#And he can’t really quieten them anyway

[sneezarify]

Fuuuuuck I’m horny.

He keeps sneezing. He was sat in the middle seat of the car, me to the right and someone on the left…. so we were all tightly packed together.

I felt everything. His shaky inhale as his hands went up to cover his mouth. Then I experienced something so sexy I’ve never experienced before. I felt the intense gush of “sneeze breeze”blasting out from the sides of his cupped hands as a result of his HUGE sneezes. I nearly combusted.

[tender-rosiey]

how would modern day sukuna be like a father? :o

nerves — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: no curses au, lovelies! thank you for being so patient MWUAH and of course, merry christmas to everyone who celebrates it!

when one thinks of sukuna, one thinks of a broad muscular man covered in tattoos with a sharp jawline and an even sharper tongue punching the hell out of anyone.

you never think of the same man carrying a pink glittery bag and his own little pretty princess.

“do you have your lunch box?”

“yup!”

he quirks an eyebrow, “you sure?”

your daughter nods excitedly before looking over her dad’s shoulder. she grins when she finally sees you and excitedly calls you over, “mama! ‘morning!”

a smile instantly appears you on your face as you make your way towards your little sweetheart, “good morning, baby!”

you take her into your arms—ignoring your husband—and you kiss her cheek, “you excited for your first day of school?”

“mhm!” she gasped suddenly, “mama, look at my hair! papa made it for me!” she giggles, proudly showing off her ponytail.

you look with a knowing look and a small smile at your husband.

sukuna frowns and looks away, “it was easy anyway,” he then glares at you, “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

you giggle and pad your way towards him, resting your arm on his shoulder and gently kissing his lips, “it’s a really cute deal, though.”

you lightly bounce your daughter in your other arm, “right, d/n?”

“yeah! papa is the best!” she cheers, hugging him tightly.

your husband groans, but—nonetheless—his arms are wrapped around you two, “you two are such drama queens.”

he leans slightly, mouth near your ear as he whispers, “you better give me a proper fucking kiss when we drop the brat off.”

you gasp lightly and smack his shoulder, “watch your language!” you watch him scrunch his face—most likely about to sass you—so you press a quick kiss to your daughter’s cheek then your husband’s.

you then push them through the door with a nervous smile, “okay, bye! have a great time and don’t forget that mama loves you!”

“I love you too, mama!”

of course, you would’ve loved to accompany your daughter to school, especially on her first day, but the darn office just happened to call for you right now.

sukuna knows that, and so does your cute daughter, so there is a reason why they were both so reluctant to leave.

anyway, back to the present.

your husband’s frown is still evident as he is robbed yet again from a ‘proper’ kiss. he picks your daughter up easily and then throws her in the car.

she, as always, finds it funny and starts laughing her little butt off. sukuna rolls his eyes, and gets into the car himself.

he puts on the playlist that your daughter made herself, and finally starts the car. the ride is quiet, if you don’t count the singing and screaming of your daughter.

of course, sukuna can’t do anything about it—even if he knows that he doesn’t want her to stop in the first place.

the school isn’t that far away anyway, so they reach it in no time. your husband skilfully parks in front of the gate and takes his seatbelt off.

he doesn’t hear hurried unbuckling of a belt or nonstop squealing and fidgeting, so he looks at his daughter, “what’s up?”

she fidgets with the hem of her shirt then speaks up, softly, “I am—scared.”

he furrows his eyebrow, turning his entire body towards her, “huh? why? you were so excited with your mom earlier and you were screaming my ear off about it yesterday.”

“I know,” she murmurs then frowns, “…but what if people don’t like me?”

sukuna is stunned for a moment. he isn’t the one to normally deal with your daughter whenever she needed deep or meaningful emotional advice.

that was what you did, especially since you are able to read your daughter pretty well.

but he tries his best cause he would be damned if he isn’t the best father. his hand is placed on her head, albeit a bit roughly.

she whines, “papa, my hair!”

he takes a moment, “I…” he starts then quietens down for a second, and even then, you’re daughter is looking intently at him.

he then looks at her again, “they will love you. you’re a good kid."

your daughter’s eyes widen at her dad’s unfiltered compliment. she beams, quickly unbuckling her belt and throwing herself into his arms.

her smile is so wide it almost hurts her, but her heart feels so full because of her dad’s praise that she couldn’t care about anything other than him.

he slowly starts patting her head, “and if someone bothers you, I will just beat them up.”

“mama said no violence!” your daughter scolds and almost on cue, your face appears on the screen: you’re calling!

looks like you managed to squeeze in some time to check up on her. your daughter swiftly presses on answer and chirps, “hi mama!”

“hi baby! why are you not in school yet?” you question, eyes darting towards your husband, questioning.

“papa wanted to get some food first, so we just arrived!”

sukuna is—internally—flabbergasted. this liar. he is about to interject, but then he ponders about it for a moment: maybe she doesn’t want you to see her hesitant about the whole school thing.

maybe she wants to appear strong—with no weak points—in front of her mother. then he breathes out a chuckle, at least she takes after him in something.

“sukuna! she could’ve been late!” you huff then sigh, “good thing that you guys moved early anyway.”

your eyes then focus on your daughter, “how’re you feeling?”

“excited!”

“any nerves or anything?” you ask knowingly, but she shakes her head.

she hugs sukuna tighter, “I was a little nervous, but papa made me feel better!”

you grin, “did he now?”

he notices the teasing glint behind your eyes and looks away to avoid your gaze. your daughter giggles at her dad’s behaviour, and so do you.

and your husband has never felt more teamed up on than now. she hears the bell rings, “oh! I gotta go now!”

“bye papa!” she kisses her dad’s cheek, “bye mama!” then kisses the phone’s screen. you blow her a kiss back, and she dashes out of the car, ready to start her day.

even while walking towards the building, she turns again to her dad and waves at him happily.

sukuna nods and she grins, switching her focus back on the school. his focus is on her intently, until you speak up, “I am proud of you.”

his gaze snaps to you, expecting a teasing smirk, but instead you’re smiling warmly at him. his heart contracts in a way that makes him feel weird, and he can’t find it in him to give you a snarky reply.

he groans, “she is my daughter as much as she is yours, y’know.”

you hum, “of course, she is,” he hears rustling on the other line, so he assumes you’re checking some papers before turning to him again, “she takes after you in more ways than one.”

“yeah, I noticed,” he says quietly, and you laugh.

he notices from the corner of his eyes his daughter laughing excitedly with a bunch of others girls, and he lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

you tap on your desk a little, “you nervous?”

“if someone hurts her, I will kill them.”

“I figured."

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[remediesremedy]

Hello Hello!

so I've been reading your work and I'm obsessed🤩 Could I request foolish reacting to his s/o being a really quiet and shy person but like a total freak in the sheets???(like choking kink, spit kink, stuff like that) If not that's totally okay!

TYSM<3333

anon you sound so sweet!! ofc i wanna bring your idea to life, and you’re earning some major brownie points by telling me you’re OBSESSED? with my work? i’m smiling rn!! that’s such an appreciated compliment. anyway, enough from me, let’s get into the good stuff :)

ENAMOURED BY FILTH

foolish x gn reader

warnings: pure filth, spit kink, rough, choking, biting, breeding

foolish having a typically shy partner who is a freak in the sheets is so funny to me.

they come onto stream often, sitting content in the background, sometimes quietly humming when foolish speaks to them, and smiling at chat when they say something funny.

their words are soft, so delicate and smooth that even foolish immediately quietens down when he senses they’re about to speak.

the relationship had been pretty slow, the furthest they had gotten was clothed grinding, and that got cut short when foolish got a phone call, relating to a sponsor for his next stream. He wasn’t too thrilled to answer a call with his hard cock straining in his boxers, tip leaking precum and begging for some attention, but he cleared his throat and moved his sight away from his partner’s needy face.

that instance had left foolish absolutely flushed and eager for more, but he didn’t go past kissing. He refused to move at a pace that was too fast for his partner, but his partner was convinced that foolish was the one needing to take it slow.

one night, after a long stream, foolish is exhausted and stumbles into their shared room when he spots his partner bare. They’re stood next to the bed with a towel draping over their thighs as they carefully dry the water on their skin. Foolish’s mouth felt like parchment, and the only thing that would satiate the dryness would be his lover’s attention. With a cough he announced himself and his partner turned around bashfully, and then laughed quietly.

“oh c’mon you’re blushing like a virgin.” they teased, shimmying the towel over their most private areas, “it’s okay, im covered now.” their eyes softened, reaching a hand out to grasp his, “we’ll move at your pace okay?”

Foolish couldn’t contain his disbelief, “my pace? i- i thought you were the one who wanted to take it slow?”

“me?” and with a sultry smile, it was the beginning of their heart racing endeavours.

•their first time being so gentle, foolish’s skin is on fire as his lips capture his lover’s, his heart hammers as his partner reaches up and tugs on his raven hair, the gasp he lets out is delicious. When he aligns his aching cock with their entrance, and slips into their warmth, he swears he sees stars. His high approaches quicker than he would like, and he can’t control the utter filth that leaves his lips as they moan out delightfully, “fuck, you wanna be good for me?”. Foolish wants nothing more than to be perfect for his partner, “yes, yes, what is it?”

“spit in my mouth.”

foolish cums, white blinding his vision as his seed coats his partner’s warm walls. Breathlessly, he collects saliva in his mouth and spits, it lands perfectly on the centre of their tongue, and he can’t help but to keep bucking his hips. He watched in awe as they swallow it in bliss, he ruts into them, until his poor cock is aching and his balls are empty.

They are both satiated, they’re filled with cum, with loving marks all over their skin. and foolish is spent, legs twitching and coursing with electricity.

[forgeofthenine]

Okay, needed to share this thought with another Dammon appreciator.

Imagine Dammon not quite knowing how to express his feelings for Tav once he has to admit he has them. Like he can’t just come out and say it. It feels too wrong coming from him when compared to everyone else it could be coming from around them.

So he gives a generous discount, he helps Karlach (though he’d’ve done that anyway. If not for doing the right thing to help someone then to feel the pull of the infernal metal again. He misses the power and how dangerous and unwieldy it was and that’s just another reason those words can’t come from him.) He pilfers away damaged pieces of armor once Tav is asleep and repairs them, always placing them back in the pile before he heads to his own bed in the forge. He doesn’t know if anyone sees him but no one ever stops him. One day a piece of the armor can’t be repaired and so he makes something better. Something that won’t break. (Something to keep Tav safe while the rest of the world is being saved.)

And Tav. Tav cares. Tav admires. (Tav wants but has to lead, so Tav marches on) Always quietly relived when the group gets to the Last Light at the end of the days information gathering and planning and everyone is still there. Eyes glancing over to the warmly glowing forge and catching on the relentlessly determined (handsome) tiefling working there.

But Tav is also tired, they all are but at the end of the line all the decisions are on Tav and that weight isn’t insignificant.

This fight was particularly brutal and it shows in the weight of the party as they trudge to their tents. Tav starts to take their armor off at the end of the night and it’s different. Looks down and sees gleaming metal, armor that just by its looks is obviously more lovingly and well crafted than anything else they have on. Who looks over at the still glowing forge in the glow of the moon shield and follows their feet over that way.

Who just looks at Dammon as they stand there dumbly, half in and half out of armor. Who just stares at him as he turns to see who wandered in. Who has the armor in question their hand as they walk over to him slowly and now Dammon is panicking. Are they mad? (They aren’t.) Was the original piece special to them? (it wasn’t.) And while he’s panicking Tav has gotten within a few feet of him and stopped suddenly (Their brain finally caught up to their feet) and when he looks up they look so confused and maybe a bit hopeful? And before he can say anything they’re looking down at the armor in their hands (the armor he made for them) and he wonders idly when the last time someone protected Tav instead of being shielded by them was. And before he knows it, that thought has propelled him to right in front of them and he’s tentatively pulling them into his chest and holding them tight when they sink into his arms, tail wrapping around their leg down to the ankle and he’ll do everything he can to make sure no one takes them from him (ever) .

(I’m pulling a bit from the Dammon Flaws post earlier because it resonated with something in my Tav)

I'm sorry anon, I definitely sat on this for a couple days. That was mostly because I post my inbox replies right when I wake up and I feel like this deserved a slightly less sleepy me 😅

I honestly love this so much, just sneaky Dammon trying to do whatever he can for Tav, to make their life a bit easier. All of it culminating in a sweet hug in his forge when they finally realise the extent he's gone to. Honestly I can absolutely see him doing these things, and telling himself they aren't anything special, and that they have many more options than just him. He just really needs a kiss to quieten down his thoughts a little bit.

Thank you for sending this in, I love it so much and I'd love to hear more of your stuff sometime ♥️

[withdrawingramen]

signs of rain

cw; lady whump, whump of 18 y/o, implied long-term captivity, implied sensory deprivation, dehumanisation, blindfolds, authoritative whumper, defiant whumpee, non-human whumpee. | @whumpril d30 alt prompt "you brought this on yourself." | note; i haven't had time to do whumpril at all this year, but here's some crumbs of sihyeon pain from me :3

“Don’t put it on. Please.”

“No can do. We're taking off in 10. Orders are orders.”

“Just five minutes, please. I won’t say a word!" Sihyeon's back was against the wall. She warily eyed the guard, the blindfold gripped in his hand. The other stood at the doorway, gazing exasperatedly. 

They'd forced her awake an hour before the standard alarm, spoke something of a facility transfer, and knocked her out cold. Now, they were on some random cargo plane and she'd woken up in some random nook of it, fitting for a commodity of the government.

“We’re only 2 hours away. You won’t even realize when we land. If you’ve quietened down, let me put it on you now, its just a piece of cloth.” He advanced towards her.

“A bit of sun won’t hurt either of us! Just 5 minutes, goddamnit!” She lashed out with her legs, her hands cuff-bound. She was a child throwing a tantrum, and she'd gladly continue if it got her anywhere.

