make it more likely to happen?"

"I never thought of anything like that, consciously anyway, but it could be that; I cannot say what my subconscious thinking, but in truth, no I had not thought of that," Tom answered honestly. "Does my parent's break-up make you feel somewhat worried?"

"No, we are not our parents, their good or their bad. Your parents were not happy, what is the point them being in a bad marriage if it would have affected you, Em's and Sarah negatively. You had two homes where your parents were more at peace, and in turn able to parent you better than one toxic home." She stated.

"Fair point." Tom conceded. "So this plan of yours?"

"I want to further myself in this job, I want to be the one that the studio contracts, not being called in by a firm for a studio." She stated. "I want it that I answer to me, if I am up at four am for a shoot, then I am the one bringing home all the cash, not someone else sitting in a swivel chair in an office getting the lion's share and me pulling only a salary." She explained.

"You see, you have so much drive." Tom pointed out. "What do I need to do to help you achieve that?"

"If I say that I need to study, let me; if I pull a fifteen-hour day, drag me away from said study for food." She suggested.

"Only if you do the same with me and scripts."

"Deal." She smiled fondly. "I promise to keep you in tea and other sustenance too."

"Well then, it appears we have an accord my darling." He grinned, taking her injured hand and gently kissing it. "What are we going to do when this comes out?"

"Us?" Tom nodded. "Do we get a warning?"

"Magazines, usually yes, fans and online, usually no."

"I think we should be prepared, we should have a picture, one of us, happy and pre-planned, doing something natural, at home on the couch, out with Mac, something that is really us, and when they all come for their blood, we use that, give it to your social media, take their power off them, give people the details before they can."

Tom smiled, "That is a great idea."

"I want this to be ours for as long as we can, but if there is a chance we are spotted, I want you to do what you can to release it first. If there is a situation where we know it will be public, say an event where we can't prevent it, do it as far in advance of it as possible."

"Alright."

"I am not a very public person Tom, I am not good with dressing beautifully and looking good for a camera, I am not sure if I can ever do for you what Sophie does for Ben."

"I disagree with your idea of your beauty, but would never force you to. If you are not willing to go on a red carpet, I don't want to do that to you." Danielle said nothing for a short while. "What is it?"

"I thought things were getting better with Emma, but she went back to being mad as soon as we mentioned me staying with you."

"She needs to get over herself, she is five months older than you and half your maturity," Tom growled. "She and Jack moved in together and I said nothing, literally nothing, because I knew they were happy together and he would treat her right, she needs to extend the same courtesy to us."

"I just want my friend back."

"I know, darling." Tom pulled her close to him. "What other concerns do you have?"

"How do I prepare for people saying I am nothing but a golddigger?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea."

"Really, not even after the summer, I mean, every second paper was saying you were after a Sugar Mama."

Tom scoffed. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I never noticed."

"How do you ignore that sort of thing?"

"I don't read about myself online, I once did it, and they were all discussing what I am like in bed, that put a quick end to that."

"I hope they were at least complimenting."

"There are social media pages dedicated to discussing my size." He exclaimed.

"Were they generous?"

"Not the point, Elle."

"Well, at least they are nice about you."

"Some are, others aren't, especially after..."

"Well some people were never going to be happy anyway, others probably just held that opinion of her, to begin with, and wondered what brought you two together."

"Do you wonder?"

"No, I don't, and I don't care." She stated firmly.

"Why did you react like that?" Tom asked. "So vehemently against even knowing."

"I don't want to know Tom, I don't discuss Paul, I don't want to discuss Taylor, it is weird to focus on exes, I don't mind discussing her new songs or how Paul is doing, but the relationships, no, unless there is something long term as a result, I'm good not knowing."

"Okay..."

"Do you want to know the intricate details of my time with Paul?" Tom's facial expression answered her question. "Well, same here. They both have their lives, we are trying to sort ours, so we will leave it at that."

Tom gave her a loving smile. "You are so mature, you know that?"

"I am in my late twenties, if I wasn't by now, I would be worried."

"Well so many people remain bitter."

"Why, though, I mean, then they are taking up space in your head and preventing you from being happy if you do that, so off with them."She shrugged. "Now, enough on that, what else do you and I need to talk about?"

"The house?"

"Yours or mine?"

"The one in London."

"So yours."

"If it's your home Elle, it is not mine, it is ours."

"Your name is on the deeds."

"That shouldn't matter too much, should it?"

"I suppose not." Her tone defeated.

Tom looked at her, "You can choose not to stay if you want."

"I want to, I am just scared."

"Of what?"

"If I alter things, put new books in, borrow one and you go looking for it; if I do something to something you don't want to be touched..."

"Hey, stop that now." Tom stood in front of her, "I gave you that key because I wanted you to feel comfortable, because I know you are going to be very busy and tired for the next few months with work and to ensure we got to see each other as often as possible in that time, I did not do so without thinking of the alterations that would no doubt happen with us both being there. I saw how you were over the past couple of weeks, and I know you were so busy you did not get a chance to actually get comfortable, but bar your terrible book organisational skills, I know you're tidy, jovial and quiet the most of the time, I actually like that."

"Really, attacking my books, again."

"Darling, there is nothing wrong with your books, how you organise them is the issue."

Danielle threw her eyes up at him, causing him to chuckle before getting serious again. "Are you worried about when I am away?"

"About being by myself, not that no, I can handle that."

Tom processed her words, "But you are concerned?" Danielle failed to respond. "What are you scared of?"

"You work with gorgeous, funny, intelligent women." Tom froze, knowing what she was implying. "If you rather one of them, could you please just, I dunno, send me a text, ring me, do anything other than waiting until after, or not tell me and let me find out some terrible way." she looked at him pleadingly. "I don't want to be made a fool of Tom, especially, Jesus, if it ended up on a rag paper and the whole world knew before me, I couldn't take the looks or sympathy, or in some cases, delight."

Tom looked at her for a moment, he was hurt she would think him capable of that, he was never one to consider such a thing, but he wasn't an idiot, it happened a lot in his industry, every second week if rag mags were to be believed. "I would not do that, you know that right? But, if by some chance I did find myself wanting to do such, I would never hurt you like that." He promised, looking directly into her eyes. "I mean it, Elle, I could not do that to you."

"Okay, please just remember that. I rather be heartbroken that we didn't last than crushed by you trying to say you're sorry or you didn't want to hurt me. I rather be hurt by the honesty than by betrayal."

"I will, but on that note, I know I am not always home, I know I am gone a lot and that has been a reason why I have not partaken in relationships a lot over the past few years, I don't like the idea of leaving someone behind. If I neglect you if another man realises just how amazing you are when I am not there, if he..." Tom swallowed hard at the words he was forcing out. "If he gives you what I can't, please, I..."

Danielle gave him a comforting smile. "We respect each other enough to do the right thing, deal?"

"Deal." Tom's eyes were glassy, the idea of Danielle casting him aside for someone else, alone hurt him more than he thought it would. She was not someone who would cheat, she seemed to be almost aggressive towards those who were, it was something she had never understood or stood for, even when a friend of hers in a terrible marriage had cheated, as much as she hated the husband and thought the friend should leave, she still snapped at the woman for lowering herself to such a level. He felt somewhat unsure of what to do next until Danielle placed her hand in his.

"So, really, you'd want to ship your hypothetical sons to Eton?"

"I didn't mind it."

"I thought you said you felt alone there?"

"But it is a good education."

"And what of your daughters, should you have some?" She asked curiously.

"Why don't you like the idea of private schools?"

"Private schools is one thing, boarding schools are another; I hated it." Tom paused and looked at her. "I lasted one semester, and when I came home for Christmas, I refused to go back."

"I didn't..."

"I know, so when you said my parents didn't want to invest in my education, they did, I just didn't want that. I was happier in a normal school."

"I never should have said that. Did I even apologise for it, I am so sorry for the horrible things I said to you that day, for how I acted, when you had had such a terrible night."

"In your defence, I used the 'p' word, so I sort of deserved it." She countered. "So, are we okay?"

"I think so, I cannot think of anything else right now. I cannot believe I am finally discussing these things, I thought I had ruined any chance of all of this for myself."

"How so?"

"I kept pushing people away."

"Why did you let me in?"

"Because when I think about having something with you, I feel excited. I have not felt that before."

"Well, I mean, I am fabulous." She grinned, fanning herself.

"I concur." Tom smiled, taking her hand and kissing it again. "Are we already nearly back to the car?"

"Yep."

"Good, I want lunch."

Danielle laughed, "How are you as lithe as you are?"

"Well of late, I have been partaking in some very amorous acts that aid me in maintaining my physique."

"Is that right?" Danielle gave a smirk and a raised brow. "How very good of your significant other to be so selfless as to assist you in such a manner."

"I know, and I think I know how to thank her."

"Well now, you have me wanting to run back to the car."

"Good." Tom burst into a sprint.

"What! Not fair, I'm short." Danielle shouted as she started to run.

"Excuses." Tom laughed as he ran on, seeing her follow, Mac Tíre easily outstripped them, circling around the pair several times as they ran as though taunting them of his speed and durability.

"That was mean." Danielle puffed as she slowed down at the car.

Tom leant against it, feeling somewhat out of breath himself. "I won."

"You had a head start and long legs you fucker, that's cheating."

"I can't help my height."

"Neither can I." she walked over to him, but before she could poke or elbow him, Tom pulled her to him and looked down at her.

"I am so glad I finally have you."

"You're not so bad yourself, Hiddles." She leant up and kissed him.

"What if someone catches us?"

"Fuck em." she grinned, kissing him again.

[365daysoftododeku]

3rd February 2019

Author: Cherry🍒

Author’s Note: Here’s a crack-fluff fic for the near end of my summer. 

The TodoDeku moments are more implied than indicated.

Warning: Fly moments, silly, sleepy Shouto

________________________________________________________________

Fly Away, Now

Shouto was trying to study.

The clock on his phone reads 1:10 am, a lot later than his usual, self-assigned curfew. God forbid he’d be falling behind on his studies now. The extra internship hours Class 1-A must complete on their third semester has Shouto returning to the dorms in the dead of the night, his entire being practically begging for him to lie down once he closes the door.

Not that Shouto is in danger of failing a class or anything. He has his English readings to get through for tonight’s agenda, so it’s not too harrowing. Once he reaches the end of page 397, he promises to catch some shut-eye and be done for the day.

He’s sprawled across his futon stomach-first, holding the textbook at arm’s length. Earlier on, he was on his back with the book right above him. Not a very good idea in his exhausted state, as he’d barely caught it from falling on his face twice. He’d also tried reading while lying on his right side, but that quickly got uncomfortable and made him even more sleepy. Droopy eyes are skimming over the paragraphs… one… two… three…

Shouto is about to give in to his desire for sleep when he hears it: probably one of the most annoying sounds in the world.

Bzzt.

Bzzzt.

Bzzzzt.

It’s not hard to tell why and how a fly has entered his room in the near end of summer.

It doesn’t bother him at first. He keeps reading, finally making it to the next paragraph with much effort. When the fly takes a repetitive route to and fro, then up and around Shouto’s ceiling light, he lets the book slip from his hands slightly, turning his head to have a look at it.

It’s loud.

Not one of those small, recently-metamorphosed flies with a soft shrill to the beat of their wings. Occasionally it lands, and Shouto decides to get back to his reading. He’s too tired to deal with his impromptu visitor right now. Too exhausted to get up and burn it to a crisp, or something, and he just doesn’t care enough to want it gone. It’s not really doing him any harm.

But the fly decides to pick up again and he’s read the same sentence twice already.

“What do you want,” he asks it, hoarsely. “Can’t you see I’m reading, please land and stop being a fly for one second.”

He’s talking to it out of exhaustion; humouring himself as the words he reads blur from utter boredom. Naturally, the fly continues its route. Shouto waves a hand at it in a swatting motion. It’s nowhere near him, but god is it annoying...

“Why are you doing that?” he asks again, eventually abandoning his book for much more pressing matters. He observes as it repeatedly rams into his ceiling light, bounces off, and does it all over again. Who know why flies do what they do. Their mere existence serves to irritate and contaminate, as far as Shouto’s concerned.

Kind of like a villain.

He’s sure he’s suffering the effects of sleep deprivation when he begins to wonder things like this.

Shouto also knows if he leaves it be, it’ll end up annoying him into dawn.

After much deliberation, he stands, making his way to open the sliding doors leading to the balcony. A rush of warm air hits him and he grimaces, activating his quirk to keep himself comfortable. Then he turns to the fly.

“Come on now, get out of here before I change my mind.”

Through some miracle, it hears his plea, because it stops hitting itself on the ceiling light and makes its way towards the open gap…

...only to land on the door so very close to him, obviously not intent on leaving.

His right eye twitches. “Are you kiddin– look fly, I am very tired. Apparently tired enough to be having a conversation with a fly, and I still want to get through my book, so you need to get lost. Unless you want to listen to more of my pointless rambling, or die a horrible death, then you can take you and your buzzy wings away from my room. Please.”

The fly ignores him, slowly trekking up the sliding door. He wonders why it won’t move after a few, quick hand swats at its general direction. The gall. It’s not even scared of him! Shouto knows he can easily capture it by trapping it in something (he thinks he has a spare glass lying around somewhere), or smacking it with the very textbook he’d left on the futon, or using it as target practice for his quirk, but through some messed-up thought he has at that very moment, he finds himself admiring the little guy.

“You really don’t want to leave, don’t you?” Shouto says airily. “So stubborn, walking around like that even when death is looking you at the face.”

It reminds him of a certain someone, funnily enough. The very same someone he finds himself growing closer to in recent months, not that Shouto would like to admit it. How could he forget the boy’s own stubbornness and adamant insistence to insert himself into Shouto’s life wherever possible? The constant muttering��like the sound of wings beating next to your ear–or the big, curious eyes taking everything at face value.