The flailing seemed to be of some success, and the guard cursed under his breath, stepping back.

She wouldn’t let them do this. She wouldn’t let them take the reprieve away. She needed the sun. She hadn’t seen fresh, clear skies for over a year and she wouldn’t let them take it away. 

She froze at the click of the door. She always froze at the clicks. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Sorano enter. He exhaled, turning his attention to the other men in the room. The guard in front of her made some gestures of annoyance, shrugging. Sorano didn’t wait, grabbing the blindfold from the guard’s hand.

She had nowhere to go. She felt concrete dig into her back. Her supervisor kneeled down, shoving her to her side.

“Can’t take you anywhere without you making things difficult for everyone, huh?”

“Don’t touch me.” She growled, slapping his hand away. 

She was testing his limits. She knew it- ever since the guard at the door had radio-ed Sorano once, twice, the way he looked every part of the overworked, exhausted government employee. 

“It’s just cloth, you idiot.” He wasn’t smiling. 

“I don’t want it-“ 

His fist connected with her jaw. She blinked as her head slammed into the wall, a spike of pain running through her head.

“Hope you bit on your tongue.” He murmured before raising the blindfold. 

No. She wanted to see the sky. She wanted to feel something else than the cuffs on her wrists and the hurt of it all. She had to. 

She grabbed onto his hand weakly, the cuffs clinking. She watched him tilt his head slightly. 

“Do you really want to see the sun that bad?” Sorano lazily pulled back his hand. She didn’t answer, dazed. 

Sihyeon thought she was used to him. She thought she wasn't scared of him anymore, thought she'd gotten good at taking a beating, but why she couldn't even get herself to form words right now?

He pushed her to the ground, and she let him. She goddamn let him -let him restrain her hands behind her back, felt him adjust the cuffs, made them somewhat tighter.

"Humor me. If you make me laugh, I'll allow it." His voice mocked her. What was so different about Kurai Sorano, that made her look out for every intonation of his words?

Would logic and reason work with him at all? Sihyeon gulped.

"…You know that fucking room- that prison cell has an excuse for a window and you- you know I haven't been out of there for months-" she managed to stammer out, before she heard him breathe out a laugh.

"Open that window." He ordered. Her heart skipped a beat. She noted the hesitation in the footsteps, but the guard slid open the window anyway. Sihyeon instantly shifted her gaze upwards, straining against the force he held her down with.

"Would you look at that," Sorano chuckled. "The forecast did mention cloudy skies and heavy rain."

Sihyeon's lips parted at the dull, overcast, lightless sky. And for a moment, she wished she hadn't resisted against the blindfold at all.

"I get you. I do, really. It's suffocating in there, I agree." Sorano's hand rested on her hair.

"But you know what, 79?" His fingers curled in on her hair, pulling her head back. He slammed her head straight onto the concrete floor. Limp although she already was, the sharp pain ran down her entire body. She let out a ragged grunt, feeling warmth run down her nose, the familiar taste mingling in her mouth. "A few minutes of good weather won't do anything for you. And you can fool yourself into hoping that the sun on your skin makes you feel any more human," She can't see, now. The white and black spots in her blurred vision didn't disappear along with the drum pounding in her head, even as Sorano put the blindfold on.

"But nothing is going to every change for you. And I don't mind getting that ingrained in that dense-ass brain of yours as many times it takes." Her supervisor's voice was distant now, and through all the numbness in her being she felt his presence move away.

"Every time you see even a sliver of light, you're going to remember you're nothing but a bunch of fucking numbers on a leash." She felt his grin, saw it through the dark.

She heard the clack of footsteps fade away. There was nobody else, no guards, nothing.

Don't worry. She won't dare to do anything now. Sihyeon imagined him say, and he was right.

She laid on the concrete, stiff as a log, blood dripping down her nose steadily.

Now nothing will make you feel like a person and you brought it all upon yourself.

7983 settled into her soulless body as Sihyeon died for the hundredth time.

[jehilew]

*singy-songy voice* I have a snippet!

This one is @cricketmilks fault. I told 'em I wished the soul marks fics hadn't gone out of favor, I'd love to read a Sahejul one. I was immediately informed that it was of utmost necessity that I write one and keep it alive. So here we are 🤷🏻‍♀️

I mean, how could I say no?? 😘

He was nigh on seventy years old and goddamn dead for nearly fifty of them when she marked him.

A sharp, searing pain rips across his skin, just under his collarbone, yanking him fully out of sleep with an instinctively strangled yelp. All three of his eyes are flown wide, darting around the room, his entire body shaking with tension, fear, dread a thick, nauseating mass in the pit of his stomach. Pain still traps the breath in his lungs, and his heart threatens to obliterate his ribcage with fight-or-flight response.

He quickly determines there is no threat in either the corporeal realm or the spiritual one, and flops back on his pillow. He drags in a full, long breath, lids dropping over his eyes in relief. Residual terror leaves him jittery, and his heart still races ninety-to-nothing. It'll take a few minutes to come back down, but he knows he's in for a rough night; there's hardly ever a night during which he only has one episode like this.

PTSD is a sorry bastard. He won’t ever sleep so deep that flashbacks of captivity in Aspett clear back to his childhood won’t tear him awake and shivering, drenched in sweat, eyes wildly thrown in every corner, looking for threats. He won’t ever be able to mindlessly tune out the sound of footsteps approaching his quarters, or not try to identify who they belong to, and what kind of mood they might be in. He won’t ever really be able to feel unexpected touch without expecting excruciating pain to follow it, and he won’t ever be able to tolerate expected touch for long without experiencing a sharp jag of anxiety.

Fuck, he hates this; even now, over four decades later, that shit can still shred him to ribbons. 

He draws a curtain back from his bed, and turns on the lantern hanging from the ceiling. Pulling back the collar of his shirt, he awkwardly tucks in his chin to look down where the pain still burns.

And he freezes statue-still.

He can’t fucking breathe.

He could swear his heart sputters, then skips a little too long for even his dead self to be comfortable with.

There, along the line of his collarbone, flashes a near unintelligible chicken-scratch of a script in gold across his deep-toned skin.

Well, he’s assuming it’s unintelligible; it is definitely shitty penmanship, but to be fair, he is trying to read it upside down.

“Holy shit,” he barely hisses, shock washing him numb clear down into his bones. “No goddamn way,” he mutters, immediately kicking off the covers. He swings himself over the edge of the bed and drops to the floor in a fluid motion, his landing quietened with skill and a thick rug stretched out from under his bunk. Long-legged strides see him in the bathroom, shirt already yanked off, lanterns lit, and wide hands white-knuckling the edges of the sink while he stares at his chest in the mirror.

It’s chicken-scratch if he’s ever seen it, the sentence, if one wanted to call it that, scribbling out impatiently over his flesh, irritation and no small amount of fear evident in every scrawled loop of a damn letter, but it’s not unintelligible.

He can read every bit of that shit just fine.

'AAARGH! Wha—? Who are you?!'

“Motherfucker,” he swears savagely under his breath, unable to tear his eyes off those words, reading them and re-reading them, over and over. Anger, gods, how he's angry over this, frustration, and fuck him anyway, hope, sizzles up relentlessly, mercilessly, and he's fully helpless to do anything about it except just feel it swell up in him and continue to keep re-reading those words.

“The hell am I supposed to do with a soul mark now?” He hisses through gritted teeth at his reflection, a finger already up and lightly tracing the first words the supposed love of his stupid life will scream at him, from the looks of things.

The next realization hits him, and it’s kind of devastating. She was only just born, whatever first words he’ll say to her zipped across her body somewhere, only where her words are gold, his will be in silver.

She’s going to grow up, knowing her soulmate already is dead.

Because he is.

And the only way to be with him is if she's dead as a doornail and fully trapped with him on this godforsaken circus he calls life.

[lancrewizzard]

Sir Terry Pratchett, side eyeing Joanne Rowling: "Rincewind would like to announce that he is gay."

Me, 15 years later, spiritually flipping off Joanne with every breath I take: "I'm never going to be normal about this man again. Thank you sir, you gave us so much."

*

Rincewind cleared his throat and looked at the expectant crowd over his note cards. The proud son of a city of gawpers, he nonetheless found himself disconcerted. People weren’t supposed to actually pay attention like that.

“Um. Hello.”

There was a smattering of laughter. Wincanton was clearly an easier gig than Ankh-Morpork.

“I have an announcement to make. Obviously. Or I wouldn’t be here. Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “After hearing about what’s been happening in Roundworld’s magical community, it seemed like the right time.”

He squinted at his notes and turned the card the other way up. “Terry hinted at this when he introduced me to you all, but back in… damn, what was the Year of the Recalculating Duck in your calendar?… 1983? Right.

“Back then, this place wasn’t so understanding. I’ve been told you were dealing with a bit of a Snapcase of your own. Anyway, it wasn’t the right time, but now I think it is.”

Rincewind took a deep breath and prepared himself to run.

“I’m gay.”

He’d been prepared for some level of uproar, but not the cheers that ensued. He blinked hard and waited for things to quieten down again.

“Not that it really makes any difference to me. Wizard celibacy rules and all that.” And it’s not like I’m getting inundated with offers, he added in the privacy of his head. “But I hope it might make a difference to some of you. The world’s a scary place. I should know.”

There was another ripple of laughter. Rincewind relaxed. He was Doing The Right Thing, and he didn’t even need to risk life and limb to do it.

“But there are wizards who can’t do magic, and women with beards, and men with socks that nature didn’t give them, and dwarfs who are human, and women who are wizards, and men who are witches. And the people who say you don’t belong are wrong. Only you can decide what you are. It’s important. And you’re important. Um. Goodbye.”

That had gone surprisingly well, but that was no reason not to run. After all, there might be follow-up questions, and he wasn’t ready to try nailing down where he was on the ace spectrum. So Rincewind ran. And with any luck, the better future would contain potatoes at dinner.

[sapphicgren]

 Taka kids + Kabuto headcanons lets go!!!!!!! 

TW: implied abuse, smoking and alcohol use

(bc I need to get the brainworms out before looking at cowboy bebop prompts)

Karin:

 Feels the deepest connection to Orochimaru. She’d always wanted to stick it to the people who’d taken advantage of her powers and he gave her an opportunity to do so. That being said, she gets angry at him the most. Jugo spends a lot of time and effort trying to control his anger and Suigetsu just has a tendency to quieten when something happens, but Karin rages. It actually makes Orochimaru respect her more.

Karin only really accepts that she also likes women during the blank period. Her and Sakura communicate regularly through letters and develop a friendship after Karin helps her give birth. Out of respect for Sasuke, Karin has never acted on these feelings but she has always wondered what if? 

Specializes in sealing and hand-to-hand combat. Her immense chakra makes her a valuable resource and she excels in her work both as a guard and a lab technician.

She claims she can’t remember her parents, but actually has painfully clear memories of them and what they put her through. She has never forgiven them.

Suigetsu:

Frequently thought about going back to the Mist and actually lived there for a few years after the conclusion of the Fourth Great Shinobi War. Chose to return to Orochimaru when he realized that he would never be accepted in his community again. He still works through the same katas that he was taught by Zabuza and Kisame. He wishes that he was able to speak to them and confirm that he was doing the right thing

Cares deeply for Karin and Jugo and is very afraid of losing them. It is the only time when he thinks that he comes close to understanding Orochimaru’s fear of death. He knows that he would do anything to protect them and would make any deal to guarantee their safety. Orochimaru is aware of Suigetsu’s fear.

Feels a really strong connection to Mitsuki because he was the lab technician for the majority of Mitsuki’s growth and considers Mitsuki as much of a family member as the rest of Team Taka.

Has always concealed his romantic feelings for Sasuke and Karin. He values their friendship too much to ever complicate it. He doesn’t have many friends to begin with and having a companion matters more than having a partner.

Jugo

Journals a lot and is frequently nonverbal. He frequently struggles with getting words out and regulating his emotions and finds silence very comforting. During the blank period before the boruto-era, Orochimaru finally started to teach him some meditation techniques to keep him calmer.

Very much on the ace spectrum and still thinks of Kimimaro as his platonic soulmate. He’s very conflicted about whether or not he wishes that Kimimaro was still here. On one hand, the only way he would still be around is if Orochimaru had possessed him. On the other hand, at least a part of him would still be there.

Mitsuki never cried when Jugo held him, much to the chagrin of Suigetsu and Karin. Orochimaru was fascinated by this and disappointed by the fact that he himself frequently struggled to get Mitsuki to settle.

Wishes that he would be allowed to wander the countryside more. Despite his disposition, he actually has a lot of energy and likes to be able to work it off during the day to make sleep easier. He struggles anyway at night and being restless makes it worse

Kabuto:

Would frequently smoke and drink to excess to blend in more on missions. Because of this, he developed a smoking habit and would drink until he blacked out from time to time to sleep through the night. When he achieved sage mode, he largely lost these habits and has tried hard to keep to this in the boruto-era. Occasionally lapses into smoking again.

Became infatuated with Orochimaru while he cared for him after the failed Konoha invasion. Orochimaru was very aware of this and began to play on these feelings to get him to agree to more and more dangerous missions and brutal experiments. While Kabuto was aware of being manipulated, he slowly began to resent him less for it. Even after everything that has happened, he still feels some love for Orochimaru

Also on the ace spectrum and has always wondered about whether or not he was ever actually attracted to Obito or just needed someone who was nearby to fixate upon. Has kept journals on and off since his time in the Sound and unfortunately lost the ones that he kept during that time. He’s always wondered if Orochimaru has them.

It takes a really long time for him and Urushi to become close. He struggled with depression after the conclusion of the Fourth Great Shinobi and experienced mood swings. Getting into the schedule of the orphanage was difficult and they had had years apart. They did love each other and worked hard together, even if they didn’t always understand each other.

[beedlemania]

davy love to be picked up. he particularly loves to be held on someone’s hip because he feels all tall but also secure in someone’s arms. any time he wants to be picked up he’ll just put his arms up and whoever it is (usually mike) has gotta scoop him up.

davys favorite person who picks him up is mike. peter is also a particular favorite. he’s just so comfortable and is nice and warm and will sway back and forth and make davy feel all soft. micky tends to shift him around a lot and bounce him and that’s not really davys thing (he prefers to be rocked back and forth) and micky’s also kind of noodle-armed so he can’t really hold davy up for too long even though he does give really good piggy back rides. but davys favorite is mike, because mike is just special to davy. that’s his mumma.

unfortunately for little mister davy, mike’s back will start to bother him if he holds davy on his hip for too long. contrary to what peters mom believes, mike does not have the best posture (he gets nervous around adults and tries to be uber-polite so when peters mom met him he was all well-mannered and good-postured, but when he’s home and chill his spine just crumples.) so mike has to put davy down a lot, which leads to a lot of whining from the little one. mike will compromise by just keeping his arms around davy and swaying with him while also resting his hip/back.

but mike does love picking davy up, he loves having him close, he just often has to hold him while sitting down so as not to hurt himself, especially as they get into the 70s and mike gets older. mike often wishes davy was pocket sized, or at least the size of an actual toddler or kid so that he could carry him around all the time with not as much trouble, but it is what it is, and mike will hold him anyway.

!!!

Mike with his scoliosis spine cannot hold Davy up for long BUT they’ve both developed a co-dependancy on each other so he doesn’t want to let him go. Sometimes if mikes doing something and can’t stop to sit with him, he has to pass him off to Peter. Davy whines about this but the second he’s in Peters arms he quietens down because Peters a very good cuddler. Peters also the strongest of them all so he can hold Davy for a good while before getting tired. It surprised them all the first time but there’s no complaints.

But davy has attachment issues with Mike so even if Peter or Micky is holding him, he still has to be close to Mike. He’ll make Peter walk over to Mike from time to time so Davy can kiss his head or lean over to give him a hug. Mike has no problem with this because he also misses holding Davy, he just can’t do that and chop vegetables or cook something boiling at the same time.

As they get older Mike cannot physically carry him as much any more. He’s still physically fit but lifting his guitar the wrong way causes his back to twinge because of his bad posture through his childhood/adolescence. But they have scheduled time where they sit on the couch or in bed tighter and mike holds Davy because both of them don’t want to give them up. Peters usually the one carrying Davy around now. Davy doesn’t mind that because Peter always sings to him mindlessly and he’s super warm and Davy likes to play with his longer hair. Micky also looses Davy carrying ability as he gets older sometimes Davy carries him around just to flex on him.

[amyelevenn]

doomsday

PARING: c!Technoblade x gn!reader

SUMMARY: Techno's unforgiving war hurts those he loves most.

WARNINGS: heavy angst, death

A/N: not much to say except this is self indulgent angst - oops lol

1.0k words - M.LIST

The ringing had finally stopped, aiding to smooth your ever-pounding headache. The screams were beginning to quieten, the deafening agony dulling out. It wasn’t just those two that had ended – no, but the bombs that seemed to be quite literally raining down on you had finally seized, along with Technoblade’s brutal Withers.

Shock was starting to take place over your weening adrenaline, exhaustion seeping in a little too. Your whole body was aching from overuse – war clearly didn’t agree with you. You fought to keep your eye lids open, to keep moving forward knowing very well that if you were to stop you would immediately pass out. Not ideal for a battlefield, you’re aware, that’s why you can’t stop. Not now, not ever.

Your first thought was of Tommy. Find him! the voices screamed, the whole reason you were even on your feet. In some ways you were insanely lucky to have them (they had saved your life on multiple occasions today alone) and yet you would find yourself resenting them for not ever giving you a moment of peace.

As you stumbled what felt like blindly through rubble and dust, you heard the first shout for help. It was muffled and far, but you knew that voice from anywhere; it was etched into your skull. Tommy was calling for assistance – yet it wasn’t a plea, no desperation involved.

 At least that meant that no one was dying, the voices suggested, not yet at least. Grunting quietly to yourself, you push them to the back of your mind. You needed to get to Tommy, and that was all that mattered right now.

The further your travelled, the further he seemed to be away. He kept calling, but his voice was slowly becoming fainter and fainter. For a moment you considered that you were going in the wrong direction, but the voices were quick to tell you that you were in fact headed towards the teen.

Ignoring the rising nausea and the throbbing of your legs, you powered on. A final call echoed right in front of you, leading you to look down into the canyon below. You felt almost overjoyed at the sight of Tommy and Tubbo, appearing to be injury free.

They are quick to make it you your side, each taking a turn to tightly embrace you, not helping the bile sitting in the back of your throat. A quick – yet rather extensive – scan over the duo is enough to tell you neither seriously injured, only a few cuts and bruises that a golden apple could solve. Letting out a breath you weren’t aware you had been holding, you squeeze Tommy’s arm, a little reminder for the both of you that this is real.

You can feel a pair or two’s eyes burning holes into your back, but you can’t be bothered to search for who’s they are or where they are. Who needs to anyway when the voices are screaming at you their names?

Techno stands off in the distance, hidden by shadows and…guilt? Not for destroying this miserable excuse of a country, but for seeing you blissfully unaware of the blood dripping down your shirt – an injury he is sure was sustained from him.

Techno was an interesting character to you. he was one of two that knew about your voices, overly compassionate and understanding with you because he had them too. He knew what you had to put up with daily, because he was fighting the same battle. Yet for what it was worth, despite your many sleepless nights together, searching for ways to quieten the voices hand in hand, bonding over the smallest things, he could never find it in himself to tell you how he really felt.

Even after every war he had fought, every battle he had lost, every death he had endured, watching you fall into Tommy’s arms had to be the hardest thing Technoblade had ever experienced. His chat were quick to reassure him that this was your final life, and this really was the end for you.

That had to be the great Blood God’s biggest regret; not telling you how much his heart loved and yearned for you whilst he still had the chance to keep you warm and safe in his arms.

Everything felt blurry. Your conscience was ever-wavering, unforgivingly teetering between life and death. You expressed you need to sit down with the teens in front of you, blatantly oblivious to the stares of horror directed at you.

Tubbo himself felt sick just at the site of scarlet blood blooming on your side, gradually inching across your chest. The smell alone was overwhelming, the air stale with the stench of grief. He hated having to stand by and watch as death took you by the hand away from him. You were family to him – to everyone.

Way back when there was no war, there was a joke going around that if one person were to die, yours would affect everybody the most. It was funny at the time, but having to watch it in real time was trauma Tommy and Tubbo would never recover from.

Your hand gently cradled Tommy’s cheek as he held you in his arms, trying his very best to hold himself together. This couldn’t be the end. Not for you. You were to kind to die at the hands of war. This wasn’t supposed to be how you left. In fact you were never supposed to leave him. How could he live without you?

With all your remaining energy, you reminded Tommy that it was okay to cry. The second you spoke he burst into tears, sobs racking not only his body but yours too. He pulled you impossibly closer to his chest, whispering sweet reassurances to you, which unfortunately fell on deaf ears.

You were gone.

That was that.

It was if the entire server knew you were gone.

Total silence rang across the lands, even the animals going quiet to mourn the loss.

At the end of the day, both sides had lost.

What can I say; war is unfair in its consequences.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Guess who’s posting!

There’s going to be a second part to this, but I’m quite happy with how it’s turning out, so here’s the first part, and once it’s done, I’ll upload the whole thing to ao3!

CW: Mention of a mentally abusive relationship/coercion, mention of a panic attack (keep yourself save lovelies <3)

(The feelings aren’t unrequited!! There will be a fluffy get together/resolution I promise! It’s very much an unreliable narrator being from Sirius’ POV.)

Sirius pushed through the door into the dorm, freezing as he heard someone… crying? He glanced around the room to find Remus sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall, trying desperately to stifle a panic attack, sleeve of his soft orange jumper pulled over his hand and pressed against his mouth to quieten the noise.

“Oh my god, Rem.” He walked over and crouched in front of Remus. “What’s going on, are you okay?”

“It’s- it’s so stupid, I feel s-so stupid.” Remus stuttered in between snatched breaths.

“Your feelings aren’t stupid, Moons. What happened?”

“J-just a fight with Edgar.” Sirius felt the anger rise up inside him. Of course it was a fight with Edgar. Edgar destroyed everything Remus liked about himself. “God, I’m so disgusting.”

“No. Don’t say that, you’re not.” He rested both of his hands on Remus’ arms. “Moony, you need to ground yourself, okay? Breathe.” He took a deep breath in, allowing Remus to follow. He helped calm Remus down, as Remus started talking about what had happened. Sirius knew that Remus didn’t talk to just anyone about stuff like that. It must have been really bad.

“He’s been… pressuring me a lot, recently. He wants us to… take our relationship further, and I don’t know, I’m not ready for that, and I’m not sure why, and I’ve been feeling awful about it anyway.” Already off to a bad start. God, Sirius hated Edgar. “So today we were… kissing, and his hand went under my- under my shirt, and he went to pull it off, and I just figured that it was probably going to happen at some point, so I may as well just get it over with, so I let him, and I guess I forgot about the- the scars. Edgar saw them, and he just- he just freaked out. He started calling me all these things, and he was so horrified, he said he didn’t know I was covered in those… things, and just thought it was my face, and I just- I guess I just got so used to the scars that I forgot how repulsive they are.” Tears fell silently down his face, and Sirius pulled Remus into a tight hug.

“They’re not. You’re beautiful, Moony. Really. If he can’t see that, then fuck him.” Sirius was going to murder Edgar. “Don’t let him determine your worth.”

“But- but if my own boyfriend is disgusted at the sight of me, then everyone will be.”

“I’m not. Prongs isn’t, Wormtail isn’t. None of us are. Edgar’s just a dick.”

“Padfoot, why do I- why don’t I like myself?” He whispered.

“You will.” Sirius insisted. “One day you’ll see that you’re worth the world.”

He comforted Remus until Remus decided to go to sleep early, and shut the curtains around his bed. Sirius thought carefully for a moment, before standing up decisively, wand in hand. James opened the door, almost walking straight into Sirius.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To fight Edgar fucking Bones.” Sirius said through gritted teeth, leaving before James could say anything else. He got to the common room, map in hand, quickly flicking it open. Edgar was in the Great Hall. Without really thinking, Sirius went straight there. “Oi! Edgar!” He shouted, and Edgar, who was leaning against a wall, turned and frowned at the sight of Sirius.

“What d’you want?” Sirius pinned him against the wall, wand to his neck.

“If you so much as fucking breathe the wrong way around Remus again, I’ll hex you into next fucking year. Got it?” Edgar, not particularly phased by the wand at his throat, just scoffed.

“He was holding out on me for so long, and now I fucking know why. Those things cover him, it’s disgusting.” Just hearing the word disgusting was enough for Sirius. He muttered a hex, forcing Edgar’s face to start swelling up. He let Edgar go, as his friends crowded him, trying to fix the problem. Sirius was quickly stopped by McGonnagal, dragged to her office.

“Mr Black, what was that?! We don’t hex other student unprovoked!”

“It wasn’t unprovoked.” Sirius said angrily.

“Sirius, we all saw you walk up to Edgar Bones, threaten him and then hex him! He’d done nothing!”

“He called Remus disgusting!” Sirius finally said.

“Elaborate?” She asked, after a small stunned silence.

“I, uh, I walked into the dorm and Remus was having a panic attack, and he said it was about Edgar, and then he told me that Edgar had seen some of his other scars, and he called him disgusting for being covered in them. He’s also been… pressuring Remus, trying to get him to do things he’s not comfortable with. I couldn’t take it anymore, I just- I just snapped.” Minerva’s face softened.

“I’ll need to talk to Edgar about this, but he will face some very serious repercussions for that.” Sirius nodded. “Resorting to violence still isn’t the solution, Sirius. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” She asked gently. “Everything you say here will remain between us. Confidential.”

“I- I don’t think I can.” He exhaled shakily. “It’s so hard.”

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. But I’m here to listen to you, judgement free.” She waited patiently. Sirius knew he could talk to her, he just had to find a way to get the words out.

“I’m in love with Remus.” He forced out quietly, finally admitting it to someone. “And I constantly have to watch him get torn down and broken by Edgar, by his father, by the fucking moon, for Christ’s sake. He’s just- he’s been dealt such a shitty hand, I just want him to understand that he deserves the world, and he deserves to be happy more than anything else. He’s not happy with Edgar. He just doesn’t think he’ll ever find someone willing to date him again, so he doesn’t want to leave him, but I don’t want to lose his friendship and make him feel even more guilty and uncomfortable for not feeling the same way, so I can’t tell him.” He got it all out in a rush, getting louder and faster with every word. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.” He finished in a low voice. Minerva seemed stunned into silence at the sheer amount of information. Sirius lost some house points and got a detention for resorting to violence, but it was nothing compared to Edgar.

The next morning, Remus and Sirius were sat side by side at breakfast, Remus very clearly still affacted, when Edgar walked over.

“Remus, why the fuck are you spouting fucking lies about me?” Remus frowned, confused, turning around.

“What are you on about?”

“McGonnagal took 150 points from me and put me in detention for the rest of the year because of you spreading fucking rumours about me!” Sirius stifled a laugh.

“You deserved that for what you fucking did.” Sirius muttered.

“The fuck did you say?”

“D’you want me to hex you again?” Sirius asked, very clearly a thinly veiled threat.