He decides then that he can’t be held accountable for his actions and thoughts further into the night, because dear god, he’s associating Midoriya Izuku with a goddamn fly.

“If I wasn’t so damn busy,” Shouto tells the fly, “maybe he and I can hang out more. Lucky you. All you have to think about is flying and surviving.” He sighs.

With constant, but soft taps at the sliding door, Shouto forces the fly to leave for the last time. Before returning to the futon, he switches his own lights off and gives up, shoving the textbook away. There’s still tomorrow morning. He thinks about his first class, and his friends, and the conversations that will take place before then – of dreams, of experiences in the field, of new connections his friends made over the past week. The colour green and the sound of laughter finally lull him to sleep.

___________

Pain is blooming all over Izuku’s body.

It’s a good kind of pain – the feeling of accomplishment, of his muscles aching and working to build itself back stronger and better. The training Aizawa-sensei had them working through that afternoon is rough, a full-on schedule of sparring with no room for error.

Granted, it’s motivating him to work even harder than he already is. At six o’clock on a Friday evening, Izuku succumbs to his limits, throwing himself on his mussed-up bed and the manga he left lying around the previous night. He’s about to take a well-deserved nap when he hears it: probably one of the most annoying sounds in the world.

Bzzt.

Bzzzt.

Bzzzzt.

________________________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

[apostateangela]

LIGHTSWITCH LIVING

In April of 2018 I had a life altering experience. I attended a production of The Book of Mormon musical. I hadn’t been to church for over a year. I thought I had pretty much separated myself from that world- at least in my mind and heart.

I was wrong.

The leaving of a religion and culture is not as easy as cutting an umbilicus.

It is more like the unraveling of a tightly woven tapestry. In my case a tapestry I had been weaving for almost a half of a century. While it is true, I had torn large holes in the fabric that had surrounded me and shrouded every part of me.

I still stood in the tatters, unable to shed them completely.

I felt naked enough, as I have described. So much so that I didn’t notice that a great deal of the LDS church and its teachings still clung to me.

I don’t know how much is there still.

It’s difficult to rewrite your DNA.

There are moments in your life where you know an impetus has been reached.

Personal iconic moments that change who you are forever.

A handful of happenings that can be listed as pivotal and undeniably valuable, priceless even.

The night I experienced The Book of Mormon musical was one of these moments.

Understand, I have almost died in a roll over car accident, I have been married only once, I have given birth to four children; I do not classify this night lightly.

The evening began having dinner with two people who have deepened in value through the previous year or so and who I’ve come to rely on and love. They have supported me in my journey and maintained their interest through the challenges I’ve faced trying to find myself and in shedding my dogmatic skin.

While we ate dinner, I ended up sharing some cultural stories, one of which had to do with the day I said ‘fuck’ for the first time; I was 45 years old.

(maybe I’ll post that story later, as language is interesting to me, and all culture has language)

We laughed and enjoyed the food and made our way to the theatre.

I should say that I had been prepping for this experience for some time. I had been exposed to and enjoyed other film and media by the creators of BOM musical.

I had been overjoyed at Orgasmo (I was seriously, Lisa).

I had watched a fair amount of South Park, including the Mormon episode, and was convinced that Matt and Trey were the Shakespeares of our time.

(Shakespeare critiqued his society and did it in the language of the masses)

But no amount of prelim could prepare me for the unraveling that was to occur.

The first thing I encountered as we approached the theatre were the real Mormon missionaries handing out Book of Mormons and offering to tell, “The real story of the Book of Mormon.”

This made me laugh as well as feel some kind of transferred shame as my oldest son had served a mission, and the silliness of the juxtaposition was not lost on me.

Little did I know how deep that shame would go.

The musical is outlandish and poignant.

That is an incredible combination.

The provocative, set against the innocent ignorance and pitiful reality, creates a mirror with the clarity of 4K.

Looking at the sharp edges of my life performed on stage, well…

I wept through the whole thing.

It was such a cutting revelation;

the places in my psyche held in the dense ideological fabric shredded.

I sat sobbing, fibers ripped from the lungs of my identity,

gulping fresh outside air and asking myself,

“How did they know?”

I really can’t do a play by play, there’s too much.

But there are two pieces that are important to recognize as they pulled out so many threads embedded deeper than I knew.

Two songs: Turn it Off, and I Believe.

The Turn it Off scene is set with the group of young Mormon male missionaries talking about their struggle and failure preaching the gospel in Africa. The lead in to the song is that any negative thoughts are not valuable or valid and should be simply “turned off.”

Here is a portion of the lyrics:

I got a feeling

That you could be feeling

A whole lot better then you feel today

You say you got a problem

Well that's no problem

It's super easy not to feel that way

When you start to get confused

Because of thoughts in your head

Don't feel those feelings

Hold them in instead

Turn it off, like a light switch

Just go click

It's a cool little Mormon trick

We do it all the time

When you're feeling certain feels

That just don't feel right

Treat those pesky feelings like a reading light

And turn 'em off

Like a light switch, just go "bap"

Really, what’s so hard about that?

Turn it off

Turn it off

I hunkered in my balcony seat, clinging to the arm of the dear man beside me, shook at the cultural distillation of one of over sixteen million people’s core perspectives, myself included. That’s the current Mormon membership worldwide. But, that may not totally track as many are converts because of the barrage of missionary work the Church puts forth and as such may not have this perspective.

Narrowing it down, I’ll just say, four and a half million people in the western states Mormon corridor where settlements were directed in the early days of the church (Utah, Idaho, Nevada, Wyoming, Arizona, California, Colorado, and Montana). Here is where the culture of the Church is the strongest and so these people would be impacted by the specific concept of turning off your feelings. (to say nothing of the generations past)

This story is about me, but I wanted to give you some scope.

As I listened to the words of that song my emotional life flashed before my eyes.

That life was dark, because it was all kept inside.

What I heard and saw in my mind were the phrases and faces holding me to task and forcing my hand to the lightswitch.

Early memories of my father refusing to speak to me if I were crying.

Berating me and sending me from the room if I exhibited any emotion of any kind besides happiness.

Sitting in my bedroom or going on long walks as a teenager and talking to myself out loud, trying to sift through the feelings I wasn’t permitted to voice.

Then my mother eavesdropping at my bedroom door and confronting me with the implication that I was ‘crazy’ if I talked to myself and explaining for the hundredth time that I should simply talk to God; pray and hand my troubles over to Him.

That I should seek the blistering sunny side of every trouble, doubt, or powerful emotion because “Heavenly Father only gives us what He knows we can handle” and “Everything happens for a reason, we just have to have faith until the reason reveals itself”.

Remembering countless moments in church when any voice of dissention was silenced by similar instruction and an added challenge of repentance because, “If you are having negative feelings you must not be living righteously and need to fix that problem in order to be happy again.”

It seemed almost as if emotion had been attached to sin all my life.

There is a reason Mormons have the stereotype of being happy, nice people.

It is because they must learn to “turn off” every other emotion, impulse, or desire.

Everything else must be tempered, internalized, or fought against; anger, confusion, sadness, depression, lust, anxiety, and fear--to name a few.