“I did absolutely fucking nothing wrong!” Edgar glanced around for a moment, realising he’d gained a fair amount of unwanted attention. “Keep your nose out of this, Black.” He muttered, before turning back to Remus, softening his voice into a tone that was clearly manipulative. “Listen, I’m willing to take you back, if you apologise-“

“I don’t fucking want you back, Edgar!” Remus snapped, loud enough to draw silence from the hall. Remus finally stood, using his height over Edgar, who staggered backwards slightly and swallowed uncomfortably. “You have done nothing but tell me I’m worthless, disgusting, repulsive, and I’m fucking sick of it. I put up with it for the good moments, and honestly? I think part of me believed you when you told me I deserved it. But all you seem to want to do is destroy my self esteem or sleep with me! Stay the fuck away from me Edgar, this is it, we’re fucking done.” Remus dropped back into his seat, waiting to hear Edgar’s footsteps walking away. It didn’t take long, and the stunned silence in the hall slowly started to dissipate. Remus glanced at Sirius, seemingly accidentally, and Sirius smiled at him. Reassuringly, approvingly, drawing a smile from Remus.

God, Sirius loved this boy. He would give Remus everything and more if he could.

Remus Lupin wasn’t the moon to Sirius. Remus Lupin was the sun. Bright, warm, beautiful. Sirius was tied to him in the same way the Earth was tied to the sun. Stuck together, Remus Lupin encompassing the meaning of Sirius’ entire existence, the person he did everything for, the person he was always supposed to fall in love with, even if Remus Lupin didn’t love him back. That was okay. Sirius could admire from afar. Just the way the Earth was lit by the sun from millions of miles away. Just being close to Remus, seeing him smile, was enough.

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

Just here to show my love for LRHWY Chapter 4 because I woke up and smiled so hard when I saw the update in my inbox 🥰

Ok so here we go:

He wanted Alec to have proof of all the love he had for him. In case Alec didn’t come back.

Yeah I had to put my tablet down and do some breathing exercises because the fact that Magnus even had to think these thoughts broke my poor little heart 😭

It looks exactly the same.” He said tentatively across the room. Magnus’s eyes softened. “Yeah. And it feels complete now.”

I AM SO SOFT FOR THIS. I just think about how many months Magnus has tossed and turned because he didn’t have his cuddle buddy/love of his entire life next to him. How many times he got ready for events and pretended Alec was there by his side. How many mornings he woke up and rolled over to and empty bed. I am sad now.

“Magnus. Hi. Hi, baby.”

Do I even need to continue? You know how I feel about this #weak

“I need you to take me apart piece by piece. And then I need you to put me back together.”

This intimacy of this is outstanding because Magnus Bane does not let people see him bare, raw, completely vulnerable. No one except Alec Lightwood who he will allow into his most vulnerable spaces with complete trust that he will never take advantage of him. Goodbye.

Magnus checking Alec for injuries

The way Magnus said ‘ok sex is over now’. LOL. The man had a mission and he was not to be stopped!!

Alec adjusting his post war routine to accomodate Magnus worrying.

Why is this man just so…ahhhhh. I could only imagine how stressful it is for him to go from a heightened state to being able to completely relax and surrender to his calm. The fact that he’s always thinking about Magnus within all that just shows how much of a beautiful soul he is. I am 1 Alec forever stan.

The reason for Magnus eating takeout all the time.

Fuck this one was so sad? Magnus’ tragic back story always gets to me because the boy deserves so much love that he never received from young. I’m so happy he has Alec to hold him, love him, console him and remind him that there’s nothing wrong with his behaviours, that as long as he is open to healing, he will always be with him.

Magnus feeling secondary to Alec’s duty.

How do you even comprehend this? Like it’s not something either of them can really even change (without Alec leaving the Navy). The fact that we know that they are so in love and then break up too makes this so much sadder 🥲 Some circumstances are just shit and we just have to deal with the harshness of them, even if we don’t want to. Having something good doesn’t mean it isn’t free of consequences and challenges. I hope he knows Alec always sees him as first in his heart,

The way he could easily quieten the world around Magnus.

I fucking love this. It makes me desire a solid person in my life like this so bad. Just that person who’s presence alone can bring calm to your nerves and make you feel like everything is right in the world? Ah, fuck, Malec. Why you do this to me?

Anyway the chapter was fucking amazing as expected. I am not ready for Alec angst next chapter but I am so excited for his POV. The tears will fall, I am not ready but I’m so ready. I hope you are doing okay and staying hydrated/looking after yourself 🌸

hi babes!! I’m doing okay.

My favorite types of comments are where readers highlight their fav parts from the story. It feels so rewarding. And also makes me go all “wait I wrote this shit shsjshsj”

I’m very soft for these bitches too. I think it’s v common amongst military spouses (or any other relationship where one person’s job is considered more imp) to feel secondary to their spouses duty. And Magnus is going to feel this throughout because it’s inevitable. But Alec is obv a bigger simp and makes it worth it.

I can’t wait for you to read the next chapter. It’s not going to be an easy chapter to write (I think). So it’s not going to be easy to read either. Get ready for emotional damage byeeeee

Thank you. And take care of yourself too 🌻

[alloftimeandspacetosee]

What's In A Name

In which Arlette is still very pissed off and may take it out on the first person that tries her

~

 Arlette shifted her bag onto her back as they entered the square, spotting the shopping centre. “There you go.”

 “You say that like you’re not coming in.” Aurora frowned, glancing at her.

 “Don’t feel like it.” Arlette shrugged. “I’ll wait outside, if that’s alright?”

 “Hm.” Soise stared at her, frowning.

 “I’m not going to blow anything up, Soise. Or reduce anything to rubble. I just – don’t feel like going shopping, ok?”

 “Raph, Rem, shut up!” Nyx frowned, lifting a hand in an attempt to silence the rats who were squeaking by her ear. “Arlette, are you sure? There’s supposed to be a really good plushie shop inside.”

 Warren shrugged. “It can get a little bit crowded. We’ll not hang around, if you’re staying outside. We’ll get what we want and leave.”

 “If you’re sure, Alrette, then we won’t take our time. Will you be alright on your own?” Zlata asked.

 “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Arlette nodded, folding her arms. “Don’t cut your time short ‘cause of me, really.” She forced a smile. “If you can take too long, I can always speed up my section of it.”

 “Well… alright then. But have some company.” Nyx smiled, flipping open a pokéball to release Xinch. You and Aurora seem to have a way with him, anyway.”

 Xinch scuttled over to Arlette, prodding her legs gently with his mandibles.

 “We still shouldn’t keep you waiting,” Zlata said, glancing at Xinch. “Take care, Arlette.”

 Arlette watched them leave and turned away, sidling a way through the crowd to find somewhere to sit. Xenos whistled at her, leaning into her neck.

 “I don’t know, Xen.” She found a stone fountain and released Shyran and Sargeras to play in the water. “Just… legacy, that’s all.” She swung her bag down to rest at her feet, sitting down on the wide ledge when the dedication plaque rose to give her a backrest.

 Xinch clambered up beside her to sit down, settling to wash his fur. Xenos slipped down Arlette’s arm to sit on the plaque, watching the water types.

 “I think… we’ve been going about things the wrong way, Xen.”

 He whistles up at her, tilting his head.

 “I don’t know. I need to sort out a few things.” She rubs her face, closing her eyes.

 “What sort of things?”

 Arlette cracked open an eye to glance over the teenager standing before them. “Title things.”

 “Can’t have too many titles, you’re young.” He sat down, dipping a hand in the water. “Unless you were born into them.”

 “Well…” Arlette shrugged. “It’s more of a name.”

 Shyran bobbed up out of the fountain to squirt water at him.

 He spluttered, shaking droplets from his face. “What name?”

 “NightGale.” Arlette stroked Xinch.

 “Woah – dude, you’re the NightGale?” He leapt to his feet, grinning.

 “No, that’s my–”

 “Can we have a battle? I’ve always wanted to battle the NightGale.”

 “I told you, I’m not–”

 “You’re younger than I expected, I thought you’d beaten six leagues? Must’ve moved–”

 “I am not the NightGale!” Arlette yelled, glaring at him. “She’s my ma.”

 He quietened down, but only momentarily. “Still… you must be some battler, hey? What with being a NightGale and all.”

 Arlette sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m not really a battler.”

 “Oh, come on! You have pokémon!” He gestured at Xenos, Shyran, and Xinch, missing out Sargeras, who was watching from the other side of the fountain.

 Xinch crackled at the stranger, snapping his mandibles.

 “Doesn’t mean I battle.” She placed a hand on the galvantula’s back.

 “But you’re a NightGale! Come on, you have to be a good battler.” He grinned, leaping away and holding out a pokéball. “Just two rounds… you’ll win anyway, NightGales always do.”

 Arlette gritted her teeth.  Xenos whistled at her, dropping down and teleporting to land on the ground in front of her. She watches him, frowning.

 “That’s the spirit!”

 “Two rounds, and then you’ll bugger off?”

 “Oh – sure, sure.” He grinned, releasing a snover. “Powder snow.”

 Snow swirled around the pokémon as he backed away, giving them more room.

 Arlette didn’t stand up, but watched carefully. “Double team.”

 Xenos nodded and tilted his head, seeming to shimmer and appear in a ring around the snover.

 “Icy wind.”

 The snow sharpened, screaming as it swirled around the snover, and caught every image of Xenos there was.

 “Lucky Chant.” Arlette watched, not taking her eyes off Xenos.

 As Xenos whistled, the snover stepped forward and tried to stop him, slamming a fist into his chest. Xenos was thrown backwards, crashing into the fountain’s foundation.

 “Are you going to fight at all?”

 “You think it would work any better?”

 Xenos pushed himself upright and whistled, glowing slightly. Then he ran back out, slamming himself into the snover’s side.

 “Wood hammer!”

 Xenos is slammed back once more. Arlette picked at a loose thread in the seam of her trousers. As Xenos landed, he caught himself before he could tumble, glowing still.

 “Heal pulse.”

 Xenos whistled and nodded.

 “Are you going to attack at all?”

 Arlette sighed and pulled a pouch from her bag. “Magical leaf.” Opening it, she scattered wooden leaves onto the ground.

 Xenos caught them and spun them forward, attacking the snover.

 “Really?” Her challenger laughed. “Come on, that’s not even effective! Wood hammer!”

 Xenos stumbled back as the snover loomed over him, a fist raised.

 “Double–”

 Arlette’s voice was lost in the rush of water that came hurtling over the rim behind Sargeras as the vaporeon slammed into the snover, snarling furiously. The snover slammed its fist into Sargeras instead, sending her crashing into the flagstone pavement. Xenos held out his palms, a weak psychic blast coming off them.

 “I thought you’d be trying harder than this, NightGale.”

 “I am not – the – NightGale!” Arlette yelled, jumping to her feet and disturbing Xinch. “Now shut the hell up, you damn water skunk!”

 Sargeras got to her feet shakily, blood staining her side. Xenos moved forward and spun, slamming himself once more into the snover’s side – beginning to glow again, but a different glow from previously.

 The snover grunted and slapped him away. Xenos shrieked and hit the fountain, collapsing at its bottom – and stopped glowing.

 Arlette dropped to her knees, picking him up. “Dammit, Xen… sorry.”

 “You’re making this easy, aren’t you?” He returned his snover, sending out a chingling. “C’mon, last round.”

 “Or maybe, you know, it’s because I’m no a battler?” Arlette didn’t turn to face him, but her voice was shaking.

 Sargeras limped forward as if to face the chingling, but Arlette held her back.

 “Na-uh, your vaporeon stepped in in the last round, it’s your other pokémon.”

 “I didn’t order her in,” Arlette replied, standing up and cradling Xenos. “So I’ll no agree t’that. Shy, you’re up.”

 The horse swam up in the fountain, moving to the edge.

 “Smoke screen.”

 Shy squeaked and ink plumed around him, hiding him from view. The chingling bobbed over to the fountain, peering to try and see him.

 “Confusion.”

 Shyran squealed in pain as the chingling rested on the parapet, glowing.

 “Water gun.” Arlette watched, ignoring the trainer behind her.

 “Oh, your pokémon do know attacking moves! I was beginning to wonder.”

 Water burst out of the cloud of ink, smacking the chingling square in the face. It shook itself off, producing a clear chime.

 “Astonish!”

 Shyran dived under the water as the chingling moved, avoiding the attack. He looked up at it, watching.

 “Bring it back up,” the teenager muttered.

 The chingling bounced across the stone, ringing its bell. Shyran rose up, brought by the sound.

 “Uproar.”

 The chingling’s noise trebled in volume, causing Arlette to wince and grit her teeth. Shyran squealed and retaliated with a beam of multi coloured ice, which only stopped when the chingling slammed into him from behind, cracking him into the lip of the fountain.

 Arlette stepped forward, dipping a hand into the water for Shyran. Shyran squealed and leapt over her head for the chingling, water surging around him to smack it into the ground.

 “Confusion!”

 The two pokémon tumble to the ground and Arlette stepped back so that she didn’t get caught up.

 Shyran blasted the water into the chingling’s face, but it just shook it off and gripped him in a psychic hold, pushing him away into the fountain. Shyran squealed, furiously trying to break free.

 “Let’s just finish this.” The trainer had his arms folded, tapping his foot.

 His chingling bobbed and slammed Shyran into the ground, where he lay limp. Arlette moved to pick him up, and Sargeras leapt over her back and grabbed the chingling, growling furiously.

 “Hey! Hey, this was a two on two – call your vaporeon off!”

 “Sargeras.”

 Sargeras whined around the chingling, looking up at Arlette.

 “Drop it.”

 Sargeras dropped the chingling, kicking it back to its trainer.

 “Is that seriously the best you can do?” He returned it, folding his arms again. “’Cause, you know, being a NightGale and all–”

 “Get this into your thick, mud filled head, you stupid pounder,” Arlette snapped, cutting across him. “Yes, I’m a NightGale. But I am not my mother. I am not a battler – and we are not all the same!”

 Sargeras snarled beside her, pacing with Arlette as she stepped forward, raising clenched fists.

 He took a step back. “Hey, I didn’t–”

 “Yes you fucking did, don’t even try that shit on me. If you want to have your head kicked in by the NightGale, she’s over by Unova. Better get your ass moving.”

 “Ha.” He snorted, shaking his head. “You’re not a NightGale at all, are you? They wouldn’t let themselves be beaten so easily.”

 “Get the fuck out of here before I show you what a NightGale can do!” Arlette roared, stepping forward again. “Just – get out of my sight, you misbegotten, ham fisted, shit headed–”

 He didn’t stick around to hear anymore, turning and running from sight. Arlette watched him go and then glared at the crowd that’s stopped, staring at her. Cursing, she returned her pokémon to their balls and hurried off in search of the pokémon centre.

 Xinch stretched out his legs and scurried after her, keeping up easily. He crackled at her as they entered the centre.

 “Hey Xinch,” she said quietly, glancing down at him. “Sorry ‘bout that.” She stalked over to the main desk. “These three need healed up.” She placed Xenos’, Shyran’s, and Sargeras’ pokéballs on the desk.

 “Right away.” The nurse nodded and took them. “I’ll call you over when they’re ready to be picked up.” He smiled at her.

 Arlette nodded and stalked away to a couch to sit down, tucking her legs up under her body. Xinch tilted his head and scuttled over to sit next to her, taking up the rest of the couch.

 A woman came into the pokécentre and spotted Arlette, walking over. “I saw the battle with that boy. He was rude to you,” she said, speaking softly.

 Arlette glanced up. “I think I was slightly ruder to him.” She placed a hand on Xinch’s back, stroking him.

 “Those were very colourful curse words you shouted at him. I’d say you swear like a sailor, but that might not be the best thing right now.” She glanced at Xinch. “Mind if I sit down?”

 Arlette shrugged. “Sure. Xinch, budge a bit?” She shifted nearer the end of the couch, perching herself on the arm and leaning on the wall to give them more room – keeping Xinch between them.

 Xinch crackled, shifting along after Arlette to give the woman some space.

 The woman smiled and sat down. “He shouldn’t have called you out to battle like that, or pressured you into it. Don’t feel bad for losing.”

 “I don’t feel bad about losing.” Arlette glanced over at the desk. “I’m not a trainer.”

 “Then why are you bothered?” The woman coughed. “Sorry, this is none of my business, but I am naturally curious. And you seem like you need somebody to talk to.”

 “Because – he wasn’t battling me because I’m a trainer.” Arlette rubbed at her right arm. “He was battling me because I’m a NightGale.”

 Xinch gurgled and nuzzled into Arlette.

 “Ah…” The woman smiled. “He was seeking fame and glory, but got the wrong NightGale?”

 Arlette scratched Xinch’s head. “Basically.”

 “You don’t have to be her, though. Children don’t always turn out like their parents, and that’s a good thing. It makes it interesting.”

 Arlette scowled. “I know.”

 Xinch crackled and delicately started to prod Arlette with his legs.

 “You could always change your name, if that is what you’re uncomfortable with. Plenty of people have given up names and titles to live undercover.” The woman shrugged. “Or you could change what the name means. That has been done too. Whatever you want to do, there is precedent for it.”

 “Excuse me.” The nurse leant over the side of the chair opposite Arlette. “Your three pokémon… about your ralts, though.”

 “What?” Arlette took the pokéballs, looking up. “What’s wrong with Xenos?”

 “Nothing, but… was he evolving?”

 “I think he was starting to. But he was… interrupted.”

 The nurse nodded. “It shouldn’t affect him too much, but he might be shaky for a while.”

 Arlette nodded. “Thank you.” She put the pokéballs into her bag, keeping Xenos’ to the side.

 As the nurse stepped away, the woman stood up. “You have some choices. You’re not the first to deal with this, and you will not be the last. I’m afraid I have to leave you – I need to be moving on, or else I’ll be late. But I postulate you won’t be staying here long either, am I correct?”

 Arlette frowned. “Probably not. Just waiting for the rest of my group.”

 “Then we might see each other again, if you and your group stop by Celestic. I’m heading up there now to study the ruins.” She gave Arlette a single wave. “My name is Diana, by the way. Diana Pallada. And yours? Aside from NightGale, of course.”

 “Arlette.” She flicked a glance up.

 Xinch gurgled at Diana, before returning to Arlette and continuing to clean her, beginning to spin out webbing.

 “It has been an interesting chat.” Diana gave Arlette a curt nod and left the pokécentre.

 Arlette released Xenos and curled up around her bag. Xenos whistled and shook his head, climbing onto her shoulder. Xinch crackled and started to bind her properly in webbing.

 “Haud on a tick.” Arlette pulled out a pokéball, releasing her furret. “Diana, go help the others find us again… once they’ve finished up, ‘kay?”

 Diana uncurled and nodded, darting away.

 Xinch teased out the threads, making the cocoon fluffy around Arlette.

 “You do know we’ll have to move soon, right?”

 Xinch shrugged and continued to wrap Arlette up in silk.

 “You’re carrying me, then.”

 Xinch crackled and finished off the cocoon before lifting Arlette onto his back. Xenos helped open the door and they were out into the square and heading for the shopping centre. There were dragons circling above the building, and Xinch sped up through the crowd before stopping beside Aurora, prodding her leg.

 “Hey, Arlette.” Aurora looked down. “Xinch taking care of you, then?”

 “Well, of course. He generally does.”

 Xinch squealed and dropped, letting Arlette roll from his back.

 “Are you able to move?”

 “Nope. Kinda comfortable here, though.”

 “Have fun trying to keep up with us.”

 Diana scampered over, investigating Arlette’s bound form. Xinch crackled happily, moving over to Nyx.

 “Arlette, you do know that’s what he does to his food before he eats it?”

 Zlata turned, still talking to Joanna, and saw Arlette. “Do you want some help?”

 “Well, he hasn’t eaten me yet.” Arlette looked up at Zlata. “Depends, are we moving on now?”

 “I think we’re moving soon…? At let, I believe Joanna and Alex were going, anyway. Before dragons appeared.”

 “Xinch wouldn’t hurt you, I suppose.” Nyx smirked, scratching Xinch. “I hope you haven’t been too bored waiting for us, we got caught up in pointless plushie buying.”

 “Pointless?” Joanna gasped.

 “Yours was pointless… but very cute.” Nyx smiled. “I think we were going north?”

 Warren nodded. “Towards Celestic.”

 “Oh, that place is beautiful!” Joanna nodded.

 “First, should we show Arlette what we got?”

 “I got things done. What did you get?” Arlette looked up at them.

 “Might want to get out of your cocoon.” Aurora grinned, pulling two item balls from her new bag.

 “Fine, fine…”

 Diana set about chewing at the threads, and Xinch hurried back over to help take them apart.

 Arlette wriggled and eventually managed to get out of the cocoon. “So, you were saying?”

 Aurora tossed her the item balls. “Figured you’d want a bit of cheering up.”

 “You’ll like them Arlette, Aurora picked them out specially for you.”

 “There was a lot of debate about which plushie to get. There were some good ones.”

 “Which one first, Xenos?” Arlette glanced at the two balls in her hands, tilting her head.

 Xenos whistled, shrugging. Arlette laughed and chucked them both into the air, shoving the one she caught with her left hand into her pocket.

 The other one contained a banette plushie, and she stroked a hand over its softness. “That’s going to make me feel so safe now.”

 “Just don’t throw it away and you’ll be fine.” Soise grinned.

“Oh, you decided on the banette then?” Nyx asked, looking closer. “Nice, very creepy indeed.”

 Warren nodded. “Suits you very well.”

 “It’s only a plushie, the real thing is the one you should watch out for. But it does suit you well, I agree.”

 “Yeah, she’s such a creep, right?” Aurora laughed.

 Hohenheim approached and took a lugia plushie from his back, apparently comparing it.

 “They are said to inhabit abandoned plushies, though.” Arlette balanced the banette on her free shoulder. “Or be born from them… or something.”

 “And the other one.” Aurora spun the other pokéball in her hand.

 Arlette caught it as Aurora flicked it into the air towards her. “If you stop stealing my stuff, maybe.” She released a long milotic plush and swept it off the ground.

 “And the milotic.” Nyx smiled, stroking it. “Very nice, but this isn’t anything like Arlette… it’s so pretty and sweet looking.”

 “And they both pale in comparison to the Reshi.” Joanna laughed.

 Arlette batted Nyx in the head with the milotic. “Thanks. I can clean up.”

 “Just not that prettily.” Soise smirked.

 “Alright, I believe you! No need to plush hammer me!” Nyx laughed, pushing the milotic away. “Plushies always help…”

 “That’s good. You seemed really down before,” Zlata said.

 “Yes.” Arlette returned the milotic, tucking it into her bag.

 “So… we’ll be going?” Aurora asked.

 “Yes, sorry for keeping you,” Alex said.

 “It was nice seeing you both.” Nyx smiled, hugging her parents before letting them get up on Flare. “I’ll come back to Lavaridge soon, I promise. With Warren?”

 “Of course. You can even have a house to yourselves, you’d probably like that.”

 Nyx blushed and bowed her head, and Warren linked his arm through hers.

 “We’ll put it next on the list of regions to visit, then.” Aurora nodded. “Be good to see more of Hoenn.”

 Flare took off, followed by Whitetip, and they leave dazzling streaks of fire in the sky behind them as they turn south. Hohenheim answered with a blue streak of fire.

 Zlata waved after them before turning to Arlette. “Do you have dark blue thread? I bought a coat I need to adjust.”

 “Should do.” Arlette returns the banette and shoves it into her bag, pulling out a box. “D’you want it just now or when we stop for the night?”

 “When we stop would be better, I can fix it up then. I’m just asking now in case I have to go back to the shopping centre and get some, but if you allow me to use yours, that would be better.”

 “Right y’are.” Arlette nodded, putting the box back into her bag and swinging it onto her shoulders. “I’d say remind me when we stop, but I’ll probably remember fine.”

 “So, we were heading north before plushies came up?” Nyx asked, leaning into Warren.

 “I believe we were.” Zlata nodded. “Up to Alamos, to the towers and the garden?”

 “Sounds like a plan!” Aurora spun, pointing to the north. “To Alamos!”

[distinguishedgentlemanswritings]

Part Six

Series Masterlist

It’s been a while! Apologies, I say as if there’s anyone reading this. Anyway, here we go

________________________________________________________________

Late the next day, Emily had had a far more successful time with Ana. She had slept all the way through the night, and now she was sat in the kitchen whilst Emily made dinner.

Just before she was about to plate up, Ezekiel came down the stairs. He went to walk into the kitchen but upon seeing Ana, he stopped.

"Come eat," Ana said, glancing back at him. His shoulders relaxed slightly and he headed over to the table, taking a seat.

Hunter padded in next, he looked just as rough as Ana had the day earlier. He sat down across from Ezekiel, pushing his hair out of his face as he did.

"Christ, Hunter," Emily gasped as she turned to see him, clearly shocked at the state of him. He glanced over at her, not moving his head to do so.

"I look that bad?" He huffed, dragging his hands through his hair again in an attempt to calm it. "One of my kids gets dragged out of the house by military police and I'm suppose to be able to sleep?"

"Aw, you see us as your kids?" Ezekiel mused, a questionable attempt to lighten the mood. Hunter turned his gaze to Ezekiel, thinking for a moment.

"Hm. Sure" He muttered, leaning back as Emily began laying plates full of food on the table. Ezekiel wanted to know what he meant.

"That wasn't very convincing."

"You're the weird kid that started dating my daughter." Hunter began. "But don't worry, I've grown to tolerate you." A smile curled one corner of his lip up.

All four let out quiet laughs, the first time such a sound had been heard in the house in the longest time.

"Thanks, dad," Ezekiel grinned and Hunter winked at him.

They all quietened down as they began to eat. The plates mostly empty when Ezekiel suddenly raised his head.

"Hang on a minute. How do you see the girls more as your kids when you took me and Willow in first?"

Everyone laughed quietly again, and all eyes fell onto Hunter.

"Well you were always a weird kid. At first I was pretty sure you were only dragging Will along so you'd have something to eat if you got really desperate." Ezekiel gasped in exaggerated horror.

"You thought I was planning on eating the best potion maker I'd ever met? Even at that age they were fucking incredible." He praised.

"Even so, Will has always been a gentleman." Hunter said, causing Ana to smile fondly as she looked back down at her food. Ezekiel tilted his head side to side a few times before sighing.

"Suppose I can't argue with that." He said, then finishing off the last few forkfuls from his plate.

The next few hours were pleasant, quiet conversation buzzed around the table, laughter was shared again. But it wouldn't last long.

There was a knock at the door, which Hunter stood up to answer, Ana also got to her feet. An older woman was stood at the door, wringing her hands in her apron.

"Is everything okay?" Hunter asked, eyes narrowing in concern.

"Come with me, quickly, quickly," she said, going away from the door and back into the street. Ana darted out of the door in front of Hunter and hurried after the woman. The others weren't far behind.

She lead them to a street that was parallel with their own, and towards what was assumed to be her house. There was a heap near the door, but as they came close it looked as if it could be a person. Ana broke into a sprint for the last fifty metres, going ahead of the woman, but stopping a small distance away as what she could see really sunk in.

Will was slumped down, laid on their side, curled up, shivering, trembling. Their face was obscured by the hood of their jumper, they were in the clothes they had left in. Slowly, Ana went closer and knelt down, she reached over cautiously and laid a hand on their shoulder. Will started violently at the touch, whimpers escaping them. Her heart plummeted into the ground, and she slowly pulled her hand away.

She turned to look back at the woman, everyone was surrounding them now.

"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling. She stood up, looking to Hunter.

"We need to get them home," she stated. He walked forward, knelt where Ana had been. As gently as he could, he pulled Will up off of the ground, inwardly cringing as he had to ignore their weak struggles.