One of my challenges and gifts is that I’m an empath.

I feel other’s emotions, and emote powerfully as well.

I’m a two way conduit of emotion.

Can you then imagine the pain, the shame, the harrowing binding this very Mormon concept caused me?

Add to the previous childhood examples my narcissistic husband’s constant critique of my emotional persona and his efforts to condition the “turn it off” in me.

He shushed me thousands of times.

He told me I was irrational and too much constantly.

His said there was something broken inside me way before he broke me himself.

And so I wrote all my feelings into poetry journals and cried myself to sleep thousands of times lying right next to him.

All these things and more exploded in my chest and raced through my mind as I listened and watched fictional Mormon boys sing about turning off their feelings about abuse, death, and rejection. An upbeat song about stamping out your very self, because the church told you it was wrong.

How did they get it so right?

How did they turn this thing that most outside people don’t understand into a catchy Broadway tune that tore my heart’s blindfold to pieces?

I reeled in my seat through the short remaining moments after Turn it Off until intermission. With the blindfold off I watched the ridiculousness of my church and culture pointed out through song and dance with satirical exactness.

But more than that, I felt the weight of millions of people who hadn’t been able to process or share their feelings.

And we had been taught that damaging practice in the name of God!

I didn’t move through the intermission.

I just cried and shook my head and was held and listened to as I tried to explain my distress.

One of the things I remember saying was, “But I believed. I really believed all of it.”

And I had.

I had deeply believed with all my heart.

I had proclaimed that testimony to others.

I had supported my son in the arrogant practice of Mormon missionary work; spreading the message that we know better than you and our truth supersedes your truth.

We had been wrong.

I had been so very wrong.

The first song out of the gate after intermission that hit me was, you guessed it, I Believe.

Being in the middle of that piece of my processing, ashamed and astonished and sorrowful at having believed it all, then being hit with a song that demonstrated both the deep devotion of Mormon belief AND the blindness of that kind of belief… How did you know Matt and Trey? How?

The music is perfect.

The refrain I BELIEVE is touching--sung out strong, the notes held.

The words are simple and use the exact phraseology that Mormons say to each other and themselves.

Here’s just a piece:

I believe that the Lord God created the universe

I believe that he sent his only son to die for my sins

And I believe that ancient Jews built boats and sailed to America

I am a Mormon

And a Mormon just believes

You cannot just believe part-way, you have to believe in it all

My problem was doubting the Lord's will, instead of standing tall

I can't allow myself to have any doubt, it's time to set my worries free

Time to show the world what Elder Price is about, and share the power inside of me

Unthreaded, the remnants of my belief were washed away by music and performance.

I was unbaptized.

The second half of the musical is everything that South Park is, offensive and wickedly funny and I could almost hear Kyle say, “You know, I learned something today…” when the show came to an end.

I wanted to say it too.

Yes Kyle, I learned something today.

I learned so many things.

And I unlearned some things as well, or I started to at least.

Satire is a mirrored sword that shows us the truth we are afraid to see as it cuts the fallacy away. That is why Mormons often walk out of The Book of Mormon musical.

Not because it is offensive, but because it shows them the truth behind the carefully constructed myth.

And believe me, that is not an easy thing to see.

It makes you want to run.

I felt that urge many times during the show.

Luckily, I had stopped running from the truth by then.

I stayed till the end.

And was transformed by it.

I walked out of that theatre stipped bare.

Able to move, able to see, able to feel,

able to better understand the unhealthy deception that had kept me bound.

I metaphorically hobbled away,

my spiritual feet unbound and ready for the next step.

If you are Mormon, or have ever been Mormon,

Please

Please

Please, I beg you,

Go experience the genius that is The Book of Mormon musical.

And turn on the light.

-Angela

[switchydragon]

Hypnostory: Legend of the Hypnoslut Dragon

This is an MC story I did in mid-2017. CW: Contains fictional hypnosis with triggers and the like. Be careful if you're easily affected by such, also contains bimboization, mind-breaking/addiction, penetration, human/dragon relationships and more! Have fun, and let me know your thoughts!

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The Legend of the Hypnoslut Dragon!

Once upon a time, in a cold, small little town in a besieged, cursed valley, there was a witch. Not an evil one; she was quite benevolent, with her light brown hair and fair skin, her kind words and actions would please many who found her a lovely presence. Harmless and cute, but somewhat eccentric, they’d say. And with her, does our story begin.

‘Twas a dark and stormy day, when the witch was awoken by a loud flapping in the distance. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, the noise driving sleep from her body. “Oh...Tisaala’s back…” she said with a disparaged sigh. The big, green dragon would come, bringing death unless the villagers sent her their finest virgin! Alas, so many of her victims would turn into crazed madpeople, unable to feel the same satisfaction the dragon had given them when they returned. Moments later as she was preparing tea for herself, Candace watched the emerald-colored lizard fly off with another, before crossing her arms. “Hmmmph! Why, I ought to bring that dragon to justice!” She said, feeling squeamish...how would she, a lowly little witch with...no actual magic, ever face a great beast like Tisaala and live, let alone vanquish her?

The wingbeat shook her unstable little home like a mighty breeze, and the answer landed directly on her head: A tome, bound in red vellum with a white spine landed on Candace’s head from above, disturbed from its shelf. Candace grumbled softly and rubbed her head, looking at the tome. “Arts of the Mind: Controlling Others with Hypnosis”  Huh, thought Candace, maybe I should read more...maybe that’s why I have no spells...Regardless, with a title like that...it had to be a book of power in some way! Maybe it held the secret to stopping the dragon! She quickly turned to the cover page, stating the author as someone named “Yuki” Hm. Wonder if that’s important or something.Candace was eager to get into this “Hypnosis” thing!

Several hours later, the witch was getting fairly annoyed. She’d powered through the book within a fraction of the time she’d thought she would. Yet, not a single magic incantation was in the book! Just things about “Hypnotic pleasure, mental orgasms, blanking 101, total hypnotic obedience...” the list went on. How was she going to beat a dragon with a “Mental orgasm”? Whatever it was, she bet it couldn’t pierce the dragon’s indestructible scales.

Slamming the book down onto her table, Candace sighed. She looked out the window into the dark and stormy eve, night had not quite set in yet. The witch gulped upon looking at the storm outside. She had to do something before it got too bad...after all, the dragon’s lair was a few hours away. Candace closed her book and stuffed it in her backpack, then put her wide-brimmed black hat on, setting out. Villagers waved, some catcalling as usual, some yelling friendly words of encouragement. The witch ignored them, walking north as the rain pattered down her hat, soon soaking her clothes as she trekked onwards.

The road to Tisaala’s lair was a harrowing one. Candace saw dead trees decaying all around the path, skeletons lying off to the sides of the overgrown road, and worst of all, horrible-sounding crows cawing as they circled above her while she journeyed across the darkened, dead grass and wasteland-like soil. How could any creature live here, especially a giant dragon who probably needed lots of food? Candace took a few deep breaths and sighed, trying to focus as the maw of Tisaala’s cave drew ever closer, while a crow departed a nearby a hollow tree-trunk, flying off into the distance, letting out an uncanny caw as it winged off into the horizon.

Candace arrived at the dragon’s lair soaked, cold and thoroughly annoyed. As she approached the massive cave that was the entry point to Tisaala’s home, Candace shivered...it was was so cold! Taking the first few steps in, she gulped and began to look around...the cave appeared normal, but Candace felt like she hadn’t even entered the worst part of her journey yet. She took her first tentative steps in, her black boots making a squishing noise as she did. Unfortunately, said squeaking was loud enough for the dragon to hear.

“Who dareth enter the mighty Tisaala’s lair and think to return unmolested?” Said the dragon’s massive voice, bellowing through the cave as Candace hurried behind a large rock, letting out a terrified squeal as she heard the dragon’s steps start to draw closer! “Thinking to avenge the virgin I have stolen from your town? ‘Tis in vain, for he has already fallen victim to my lust, as shall you~!” The dragon prowled through the cave while Candace tried to look around, hoping to spot Tisaala before the she-drake saw her. Moments later, Candace succeeded in that. She saw the vibrant green scales and the verdant hues of Tisaala’s eyes as she drew closer and closer, the mouth of the cave just big enough for Tisaala to stand on all fours in. With no other option but to move now, Candace walked in front of the dragon.

“Hey, you big lizard! Look at me!” She managed to say despite the fear pressing into her from every angle.

“What’s a human doing in my lair? And a beautiful one at that too, you are indeed a gem, mortal…” Candace saw how Tisaala’s eyes were already sizing up her soaked, dripping body and clothes. Candace inhaled deeply, and Tisaala laughed, a mighty noise that shook the whole cave. “Aww, whimpering with fear? Do not worry, you’ll be making other noises soon enough.”

Candace mustered all her willpower, then in the most soothing, relaxing voice she could, remembering the book’s instructions as she stared the dragon in the eyes: “I want you to focus on my words, focus hard on them. Focus so they can help you, my Tisaala, the dragon, relax so much, so deeply…” She didn’t know how, but her words were working! Within moments, Candace saw the dragon’s eyes start to droop, then gulped as she remembered what the book would suggest at this point...physical connection...she quietly approached, and inhaled deeply.

Walking forwards despite the fear wracking her body, she placed a hand on Tisaala’s snout, and continued talking. “So good, so nice to just let all that stress of being awake, being conscious, to just fade away, my hand helping you to let it all flow away, moment by moment, second by second…” She saw Tisaala’s eyes start to close all the way, YES! Candace shouted in her head as she finally commanded: “Aaaaaand….Sleep~!” and saw the giant dragon’s jaw touch the ground, her eyes closed tightly.

Candace quickly shuffled through the pages in her book upon seeing the dragon go under, thinking back to those things about domination, mind control….she had to protect her village and make sure this dragon never hurt anyone again! Candace cleared her throat and got to work, starting first with that “Mental Orgasm” thing. Whatever it was, the dragon would think again before hurting her village!.

“And, 5,4,3,2,1! Awake up, fully relaxed, remembering everything I’ve told you, and ready to obey!” Candace smiled upon seeing the dragon awake up, starting to shake herself off...before said dragon jumped on her, grabbing Candace into a tight, scalebound hug.

“Nrrraaa, Mistress, it’s so good to see you! I’m so eager to obey, please command me as you see fit, my divine Goddess, beautiful Mistress~” Candace felt like she was going to be crushed, and fought against the dragon’s warm grasp.

“Nnnggh, come on! Let go!” When she said the word come, something amazing happened. Tisaala collapsed on her back, letting out a vast moan as she closed her eyes.

“Nrraww..My-Mistress is a goddess, sh-she can make me cum with just words….I AM Mistress’s eternally enslaved hypnoslut...” Candace heard Tisaala mutter as she stared up at the ceiling. So she had gotten the better of the dragon...Candace tried to remember one of those phrases from the book, and smiled.

“Come on, you big, dumb dragon, just blank out for me! That’s it, go blank!” She said, happy as she saw Tisaala’s eyes turn a hazy, dull color and her tongue loll out, mouth wide open...the dragon was helpless now! “Hmph! That’ll teach you! And DON’T ever come back!” Candace said, walking deeper into the cave, hoping to find the virgin the dragon had abducted earlier.

As she entered into the much larger inner chamber, Candace gasped. The room was fully lit, somehow. She saw the horde and couldn’t stop her mouth from gaping all the way open, as she let out another yelp. The witch took one more look around and found the ex-virgin, a nobleman’s son, sleeping on a massive pillow in the far corner of the room, snoring the day away.

Candace didn’t see any chains or evil instruments around the giant cavern of glistening artifacts, gold and other luxurious items...she giggled, with the dragon vanquished this was all hers! Now, she just had to get the victim to safety. “Hey! Wake up! You need to get out of here!” Candace yelled at him from across the room, and he sleepily rubbed his eyes.

“But I dun wanna...” the prince muttered, as Candace took off her hat and growled. No stupid man was going to steal HER loot!

“NOW! Get out NOW!” She asserted, and the man sprinted out, pulling his underwear up in the process. Candace smirked, watching him run before turning to the hoard. The dragon-vanquishing witch quickly went about exploring her new wealth, from the gold cuffs studded with diamonds, to all manner of gems and crystals in the sea of glistening gold, she felt enthralled, till a massive shape struck her from the side. She felt like she was being crushed. “W-who?” She choked out, something was holding her tight, something massive was hugging her...she looked up and saw the dragon’s lustful, deranged eyes. Tisaala must be hers too,

She inhaled deeply before saying, slowly and carefully: “You obey me?”, making sure to phrase it like both an order and a question at the same time. The dragon nodded fervently, bobbing her head up and down quickly.

“Yesss, I serve Mistress Candace, who gives the big dumb hypnoslut Tisaala the dragon so much pleasure! I’ll do anything for the powerful, divine Mistress Candace!” Candace giggled, feeling content. “That’s right! And you’ll always be my big, dumb hypnoslut!” She said, repeating and reaffirming what the dragon had just said as a way to confirm it...whatever that meant, Candace felt the control surge through her...she was in charge, and she was going to make this dragon pay for hurting her village! She looked up at Tisaala, who hadn’t released her yet, then firmly ordered her to let go: “Tisaala, my  hypnoslut, I order you to let go of me!” As she looked straight into her eyes. Tisaala complied immediately, leaving Candace to fall gently down onto the firm pillow below her.

Candace nodded, seeing her orders obeyed so fully and immediately, and then issued another one: “Tisaala, I order you to change into a form more appropriate of your Mistress!” With a flash of magic, the dragoness changed into the form beautiful, green-haired woman with scales down her arms and legs, wings and a long tail. The now transformed dragoness looked at Candace knelt at the foot of the pillow, looking up at Candace.

“My Mistress, does this form please you?” Tisaala asked, smiling at Candace. Indeed, the emerald dragon was quite the beauty...Candace smiled and began to undress.