Ezekiel was quietly talking with the woman, Emily with them, trying to put together what had happened. Emily looked over to Ana and Hunter.

"Take them home," she said, the pair nodded and hurried off.

Ana ran ahead slightly again, getting a large pot of water on the stove, pulling rags from the cupboard under the sink. She gathered bandages, needle and thread. Not knowing what exactly would be needed, but wanting anything necessary to be quickly available.

Hunter wasn't too far behind her, he paused in the kitchen, glancing at the stairs before saying, "you two are going to take my room." Continuing through the house and pushing his way into his own room. He knelt down beside his bed, just a mattress on the floor, keeping Will close to his chest with one arm, he pulled the sheets off. Ana came in with stacks of clean blankets, laying two down flat, which Hunter carefully laid Will on top of.

The pair switched places, Hunter going back to the kitchen to continue Ana's work, and Ana knelt beside Will.

She felt scared to touch them, but she needed to know what was going on. So as delicately as she could, she began pulling their hoodie from their body. It was blotched with blood, implying the garment underneath would be in a worse state. The second hoodie was damp from both blood and sweat. Ana peeled it off of them, wincing herself when they whimpered.

Their front was badly bruised, especially around their abdomen but there weren't any open wounds. So she carefully moved them to lay on their front. They gasped sharply as she did so, and Ana watched them closely for a moment. She then attempted to move them again with the same reaction, causing her to conclude they likely had a few broken ribs on their right side.

When she managed to get them onto their front, the extent of the damage was so much worse than she could've thought. Hunter walked in as Ana was just sat staring, stunned. He stopped momentarily, taking a breath before placing the pan of water beside Ana along with the rags.

"Start cleaning them, I'll get the needle and thread." He said, stern but soft, she looked up and nodded. Immediately getting to work, grabbing a rag and dunking it in the water, wringing it out before shuffling closer to Will.

She started with the gash that started where their neck met their shoulder, and traveled down to near their armpit. Whipping lashes. Ana made a mental note that there had been no tears in their jumper. What had those fuckers put them through?

Hunter returned with a bowl, to put dirty rags, and the needle and thread. He sat beside Ana with his back to the wall, gently laying a hand on Will's head. "Don't shout at me," he muttered quietly as he pressed slightly on a dark bruise on their jaw. They took in a sharp breath and whined softly, tears escaping their shut eyes. "I'm sorry," he said softly, moving his hand back over their hair. He looked to Ana and said, "it's not broken."

She nodded, sniffling slightly herself and blinking away tears as she said, "I think they have broken ribs."

"Okay, well they won't be doing much moving anytime soon so I can check those later. Have you noticed anything else?" He asked, watching her shaky hands as they worked, knowing she wouldn't allow him to take over. She unintentionally let out a sob at their question, taking a few breaths to steady herself.

"Whipping lashes, right?" She began, and Hunter nodded. "Their jumpers are still in one piece, they're freezing." Her breathing became panicked again, so she stopped talking. He nodded again, coming to the same conclusion she had.

"This is going to be a hard journey," he told her gently. "Not just hard for them."

"I know. I know it will." She said, moving onto the next injury. Hunter shifted towards them, leaning in closer, resting on his elbows as he used the needle and thread to pull the broken skin back together.

A weak sob sounded from Will, groans as well as the thread was pulled through their flesh. "Ez needs to hurry up," Hunter muttered, Ana couldn't agree more.

As if he'd heard them, Ezekiel arrived back at the house, along with Emily. They quickly found them in Hunter's room. Ezekiel leant down between Ana and Hunter, cupping Will's face softly. A raging anger flooded over them and he stepped back, taking a few deep breaths. "What do you need?"

"They need rest," Ana whimpered, biting back tears, refusing to allow them to take over. Ezekiel flew up the stairs, two at a time, and into his room. Taking a short moment, stood in front of his bookshelf, to decide the best method. He nodded silently to himself when he decided, and turned around, retrieving a book that was stowed away under the bed.

After flicking through it to the right page, he read quickly before returning it to it's spot, grabbing his staff from beside the bookshelf and going back down the stairs.

Emily looked up when he appeared at the top of the stairs. She narrowed her eyes at him, seeming to be disapproving of his choice but he took no notice. Slipping passed her into the room, he positioned himself across from Hunter, Will between them.

"Stop for a minute," Ezekiel instructed. The pair hesitantly pulled away, watching closely and Emily moved into the room to do the same.

Ezekiel took what felt like an eternity placing the staff in such a precise position. The top was placed against the base of their skull, with the tip resting in the small of their back. He placed his palm flat against the top of the staff, his other hand held the tip in place. A frozen silence fell over the room, no one risked moving. Luckily Hunter and Ana weren't paying attention, but Emily watching as the rings of runes tattooed on Ezekiel's back glowed faintly under his thin shirt. Slowly they watched as Will's body slowly relaxed, the tension leaving their muscles. Their face eventually softened as well, and Ezekiel pulled the staff away.

"They'll be out until morning," he told them, his voice was different be no one could quite distinguish why. Ana barely gave it a second thought and got back to work, Hunter followed suit.

Ezekiel stood up, using the staff to pull himself up and moved out of the room. Emily followed him into the kitchen.

"You used that book didn't you," she spat, her voice hushed. Ezekiel looked over at her, rolling his eyes and turning away.

"It was the best option. The longest rest, without relying on a potion or the need for perfect pronunciation." He replied just as quietly. She just huffed in response, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well you should go rest too," she said, her voice softening slightly and he obeyed. She watched him retreat back up the stairs before putting the full kettle on the stove, intending to care for Hunter and Ana as they cared for Will.

________________________________________________________________

And there we have it, I have a couple more parts written and ready to go but I’ll probably space them out a bit to try and avoid the massive gaps in posting. 

til next time x

[taleasnewastime]

#SaveOurCommunityCentre

Summary: The place you love most in the world is going to be destroyed, knocked down in favour of an expensive housing complex. You’re trying everything you can to stop the project, but it doesn’t seem enough. While you’re trying to juggle that, the company have assigned a community liaison to the project and though he keeps coming along to the site, helping out, giving advice, being friendly, you can’t help but not trust him.

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Genre: enemies to lovers; angst; fluff

Word count: 15.2k

Warnings: Talk of a deprived area, arguing, swearing, tbh I don’t think there are many warnings for this but if you spot something I’ve missed feel free to let me know and I’ll add it.

Authors Note: Why are summaries and endings so hard to write? Anyway, happy hump day. I hope you’re having a nice week so far!

“It’s a good turn out.”

“Good turn out? Y/N, you’re joking right? You told me you expected five people to turn up.”

“Yeah … well … that’s because only five people said they’d come. Well, seven did, but I really wasn’t holding out hope on Mike and Tala.”

“Y/N,” Alex turns to you, eyes wide from looking around the room. “I don’t think you get my point. The room is full. I think I can see Margret handing out extra chairs. Everyone is here.”

“Yeah, like I said, it’s a good turn out.”

He shakes his head, incredulous. You can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s gone back to looking around the room, raises his hand in greeting occasionally. But your eyes are fixed firmly on the podium in front of you, on the long empty table with five empty chairs.

Alex is right, of course, the amount of people currently in the room is far higher than you thought it would be. You just can’t seem to gain any joy from that information at the moment.

The nerves in you swirl and bubble so much that you think you may be sick any moment. This is such a big moment, something you have been thinking of for weeks if not months. This is it. If it goes terribly then you can’t help but think that it will all be over. All that hard work for nothing.

“It’s good Y/N,” Alex says from beside you, probably gathering all the thoughts going around your head. His voice is full of the hope you wish you felt. “They have to listen to us now. They have to take our opinions on board. It will look bad on them now if they don’t, with this many people threatening to take a stand.”

You nod along to his words, but you don’t really believe them. Sure, more people will be a benefit, but there is no legal obligation for them to do what you say today. They’re only doing this meeting because of all the pressure you’ve put on them. They think this might appease you, quieten you down, get you off their backs. You don’t truly believe that this will actually change their plans, but it’s a start at least.

“It’s an ongoing battle,” Alex says, his hand reaching out to squeeze yours. “But it’s still one we can change the tide on.”

You nod again, this time a bit more confidently.

He’s right. When you first heard that Seven Living had bought the land where your community garden is with plans to build a luxury apartment block, you were livid. Thought that they couldn’t do that, that the council wouldn’t have sold the land that so many people use and benefit from. But you soon realised that it wasn’t a mistake, the signs that had been plastered everywhere were right. Your community garden and centre were going to be demolished in favour of a multi-million pound complex for the rich.

You’d lobbied, complained to your MP, your mayor, neither of which seemed to take any responsibility on the matter (typical). You’d written to Seven Living, had received a generic response. You couldn’t take responsibility for getting the community together to petition against the sale, that was all Alex, but you have been using all your free time to do anything you can think of to stop the build.

Letters, emails, calls, Facebook groups, twitter hashtags, posters around the local area; everything seemed to fall on death ears. Sure, you had support from those that used the garden, there was outrage at the juxtaposition of a community garden for anyone in the community to use, most of those struggling to live off what they had, being sold to a company so they could sell flats to millionaires. Even if you weren’t angry at the fact that they were destroying the garden, you’d be angry at the mere prejudice.

Weeks went by of campaigning where seemingly nothing happened, and then you had a breakthrough. Your local paper picked up the story. It was only half a page spread in the herald, a small picture of you and some others stood in front of the gates of the gardens and a story on the matter. You gave an interview talking about the disparity of the council selling the land without talking to the community first, how money is being poured out of local services and yet the council will happily sell land to millionaires. You spoke about how post offices, pubs, small local shops are all closing because they can’t afford to stay open, how the community is always outraged but the council do nothing and now this. It was only a small story in the local paper but it got #saveourcommunitycentre trending, a national paper putting an even smaller snippet in their paper. A success and one that forced Seven Living to take more notice.

They put out a statement about how they hope to build a community area, one that would be open to everyone still. It didn’t feel like enough, felt like a copout. And then you received an invite to this, a chat with the local community, a chance to talk to Seven Living and a way for the business to involve the local community in their plans.

It felt like bullshit. It probably was bullshit. A way for them to tick boxes and say they did take onboard any complaints. It was all for better marketing. But it was also a way for you to actually talk to whoever was in charge, to try and get your points across, and you weren’t about to snub that.

You are nervous to meet whoever it is behind the build, over all your time protesting it you hadn’t learned the names. You knew the CEO of the company was a man called Greg Hunter, but you have no idea if he’ll be here today. Surely a meeting with the community was below him.

You glance down at your watch. A minute past the starting time, you’d have expected them to be early or at least on time, but it seems they don’t even care enough to give a good impression. Only a minute late, but the fact still irks you.

As if your thoughts have summoned them, the doors in the back of the hall open. A hush falls over the room in a wave. You don’t look back, can’t bring yourself to see what they look like before necessary.

Alex’s hand moves on top of yours, gives it a reassuring squeeze and then doesn’t move away as the footsteps get closer.

“Apologies for being late,” a deep voice says to the crowd, it sounds way too upbeat for the tension that has fallen over the room.

They finally come into view. A procession of tall, suited men, all carrying bags of some description. They look like a cliché. They look exactly how you imagined.

“We’re so happy so many of you chose to come out and speak with us,” the voice you heard from early carries on, a man that looks to be in his forties, perfectly styled hair, gleaming white teeth, an expensive looking watch on his wrist. While he looks out beaming at the crowd the other men shuffle around in their bags pulling out papers. “We really hope this will be an informative session for both you and us.”

Your eyes drift away from the man speaking to take in the others. They look intimidating. They look like smart, successful business men, people who have achieved more in life than you ever will. The nerves in your belly bubble away at the prospect of standing up against these people. It was one thing to do it to a faceless company, but wholly different to do it to these men.

“Now, I’ve prepared a short presentation to talk through. But I’d firstly like to introduce everyone on the panel,” he twists to his right, holding his hand out to point at the men as he says their names and titles. “We have Richard Armitage, head of build, he’ll be able to help answer any of the more technical questions anyone has. Next we have John Bytheway, the head surveyor for the build.” Both men are around 40, white and with greying hair, both of them smile and nod when introduced.

“Now, I’m Max Lloyd, I’m Project Manager for the build so have an overall view of the build but with none of the knowledge,” he laughs but he’s the only one. He turns to his left, where three men are left. “Now, we have Jamie Swift, he’s a representative from the council so will be able to answer any question and help in that aspect. Next to him is David Guest, our architect for the build.”

You look at the last man before he’s even been introduced and your eyes widen. He’s younger by the rest by a long while, you’d guess he’s more your age than any of the men he’s sat with. Still, he wears just as smart clothes, thick black rimmed glasses on his face. While all the other men look cold and unapproachable there’s something about this man that feels more friendly, maybe it’s the soft smile or wide eyes, but there’s an almost innocence to him.

“And finally, we have possibly one of the most important men on the panel, at least for everyone in this room. Kim Namjoon is the community liaison, that means outside of this meeting he is your go to man and I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of him in your area.”

Namjoon smiles, two deep dimples developing in his cheeks. It seems so against everything you’ve built up in your mind that someone doing this to your community garden could look like. But then you guess just because the company is evil, doesn’t mean the people working there inherently are.

Questions won’t come until the end though, instead you have to sit through a boring and meaningless presentation. A preprepared slideshow pops up and the man in the middle of the table starts to drone on about things you already know. He does it a condescending manner, his voice has a unique quality where it sounds like he doesn’t realise it but is still talking in a way that shows exactly what he thinks of everyone sat in this room.

Pictures flash up of artists impressions of what the site will look like. A massive, glass fronted skyscraper of a building. Smiling, happy people milling around. A café with the windows open and people sat outside at their table. Trees, full of leaves and tall as if having been there for years, bright flowers at their base.