“Of course, and you must please Mistress now, with your body. You need to repay her back for all your awful actions.” She said, and laid down on the pillow.

Tisaala nodded, and dived onto her, hugging Candace as she asked her: “Mistress! Where should I please you first?”

Candace hadn’t felt her breasts played with in forever...in fact, she hadn’t really done anything like this before. “W-well..hypnoslut, I want you to use your tongue on my breasts.” She said quietly, experimenting.

“Yes Mistress!” The dragoness immediately started licking, trailing her long, warm tongue along Candace’s left breast, to her right. Candace gasped in pleasure, the warmth of her tongue plus the wetness felt so amazing, it was like liquid heaven across the neglected tit-flesh.

“Now, kiss them.” Candace got out despite the pleasure clouding her mind already. The dragon wordlessly obeyed, laying a nice wet, sloppy, and warm kiss on her nipples, before pulling off them with a pleasing Pop! as she would move to the other. Candace’s body shook with each touch of her dragon’s lips on her ample C-cup breasts.

Then Candace’s mind went to her needy crotch, the area she hadn’t even touched in years..., panting in pleasure, seeing herself already dripping all over; she felt eager to grant it some attention. “Slut, I want you to please my…” she scrambled through what little words she could remember in her head, heavy with arousal..”M-my sex..” she managed to choke out, then without a moment’s warning, she felt the dragon’s tongue start to lick all around her needy, dripping genitals, the pleasure from her snatch a raging inferno compared to the pleasure from her tits, and Candace felt herself losing control more and more with each passing moment.

As the pleasure inside her began to peak,  another thought came into her head...Tisaala’s tail waving back and forth dreamily…”My little dragon hypnoslut, I want you to use your tail i-inside me.” She said, and panted slowly as the dragoness looked her in the eyes.

“R-really Mistress? I get to put my tail inside Mistress?” She asked, looking jubilant beyond belief. Candace examined the rhythmic, swaying motion of the tail, and another idea popped straight into her head.

“Yyess, pet. In fact, when I-I...mmm…” she tried to remember that word from the book… “O-orgasm, you’ll find yourself feeling that pleasure too, as though it’s linking us together even  more...and when I say that word come I want you to have that-that orgasm with me…” She said, hastily tripping over words as she saw her new pet’s eyes light with the pleasure she was already feeling.

“I love Mistress, I’m her hypnoslut forever!” Tisaala said, then loudly, and Candace felt herself invaded by the tail. It felt warm, just like the rest of the dragon’s body, but it was so big, Candace felt filled in a way she’d never felt before. Then, Tisaala started thrusting. The in and out motion, so quick and hard was overwhelming to say the least, and she yelled out the phrase, letting the pleasure take her so hard in a climax the young woman could barely comprehend. She screamed with pleasure till her lungs couldn’t take it, then collapsed into a hazy mess, her body weak as she felt Tisaala snuggle into her side.

Eventually, the young witch woke up, the dragoness still attached to her side like a puppy clinging to its mother, and Candace sighed with relief...hopefully, the effects of whatever magic she’d done on her little dragon slut would stay forever, meaning she’d never have to come back to this place...but as she looked around, seeing the gold and jewels once again, she sighed. How was she ever gonna get this all home?

“Mistress is awake?” She heard the dragoness’ voice break the silence of the giant cave as she turned her eyes to Tisaala, groaning. As she sat up to gather her thoughts, Candace was hugged again by Tisaala, who was currently staring into her eyes deeply. “Please Mistress, hypnoslut Tisaala needs Mistress! She’ll be a good girl for Mistress and leave her village alone! Pleeeeaaasseee?” She begged Candace, and the witch sighed, pressing her face into her hands…

Candace thought about it...back home all she had was her old books she never read, and it was always so cold there...here, she had a beautiful, magical dragon who bowed to her every whim, and all the wealth one could ever need. Plus, the dragon’s warm body made her feel more comfortable than she ever had at home. Maybe living here would be okay enough. Maybe living here would even be great! She smiled, and then hugged her new loving slut.

“Of course, now get to giving your Mistress another one of those orgasm things. That was so good~!”

Tisaala happily obliged, and they lived happily ever after in the dragon’s cave, licking, kissing and cuddling in each other's embrace. Long after that day, the village would tell tales of the powerful witch who had given her life to slay the mighty dragon plaguing them, and the young boy who ran home to tell the tale so courageously, clad only in his underwear!

Occasionally, some would even say they could hear her moans of inhuman power echoing through the valley, remnants of her battle and victory!

The end.

[winchesterhound-blog]

Nightmares

Pairing: Dean x sister!reader, Sam x sister!reader, mentions of Demon!Dean

Word Count: 1350

Warnings: ANGST, death, fire, panic, running? 

Summary: You’re trapped in a dream and running for your life. Your brothers discover that everything happening to you in your dream, is happening to your body in real life. 

A/N: Hey guys, I’m sorry this is coming out instead of Bait3 but I’m at a bit of a roadblock with it and just need some time. I hope the angst this provides will suffice until I have time to write more. It’s the first idea I ever had for a fanfic and Ive been struggling for over a year with how to write it. Please let me know what y’all think :) xoxo

*The regular font is your dreamworld, the italics are from your brother’s POV in the real world*

All you could feel was terror. Pure, unadulterated fear.

You were so consumed with the waves of paralyzing emotion flowing through you it was impossible to think clearly. A shame, for if you were capable of thinking clearly at this moment, you may have been able to find your way out of this maze of a dream.

Surrounding you were monstrous trees, so large and black you could barely see around them. Oh, but you could sure smell them. Smell the way their branches were flaming, fire burning through their already dead-looking foliage. The flames being the only source of light to guide you as you sprinted through the forest, hoping, begging, for someone to help you.

Slowing your pace for a few seconds, you whipped your head left, untamed hair flying across your face and pasting to your sweating forehead. A careless crunch of leaves was what caught your attention, barely audible over the roaring snaps and crackles of the blaze above you. Crouching you drew your only weapon, an engraved switchblade- a gift from Dean, from the waistband of your dirtied jeans.

“Come on you son of a bitch,” you whispered to yourself, still crouched and ready for an assault.

Suddenly, you were lying on your back in the dirt of the forest, wind completely knocked from your lungs. With an audible gasp, you opened your eyes to see your oldest brother on top of you, straddling your waist and holding a carving knife to your stomach. Doing your best to regain breath, you could do nothing but peer into the dark abyss of black in your brothers eyes, as he smiled a smile that would make the Devil himself squirm. As quickly as he had flipped you onto your back, he had stabbed the knife through the side of your waist and watched you scream. And boy, did you scream.

All the brothers could hear reverberating through the stone walls of the bunker were the wails of their little sister. Immediately tossing the blankets from their beds, the brothers were running towards your room, weapons drawn and senses on overdrive waiting for an assailant. Meeting up in front of your door they gave a quick nod of the head, signalling they were ready to go in. Dean stepped forward first and opened the door with such force the handle scuffed the side wall, a superficial fact lost on the boys as what they saw in front of them broke their hearts.

You were covered in sweat from head to toe, blankets wrapped carelessly around different parts of your body, thrashing wildly around the bed. The boys watched as your chest rose quickly, signalling your labored breathing. Tucking his gun into the back of his pajamas, Sam was the first to do something. Taking two giant steps towards your bed he immediately placed his hands on your shoulders, shaking lightly to wake you from your evident nightmare.

“Y/N baby, wake up. It’s just a nightmare.”

Frowning slightly when he got no response, he moved one hand to your cheek and patted it, emitting only more screaming from you. With a panicked feeling bubbling in his chest, Sam looked back to Dean, whose expression mirrored his own. Dean joined Sam on your bed and pulled you into his lap, scared you would hurt yourself if you kept thrashing around.

“Come on sweetheart, open your eyes. Wake up.” He commanded, tucking and strand of hair away from your sweat pasted forehead.

In Dean’s arms you suddenly collapsed inward into his lap, as if you had been shoved to the ground. With a look of shock now mixed with panic, the boys tore their eyes back to you when you let out a cry so loud it shook them to their core. Immediately scouring your body for injuries, they saw a large pool of blood blossoming across the white of your shirt. Quickly pulling up the hem, Sam let out a choked gasp. On your right side next to your stomach, a deep, gnarled gash was embedded into your abdomen.

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed, drawing Dean’s attention to the fresh wound. Jumping to his feet, your middle brother dropped to his knees and retrieved the emergency medical kit you always kept stashed under your bed as Dean pressed his hands firmly over the gash.

You continued to thrash and scream, a mess of tears now trailing their way down the sides of your face as you struggled in your dream to survive.

“What the hell is happening to her?”

The adrenaline pumping rapidly through your veins forced you to bring up one leg and rock Dean off of your body. Rolling on your good side, you pushed yourself to your knees and instantly took off running. Each step now matched the fire above you, your lungs burned from serious oxygen deprivation and the stab wound in your side felt like it was breeding a fire of it’s own inside your torn body. Still, you continued to run. The smoke from the burning forest clouded your vision, causing you to stumble onto your knees. A shocked gasp escaped your lips and you quickly brought one bloodied and torn hand to cover your mouth, slouching forward and covering the wound in your side with the other. Risking a quick glance behind you, you could make out the vague outline of a broad shouldered man in the mask of smoke.

Feeling the adrenaline draining rapidly, you knew your body had far surpassed its limit, the will to survive evaporating with it. With a harrowing breath you leaned back on your heels and brought up a shaky hand to wipe the hair away from your eyes, watching your oldest brother, your protector and saviour, saunter towards you. Two large leather combat boots stopped directly in front of your bloodied knees. Tears flowing freely down your face, you brought your Y/E/C eyes up to meet his glossy charcoal ones and felt a wave of emotions flow through you once again. This time, the fear had been overtaken by a different sensation; heartache. Heartache for the lost soul, torn and mangled inside your brothers body. Heartache for the grief he would experience when Sam found a way to cure him, and heartache for Sam himself, when he would find the lifeless body of his baby sister mangled amongst the canopy of scorched forest- at the hands of their older brother. The heartache was worse than the fear.

It was as if even as a demon, Dean could read the processes of your mind. He saw the inner turmoil you faced, competing for power within your body against the physical ailments. A dark, glowering smirk stretched his face into one of pure malice. He was enjoying this. Bringing the carving knife to touch directly over your heart, you let him hold it there. There was no bringing your brother back, not from this. And you were done fighting.  

Dropping your eyes to the ground, you whispered lowly under your breath.

“It’s okay Dean. I forgive you.”

As you continued to wail on the bed, trapped within the confinements of your own mind, your brothers attempted damage control. Sam trying desperately to keep pressure on your wound while Dean struggled to hold you still.

Suddenly, you stopped. Stopped moving, stopped screaming. Your body was still rigid in Dean’s lap, but you had calmed enough to give Sam an opportunity to quickly stitch you up. With a brief sigh of relief escaping both brothers’ lips, Sam turned back to the medical kit in search of a needle and thread. He was lucky not to witness it.

He whipped his head back when he heard your gasp, and Dean’s immediate cries. A fresh puddle of blood had appeared on your chest, directly above your heart. He watched as your body slowly relaxed it’s muscles, sinking deeper and deeper into your oldest brother’s embrace as his tears dripped onto your already soaked cheeks. They knew immediately.

You had died in your sleep.

TAGS: @percussiongirl2017

[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

Future Serial Killer [ongoing]

Chapter 27

Carl woke up the next day with a pounding headache, the stress of the day before taking a toll on his body and weakening his immune system, so he ended up with a cold from the rain. He hated that. Lifting his head slowly, he groaned, pressing his fingers to his eye and trying to focus on the sounds around him, zeroing in on Negan’s voice.

As he looked up, he saw the older Saviour sitting up beside him, a wet cloth in his hand that was frozen in place as he stared back at the teen.

'You’re awake.'

'Yeah…' Carl huffed out, trying to sit up and failing, his head hitting the pillow again.

'Ow…'

'Yeah, I think you caught a bug from the wet weather yesterday. You had chills last night.' Negan smiled sympathetically at him, reaching the cloth out to wipe the hair away from his lover’s eye.

The teen let out a faint groan of pain, curling up in a tighter ball.

'My head hurts, Neeg.'

Negan sighed, pressing a kiss to his warm forehead gently and stroking his cheek.

'I know, darling, I’m sorry. Rose is making you soup just now so you can put something in your stomach. That’s good, right?'

Carl just let a little grumble out, pushing at Negan’s hand when water dripped onto his nose.

'You’re getting me wet, quit it.' He huffed out, making the man chuckle and nod, squeezing the excess water from the cloth into a bucket he had beside him.

The teen watched him in the total silence of their bedroom, his head pounding more when he thought back to the day before.

Part of him wished he’d killed Maggie, just to prove who he was to his dad, but he didn’t know how far he wanted to wade into the swamp. Killing Maggie was one thing, but killing her and Glenn’s baby was another. It felt like he would be killing Judith, but she was already gone so would it really matter? Was it really worth letting another child live in the apocalypse? Should they not just let the human race go extinct so the world could start again?

He didn’t know what to think.

'How bad does your head feel?' Carl heard Negan’s voice through the haze of his sickness, and he cast his eye up to look at him, the light from the window shining into it and making his brain feel so much worse.

He looked down again quickly, covering his eye and trying to focus on something other than the pain.

'I really need some sunglasses.' He grumbled in a low tone, feeling fingers run through his hair which was sticky from the sweat of his chilled sleep.

'I’ll try and find you some, darling. Don’t go to sleep, though, I want you to eat first.' Negan insisted, petting his cheek as Carl acknowledged the blockage of his sinuses.

'Last time I had a cold, I was fucking fifteen, this isn’t fair.' He huffed, burying his face in the pillow underneath his head.

He heard Negan sigh, his hand moving to feel the boy’s forehead.