They paint a picturesque scene. You can tell they’ve done this a lot, have drawn people in with their promises and ideals. But you also know what the project won’t do, where the holes will be that people will fall through. This is only benefitting a few and none of them are the ones that need it.

The presentation rolls to an end, silence follows it, no applause, no congratulations, just a couple of coughs and the shuffles of people adjusting in their chairs.

“Well, as you can tell it’s a very exciting project that is expected to bring a lot of money into the area. We are also excited to get your feedback and thoughts on all of this. We want this to be a project that has the community at the heart of it so are keen to get as many of your ideas imbedded in the scheme as possible.”

He pauses, beaming at the crowd he lost a long time ago. He doesn’t seem to care, has been trained well enough that he can hold the smile despite it all. For that alone, you congratulate him.

“Which leads me to the questions section for tonight,” there’s a murmur around the room at that and the man has to pick up his voice to be heard. “Now, we will take as many as we can in the time we have left. Namjoon,” he looks to his left to the younger man on the end. “Do you want to lead this section?”

“Yes,” the man, Namjoon, says as he stands up. “Hello, I’m Namjoon, as Max said I’m the community liaison for this project. My details should be on all of the information leaflets, and I’ll be hanging around at the end for tea if anyone would like to discuss anything. But, uh, for now I guess we should take questions.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence where the men staring at you wait and the audience do nothing. You think you see a flash of relief cross one of the men's faces just before the first hand is raised. And then it’s like a wave, like with that one person everyone else feels brave enough to raise their own arm. Not everyone does, possibly not even half the room, but the hands are scattered around so that when you twist to look you can see what the men see. It almost looks like a wall of fingers.

It starts pleasant enough. Questions about start dates, end dates, what economic benefit they predict for local business. But it quickly turns. Questions directed more on how they will compensate the people losing out on their community space, how they’ll stop the building being an eyesore, what they’ll do about increased traffic. And then not even questions, statements and accusations on how people believe these men, their company, to be taking money away from us, taking space away only to benefit themselves.

The tension in the room rises. Where it could once be described as nice, or possible amicable, it’s now obvious what the community feels towards the project. If these men were expecting enthusiasm and smiles, they’ve quickly been corrected.

Through it all, Namjoon keeps a smile. You watch the men closely and he is the only one that doesn’t give snappy responses, that actually seems to listen. You guess it is his job and he seems to be doing it well, giving answers politicians would be proud of, not quite agreeing or disagreeing, evading the answer but getting close enough to make it seem like it’s been answered.

“Ok, I think we have time for one more question,” Namjoon smiles at the room, looking around at the few hands that remaining hands before settling on you. “Yes …"

You provide your name in the gap and you swear you see a hint of something cross his face. Maybe he recognises your name from when you’ve spoken to the papers. Maybe he realises how much involvement you’ve had in campaigning against this project. Maybe he’s regretting asking you to give your question.

Either way he nods his head, the only indication you get to ask your question.

“You were talking about wanting to involve the community in this project, I just wonder how you’re hoping to do that?”

“Well, we of course hope to do more evenings like this, I believe it’s been really positive and helpful for both you and us,” there’s a small pause as if he’s expecting something, a round of applause, possibly a few noises of agreement, but he gets nothing so carries on. “We want to continue to hear your thoughts and ideas about the project so we can involve you as much as possible, which is why you will find my number at -”

“You want to hear our thoughts,” you raise your voice to cut him off, his eyes going from addressing the room to looking firmly at you. “But I guess I’m asking how you’re planning on implementing our ideas.”

“Well, of course I can’t promise we will implement everything, but we want to do as much as we can to -”

“You realise you’re building over our community centre, right?” You cut him off again.

“Yes,” he says the word firmly yet there’s a hint of a question there.

“You’re taking our space and making a profit off it. You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe that you actually want to involve our ideas, merely make us feel that way as a ticking exercise.”

There’re murmurs behind you and though you can't hear what’s being said, you can feel the room swinging in your favour. You’re speaking what everyone’s feeling.

“This isn’t a ticking exercise,” Namjoon carries on, addressing the room again as if sensing the same as you that he’s losing the room. “We want to incorporate as many of your ideas as possible. This was your home and space before we came along, and we want to keep that.”

“So how much space will be dedicated to us?” You ask, though you’ve asked far more than anyone else has tonight, have been given more time to speak, but no one attempting to stop you.

“I’m sorry?”

“How much space on the site? We won’t be able to go into the buildings I presume? So how much space does that leave? And how much of that will be for us?”

“Well, yes,” he’s starting to lose his composure, not much, but the slight stumble of his words is more than he’s done before. You can almost see him fighting to not look at the men sat next to him for help. “I can’t give you those facts now, but -”

“So what’s the point of this meeting?” You raise an eyebrow in question.

“To discuss the project with you. To let you know our plans so we can get feedback.”

“And yet you don’t have all the facts to hand?”

There’s a beat where your sentence hangs in the air, where you can see Namjoon reaching for an appropriate answer. Just as he looks ready to answer, you start to talk.

“Do you think this is a joke? We’re here because we care about the community centre, because we don’t want you to build your building and knock down everything we’ve created. But all I've heard tonight are excuses and non-answers and that you’ll get back to us. But you’ve never said when you’ll get back to us.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Like I’ve said, we hope to hold more -”

“You hope isn’t good enough,” you cut him off again, unable to listen to him as the anger rises in you. “You’re not listening to us. You’re not trying to help us. You’re just taking everything we have and everything that -”

“Right,” a booming voice is now the one to cut you off followed by a loud clap and a scraping of a chair.

It’s not Namjoon, he’s stood there, eyes wide and still unsure what to say. Your eyes fly to the noise, eyes skim the line of men until they meet the man who did the presentation, Max. His hands are clasped together as he pushes his way to his feet.

“That’s time I’m afraid folks,” there’s a large fake smile on his face as he looks around the room, everywhere but you.

There’s a silence after you’ve been cut off, a tightness to the air as if it’s going to snap in half any second. Your chest is rising up and down as if you’ve just sprinted when really it’s because of the blood boiling anger coursing through you.

You’re aware of all the eyes on you. The men all sat facing you, half the room behind you looking at you, the other half at the panel of men.

The silence only lasts a couple of seconds but it seems to stretch on for eternity before it’s broken once again by the man that did the presentation, Max. The smile has been slapped back onto his face as if it never left.

“Right,” he claps his hands together again and it seems to break a spell, murmurs starting back up behind you. “We’d love as many of you to stay for tea and coffee as possible so we can carry on some of those interesting conversations,” he carries on, not looking at you but clearly directing the words straight at you. It doesn’t help your mood. “But for those who can’t stay, we’d like to say thank you for coming and we look forward to seeing you in the future.”

With the end of his speech the other men start to stand up which in turns seems to give permission for everyone else in the room to stand. The noise increases as people begin to chat, chairs scrap along the floor, all of it white noise as you stay sitting.

How can they think they’ll get away with this? How can they come in with smiles on their faces and talk about destroying something that’s so precious to this community? How can they think it’s ok to treat you all as if you’re uneducated fools? As if they can pull the wool over your eyes.

You’re trying to calm down, but only seem to be working yourself up more. Your thoughts are running away with you. It’s not like you expected this to be a positive meeting from your perspective, not like you expected them to walk in and announce a cancellation to the build. But this, their rudeness, their authoritarian manner; you hadn’t been expecting that.

A hand is placed on top of yours, the small squeeze enough to drag you to the present. You look up as if only just seeing the room, are met with Alex’ kind eyes and another squeeze of your hand.

“They won’t get away with it,” he says, his voice gentle yet firm. “We’ll stop them before they can take it away from us.”

You nod, a small gesture that seems to grow the more the words sink in. It’s like a rallying call that rings round your head, reminds you of your mission and what you have to do. This isn’t the end, merely a bump in the road, a reminder of how hard this will be.

“Let’s go get a tea,” he says when he’s happy you’re back to yourself.

You follow him to the back of the room, receive a few smiles and pats on the back, but you don’t stop to talk to anyone. The anger is seeping out of you, in its place is shock and a small amount of defeat.

You lean against one of the plastic tables as Alex joins the small crowd waiting for tea and coffee, pull your phone out and open up Twitter. It’s become a habit of yours to check the page you set up, see if there are any new posts using the hashtag you started. #SaveOurCommunityCentre didn’t really blow up but it has a bigger following than you expected, a couple of thousand tweets, enough to get the local papers to do a small column and possibly enough to make the company do the talk today.

You scroll through the tag, most of it people here tonight, some stories about peoples experiences at the centre. All of it nice, but none of it new. Still, you continue to mindlessly scroll as if you’ll come across some gold.

“Y/N?”

Your head whips up at your name, blank expression on your face before you see who stands in front of you. The man from earlier, Namjoon, is stood smiling down at you. While his dimples deepen your frown does.

“It is Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you say reluctantly and can almost see him sigh with relief.

“Namjoon,” he says putting his hand out for you to shake.

“Yeah, I know,” you take his hand, again reluctantly, doing two swift up and downs before letting him go. You’re about to ignore him, go back to scrolling through your phone, but then he starts to talk.

“You gave a very passionate speech just now.”

You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or not. Just in case you mumble a thanks, a word that he nods his head at.

“Anyway, I believe you’re the woman to talk to,” he says and when you raise an eyebrow in question you can almost see him scrambling to get his point out. “To talk to about visiting the community centre.”

“I don’t own the place.”

“But you know it well, if I wanted a tour of sorts.”

“I’m sure anyone here would happily take you around the site,” you say not believing your own words, you’re sure that a lot of people would run him off the site should he chose to turn up.

“Except you?”

You bite the inside of your cheeks to stop from responding. You want to respond that of course you wouldn’t want to show him around the site. That you don’t want to show him the place you love that he is only going to knock down like it doesn’t matter at all.

“It’s a public space, no one is stopping you,” you say instead.

He hums, a flat noise you are sure means he hasn’t got the answer he wants and is searching for a different angle.

“Why do you want a tour?” You ask, seeming to catch him off guard is the second his eyes widen is anything to go off.

“I think it would be useful.”

“Why?”

“I – we meant what we said, we want to incorporate you in this project. Going to the centre, talking to people who use it, seeing how it’s used; don’t you think that will help?”

“Possibly,” you mumble.

“I –”

“Here’s your tea,” whatever Namjoon was going to say is cut off by Alex arriving, handing you said tea.

“Thanks,” you mutter, taking the warm cup off him and focusing on the brown liquid. But you’re still aware of the way Alex looks from you to who you’re stood with. Can almost see the shock that you were talking with Namjoon.

“What were we talking about?” Alex asks, voice sceptical and wary now where it wasn’t before.

“About me visiting the community centre,” Namjoon says before you can cut him off. “I was asking Y/N here if she would mind showing me around.”

You look up, see the hopeful smile on Namjoon’s face as he looks between you and Alex. Then look to Alex whose face is unreadable.

You expect him to have an answer similar to yours. You expect him to be blunt and slightly rude like you’ve been. You expect him to tell him to get lost. What you don’t expect is what comes out of his mouth.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“You do?” Both you and Namjoon say in unison, your tone full of betrayal, Namjoon’s full of hope.

“Yeah, why not?” Alex choses to answer you.

“Because –” you glance at Namjoon, wondering whether to continue with him listening. “Because we don’t need people poking their noses around.”

“I thought you said it was open to anyone,” Namjoon jumps in.

“It might be good,” Alex says, ignoring Namjoon.

“I don’t see how,” you grumble.

“I’ll explain later,” he says as if talking to a small child, the fact only irritating you more. “Y/N would love to show you around.”

Namjoon doesn’t look as sure anymore. You have made it clear how much you don’t want to do it.

“I don’t want to force you, if you –”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, try to settle into a relaxed tone to show that you don’t mind. “I don’t mind.”

“Ok,” he says, still sounding unsure.

“Next week suit you?”

“Urm, yeah, Wednesday morning?”

“I’ll be there.”

He nods, gives a time that you agree to and then awkwardly walks away. He looks like he wants to stay and say more but can tell he’s not welcomed.

You know why Alex said you should show him around and you know that he’s right, but that doesn’t mean that you are looking forward to seeing him again. It might be good though, maybe he has some sway in this project, can get things to change or stop. You doubt it, but he’s still connected to people and you still need to try.

It’s not cold, in fact the sun is shining on you, and you’ve forgone any form of jacket, but as you stand at the entrance to the community garden you’re shivering. Or at least if someone were to look at you, they might interpret your movements for a shiver. Leg bobbing, whole body moving with the sensation, fingers fiddling and hands rubbing together.

You’re looking at the small dirt carpark, hardly space for more than five cars and even though there’s always space, you still made sure to let everyone know that the space closest to where you’re stood is to be left free today. It’s where you’re currently looking, the small dips that fill up with water in winter completely dry now, the wooden fence you remember helping to put up when someone drove into the old one, chalk left on the wood from when the children were playing the other day.

No one seemed too bothered when you told them Namjoon would be coming today, in fact many of them frowned at you and made comments of displeasure. You don’t blame them, it was essentially the same reaction you had. But you had reminded them that this might be important, that him seeing what you were doing here might help. You’re unsure how exactly, just have to go with it and hopefully find out. Anyway, as you said to him, this is a public space, you can’t stop him from looking around, so you may as well escort him while he does it.

But so many people didn’t want him to come, like the sight will be tainted with his mere presence. Part of you agrees, you weren’t exactly welcoming of his suggestion to come here today. It’s like he’s the enemy, like this is your secret and if he sees it, it might give him ideas that will only help his project to destroy this place.

Not his project, the company he works for. And a good thing he’s coming today. You have to remind yourself of both points.

You’re so focused on waiting for a car to pull in, imagining a big black shiny car you’d never be able to afford, that you hardly take note of the person on the bike. That is until it comes to a stop in front of you and the person unclips their helmet.