'You’re really warm, killer, I’ll soak the cloth again.' He hummed, getting up and taking the little black cloth to the bathroom.

Carl sighed into the pillow, rubbing his eye in an attempt to ease the pressure in his sinuses even though he knew it wouldn’t work. He’d always hated getting sick. It made him weak and unable to fight, and he slowed down the entire group whenever they had to move on from a temporary camp. Fighting off the dead with a stuffed nose was not a good way to survive.

He supposed now it wouldn’t be so bad. He doubted Negan would let him work while he was sick, he cared too much to do that.

And the prospect of lying in a warm, soft bed all day wasn’t a bad one. He might even get rid of the cold faster if he had a man taking care of him with cold cloths on his head and hot soup in his belly. If he could wrangle more hot chocolate out of him, it would be even better, but he knew that depended on how much they had.

'Oh fuck…' Carl groaned as the dull ache in his head got worse, burying his face deeper into his pillow and listening to Negan’s heavy, quick footsteps as the older man ran through to see what was wrong.

'What’s wrong? Do you feel sick? Are you too cold? I can make another fire if you want me too!' Negan reassured and his worried tone made Carl smile more than he had in years despite the throbbing of his skull.

He turned his face upright to look at the ceiling, finding that it eased the pain somewhat, then gestured to the curtains by their room’s window.

'Shut them, please.' He couldn’t help but whine and felt the urge to slap his boyfriend when he laughed at the pathetic noise.

'I think that’s the first time you’ve said please for something in all the months you’ve been here.'

'Jackass.' Carl huffed in response, covering his eye with his arm and turning his head in the other direction from the window.

Negan chuckled at his grumbled reply, shutting the curtains before coming back over to sit on the bed with him.

'Is that better?'

'Yes.' Carl spat, irritated by his own sickness.

He moved slowly but surely, wriggling until he could lay his head on Negan’s lap and cuddle into the man’s jeans, very close to his cock but not caring at all about sex at that moment. Clearly neither did his boyfriend, as nothing hardened under his cheek while he tucked his face into his crotch.

Taking a deep breath of the scent that was so distinctly Negan, he grumbled when it wasn’t as strong as it usually was, letting out a small whine.

'Your nose all stuffed up, bunny?' The man asked in a soft tone, his calloused fingers stroking through the teen’s long hair as he snuggled him.

Carl just nodded a little, not feeling well enough to lift his head, and let the older Saviour indulge him. He found himself feeling safer in Negan’s arms than he ever had in his dad’s, or anyone’s for that matter. The man had such a unique way of putting him at ease and soothing his body as honey did to his young throat before everything changed. The drifting thought of the amber syrup made Carl curious for just a moment about whether Negan had any in the Sanctuary, but he’d ask for that later.

Right now he just needed sleep, and he was so close to drifting off before a knock on the door made him flinch wide awake, his muscles aching when they tensed in response.

'Ow.'

'That’s your soup, bunny, I’ll let Rose in.'

The younger didn’t even nod, too sore to move, only able to listen as Negan got up to answer the door. The loss of his lap as a pillow made him more than a little uncomfortable, his head feeling as tense as his body while he cuddled into Negan’s actual pillow instead.

He liked Negan’s pillow more than his own if he was being honest. It smelled so intensely like the older man that it felt like a blanket wrapping around his mind, his security and health and happiness all depending on the man whose scent permeated the room and everything in it. His cologne, his sweat, his blood - everything was so Negan that Carl felt like he was on cloud nine-

'Baby, your soup’s here. I need you to sit up.'

'My head hurts too much to sit up, Negan.'

'But you need to eat, so sit up.' The older insisted again, setting the tray with the bowl of soup on it down on the bed before tucking his hands underneath Carl’s arms, helping him sit up into a better eating position.

The teen huffed, a little grumble escaping him before he sneezed into his hands, whining at the ache it caused in his skull. He just glared at the mucus layer on his palms before wiping them on his jeans.

'We’re in the middle of an apocalypse and I get a cold, how convenient.'

Negan laughed at his remark, stroking Carl’s hair back and using a hair tie to keep it away from his face and the soup.

'I feel like your hair’s getting longer.'

'Duh, asshole, that’s what hair does.'

'Hey, I’m helping you here. There’s no need for the insults.' Negan narrowed his eyes at him somewhat, but they only widened when he saw a few tears drip onto Carl’s wrist as he looked down at his lap.

'Sorry-' His reply was choked like he really meant it this time, and the sound made his older lover’s heart break.

Sitting down, the Saviour lifted Carl’s face gently, cupping his cheeks and wiping away the tears that were falling from his eye.

'Hey, what’s wrong, darling?' He asked, careful to keep his tone gentle when Carl finally focused on him.

'Judith’s dead.' Was all he managed to croak out, and Negan sighed, moving the soup off the bed so it didn’t spill and gathering the teen into his arms, letting him start to cry into the man’s shoulder.

He stroked up and down his frail back with soothing rubs, trying to shush his cries, but it seemed like an overflow of emotion was making its way out of the boy now. Negan assumed it was probably the sickness and coming home to the safety of the Sanctuary mixed together, his immune system giving into the stress and forcing him to cry it out for once.

The older man hated listening to Carl cry. The fact that he didn’t do it often just made the sound all the more harrowing because then he knew that Carl was truly upset about something. The pain he felt from his sister’s death was only doubled too, because he’d left her with his dad for so long - it didn’t even matter that he hadn’t known she was alive at the time. Negan knew that Carl blamed himself regardless of that.

Continuing to stroke up and down his back, the older Saviour kissed his forehead, humming and rocking back and forth with the teen in his lap, holding him as tight as he could to make him feel safe. Little sniffles escaped the younger as he buried his face in Negan’s shoulder, his cries continuing until there were no more tears to shed.

All his emotions had emptied onto the man’s shirt until Carl was fast asleep, breathing weakly against his neck. Negan sighed, looking down at the soup bowl sitting by his feet. He really wanted the kid to eat something, keep his fluids up, but the tired look on his face told him not to disturb his slumber. Another dark ring had formed around Carl’s eye, the lack of sleep during the night and his weakened immune system causing easier bruising on his skin, ad the red skin of his nose, while adorable, caused concern to blossom in Negan’s chest even more.

He didn’t want to lose the kid, and in such an unpredictable world, he couldn’t know what the short-term illness would do to him if he was exposed to the wrong weather or had an allergic reaction to something. He had to keep him inside where it was safe, upstairs where it was high, and in their bedroom where he could stay as warm as possible.

If anybody tried fighting them in the next few days, Negan was determined to kill them all just to let his little rabbit sleep.

Carl had settled himself into the crook of Negan’s neck at this point, his breathing abnormal from the stuffed nose but not worrying. The older man just held him close, lying down flat on the bed with the teen wrapped around his chest. He let the soup get cold, instead worrying about how he was going to continue to distract Carl from Judith’s death, and stroked through his brown waves as he slept.

'I’ll keep you safe, bunny. Your dad won’t get to you here.' He reassured, kissing his forehead with a sigh and relaxing with the young man fast asleep in his arms.