You have to do a second take. He’s come on a bike, not in a big expensive car. He’s also not in the smart suit you expected, one similar to the tie and blazer he wore at the community meeting. No, instead he’s in a fleece, white top on show, chino style trousers, and boots. Does he think you’re going trekking? Or maybe he’s expecting a lot of mud or dirt or general disarray.

“Hello,” he beams at you as he comes to a stop, dipping into a small bow before his hand sticks out for you to take. “Thanks again for showing me around today.”

You’ve already done introductions at the community meetings, have already shaken his hand, but you still take the hand more because it would be rude not to than because you want to. His hand envelopes yours in warmth, and he gives a hard but steady shake before letting go. You’d expect nothing else from the businessman.

His eyes start to wonder around your background as if trying to take in as much of the site as he can. His bike still in his grasp. You can almost see the measuring tapes he’s mentally placing in areas, the plans he’s making, the things he’s so easily demolishing.

“You cycled,” a dumb observation, one that has him looking back at you and you can’t help the next words that fall out of your mouth. “There is parking here. You didn’t have to worry about that.”

“As I can see,” he says easily as if you haven’t just been rude to him. “But I don’t drive so I didn’t have to worry for that reason.”

“Don’t drive?”

“Well, can’t drive,” he says with a small laugh, still unbothered. “I did assume that there would be somewhere I could lock my bike up though. I hope that wasn’t too bold of me?”

You flush, he’s calling you out and doing it so calmly and professionally. You turn away from him so that he has no chance to see your reaction and point in the direction of the bike racks. You stand watching as he locks his bike up and then comes back to you, smile still on his face.

“Right,” you have to snap yourself out of it, remind yourself who he is and why he’s here. “Well, shall we get on with it?”

It’s a rhetorical question, one you don’t wait for the answer to. Spinning you head under the small arch that reads Deansgate Community Centre. Bright colours, flowers and insects dotted on the frame. Another thing that only has a limited time before it’s demolished.

You swallow down those thoughts. It’s no use thinking like that, only causes to make you more upset.

Your strides are short, not really sure exactly what it is that Namjoon wants to see. You give a few cursory glances over your shoulder to check he’s still with you and he’s always only a few steps behind, his face neutral but his eyes seeming to be wide with wonder. It’s a place you come nearly every day, even if just for half an hour after work, so when you look to see what he’s staring at you struggle to see the wonder. Sure, you love this place but it’s become something so ordinary to your life you don’t even think twice. The raised flower and veg patched, the few green houses in the distance, the circular brick building in the centre of it all. Some areas have been left to grow a bit wilder, one of these areas has climbing frames and slides, the children finding joy it the wilderness. There are more uniformed areas, neat rows of carrots and runner beans climbing up wooden stakes.

It’s an allotment come community centre. A space for everyone in the area to come to experience the outdoors in the crammed city. Somewhere for children to occupy their brains, to not fall into the rising gang culture. A place for families to grow their own food, to reconnect to nature but also to get much needed food that they may not be able to afford otherwise. It supports people that have fallen through the cracks in society.

You end up walking all the way to the entrance of the community centre before stopping. You still haven’t said a single word, everything you had prepared to show him today gone out the window as soon as you saw him.

You take a breath, swallow and prepare to get back on track. He’s here for a reason and you’re showing him around for a reason.

“So this is the community centre,” you state, pointing a useless hand at the building. “You probably noticed the children’s play area we walked past and there’s a grow your own area over there. We can go see that if you want?”

You look at him but he’s not looking at you, seeming to still be trying to take everything in.

“It’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this in the city.”

His words make a lump rise in your throat. Is he being serious? You can tell he is by the tone of his voice, but does he not realise what he’s saying, who he’s talking to? Because it is amazing, it is a unique space in this built-up city, a little oasis. And he’s going to build over it.

He seems to realise what he’s done, his eyes landing on your for seemingly the first time since he arrived. You can almost see the guilt there, a pink dusting his cheeks in a response that seems to human.

“I mean, it’s so special, and I can see why you love it. I think it would be great to still incorporate the space into our build. You know, the park and maybe garden space on the roof. It’s a reason I wanted to come today, to work with you to try and keep as much of this space as possible. We don’t want to make it feel like we’re forcing you out.”

He’s rambling, giving you practiced lines you’ve heard him speak what feels like a hundred times before. They all wash over you, do nothing to comfort you. You don’t want them to give some small patch of land to you so that they can tick a box to say they made the existing community happy. It wouldn’t make you happy, it wouldn’t be the same, it would only last so long before the new residence would complain about people using their space.

You level him a look before twisting away and start walking to the green houses.

“I’ll show you the veg patches,” you say not even caring if he hears you.

There are some noises of footsteps making you aware that he’s following you. But then they speed up into a small jog so that he’s now walking beside you.

“So, what do you do?” You can see him looking down at you from the corner of your eye, can sense the smile on his lips as he attempts small talk, but you keep your gaze on the greenhouses, your lips in the hard solid line. “I just mean, I’m assuming this isn’t your job.”

You’re still annoyed, don’t really want to engage him in conversation, but it would be rude to ignore him and you have to remind yourself yet again that the whole point of this visit is to try and show him how amazing this place is. You need to be nice to him to try and get him on your side.

“I work in admin in the NHS.”

“Wow. Doing incredible work in the day and then dedicating your spare time to your community?”

“I’m not a doctor or nurse, it’s hardly incredible work.”

“Yeah, but you’re still helping to keep such an important thing running.”

You shrug as if it’s nothing, but the compliment still settles somewhere in you, warming you up.

“I’d have thought you’d be pro-private health care.”

He laughs at that, a genuine noise that seems to twinkle like the wind chimes in the trees. It makes you feel bad for making the remark even though he seems to take no offense.

“You really don’t have much of an opinion of me,” again, he says the words as if doesn’t care, as if he’s only getting joy from this. “I’m not, by the way. In favour of private heath care that is. I think the NHS is one of the only good things this country has.”

You flush, the fact he’s being so sweet at the fact you’ve been so rude to him makes you feel embarrassed. This isn’t you. You’re not rude or unkind or someone who makes jabs at someone you don’t even know. You’re stressed and worried and Namjoon is your outlet. He’s the thing closest to what you hate, the embodiment of everything that’s trying to destroy your world.

But that doesn’t mean you should be rude to him. Aren’t you just stooping down to his level by acting like this?

You stop where you are, Namjoon taking a few more steps before stopping too, having to turn to look back at you so now he’s stood in front of you. You take a breath before talking.

“I’m sorry,” you say with the shake of your head. “I’m being incredibly rude. Can you just forget all of that and we can start again?”

There’s a small smile blooming on his face as he looks at you. The dimples in his cheeks appearing in such a devastating way. You want to look away from the attention he’s placing on you but force yourself to keep looking at him.

“Of course,” he says easily. “But just know I took no offence. I know how hard this must be, I don’t mind if you need to scream and shout at me.”

You give him a small smile. Closed lipped and not quite reaching your eyes, but it’s the first nice thing you’ve directed at him.

“Thanks,” the word is harder than it should be to say and you immediately look away from him in fear he’ll read more into the response than he should. “Well, shall we carry on?”

You nod in the direction of where you were heading before you stopped. This time you don’t assumed his response, you flick your eyes to him and watch as he nods with a smile.

You show him round and he follows in near silence as you explain the different areas. The small green houses and veg patches, the pizza stove that you all built together, the outdoor seating area, the flower patches and grass area with goal post. He asks a few questions while going around, but otherwise just drinks everything in, content to just listen.

You talk about how the site helps support the community with a space to come and be together while also helping provide fresh food to people who need it. The educational side of making sure children learn about the outdoors, how the local primary school come for forestry school once a week and look after the wild meadow area by the small park as well as have a small veg patch dedicated to them.

You end up at the hub of the community centre, a small, slightly run-down building in the centre of it all. The brick walls are covered in old paintings done by children over the years, faded and warn away over time, a basketball hoop and netball hoop attached to the side of the building. Inside is a large hall space, a small kitchen and couple of toilets.

You again explain how the space can be hired out for parties or gatherings, but is mainly used for group activities, exercise classes for the elderly on Sunday mornings, evening classes or groups use it on weekday evenings, and there are always things running for the children in the area to come to, to encourage them here rather than be left bored on the street where they could do anything. It brings in a small amount of money for the council, hardly enough to manage the upkeep of the sight, probably a reason why they’re so willing to sell it. It always comes back to money rather than the good it might be doing for people.

Namjoon’s takes it all in, looking around with wide eyes but a blank expression. You wonder what he’s thinking. Whether he’s silently judging the damp patches on the walls, the buckets in the corners ready to catch any drips should it start to rain, the walls in desperate need to a fresh lick of paint, the warn away floors. You love this place, it’s like a second home to you, and yet as you look around you can’t help but see it how Namjoon might, the place is literally falling down around you.

“There’s one last place left to see,” you attempt to say as chirpy as possible.

You take a breath as you head across the room to one of the doors at the back. You’re not entirely sure why you’re showing him the small room, it’s not like he needs to see it. But you open the door regardless, step inside to allow him to take in the small space.

“It’s where we do the admin for the place,” you explain. “The office, of sorts.”

He steps in next to you, the room barely wide enough for the two of you to stand comfortably side by side. You move to the other side of the loaded desk, while his eyes sweep around in the same way he’s been doing all day, silently taking it in.

His eyes finally land on the desk between you and when you look down you realise he can so plainly read everything there. All the research and data on trying to stop the build he’s involved in.

“So that’s it,” you distract, getting him to draw his eyes back to you, but you know he’s seen enough to know what it is. “What do you think?”

He pauses, seems to be searching for words and you wonder if it’s him trying to find a way to not be too offensive, to say what he thinks but in a nice way.

“It’s more than I imagined it would be,” he finally says and you’re taken aback. “I can see why you feel so passionately about it.”

“Oh.” You’re so ready to go on the defence that it’s the only word you manage to get out.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. I have to report back about this to the board next week.”

“And what are you going to say?” The words scramble out of you.

“Everything you’ve said and shown me.”

You nod even though you’re not sure what that means. Is that a good thing or bad thing? You try to think back and work out if you said anything damming. But he had implied that he was impressed and liked what he saw today. It might be too much to think that he’ll help, but it’s at least something.

“What is all of this?”

While you’ve been thinking over everything he’s gone back to looking down at the desk. His fingers reach out and gently push a piece of paper to the side, reading and taking it all in.

“Just stuff on the build,” you say sheepishly, you should have thought to clear all of this away before he came.

He glances up at you and you’re not sure what his wide eyes mean. Worried about how much you’re looking into everything? Or shocked that you would be doing everything in your power to stop it? Maybe he’s underestimated you and your so called passion for the centre.

“All of this?”

“It’s not too much. I’d like to do more, but it’s just me, so it’s just this.”

“You’ve done all this yourself?” There’s disbelief in his tone as his eyes scan the stacks of paper on your desk.

“We can’t afford a lawyer. We’ve had some money donated, but not enough and I can’t ask people for any. People here can barely afford day to day life let alone this.”

His eyes are searching your face, a small crease in between his brows as if you’re a tough puzzle he’s trying to solve. It’s kind of unnerving, you turn your head so he has to study your profile, it feels less intimidating, like he can’t get the full picture of what you’re thinking this way.

“I’ve read up what I can when I can, but I swear they make these things sound so complicated just so people like me won’t question it. I mean look at it,” you hold up the tome off thee building plans for the site as if he has never seen it before when in reality he probably helped write sections. “It’s not exactly a light read.”

You can feel his eyes still on you and you give a nervous laugh to fill the silence, shuffle a few papers around to do something.

“You need to be looking deeper into the effects of the build on the environment if you want it to be stopped,” he says.

“What?” You turn, wide eyed to look at him, expecting him to make a sarcastic comment or change the subject or just completely ignore you, not this.

He shakes his head, a small smile appearing as if your reaction is amusing.

“I mean, you can talk about the negatives on the community, the money you may lose, the land you might lose, but that’s never going to be enough to stop it. Not legally,” he’s still smiling at your confused expression and you wonder if he’s doing this because he enjoys messing with you, because surely he’s not doing it because he cares or wants to help. “You need to look at how the project could affect human lives negatively. I don’t know, how it might increase air pollution, greater dust particles because of construction, leaks into the groundwater, that sort of thing.”

He shrugs as if it’s nothing, as if he’s just riffing ideas and not providing you with information you may not have known or thought of on your own.

“It possibly won’t help, all these things are generally in the plans from the start, but it’s worth a look,” he carries on. “Or you’ll just have to hope they find Roman settlements when they start digging,” he says the last bit with a laugh as if it’s a good joke, but when you don’t react, he carries on explaining. “You know, because they can’t legally build over anything archaeological that relates to humans. It won’t stop the build forever, but they will have to pay for the archaeological dig and recovery, and it may give you more time to come up with something else to fully stop it.”

You’re pretty sure your mouth is wide open given the look Namjoon is throwing your way, like he’s unsure you’re still mentally ok. You don’t care, you’re so thrown by what he’s just said, all the information he’s thrown at you, that you just don’t care.

“Anyway, just some thoughts,” the smile falls off his face and now it’s him that’s looking around awkwardly, trying to busy his hands as if to avoid your gaze.

“What?” You say again, the word getting Namjoon to look back at you, eyebrow raised. The effect is enough for you to mentally shake your brain and get more coherent words out. “I don’t get it. Aren’t you the enemy? I mean, why are you telling me all this, surely you want this build to go ahead, surely you don’t want me to stop it?”

The small smile returns now coupled with a glint in his eye so you know he’s amused by this.

“It’s my job, not particularly my personal opinion. I’m paid to do it and it’s not necessarily enough for me to think everything the company does is amazing,” he says. “And I think what you’re doing is admirable, not a lot of people would do all this for a community garden.”

“You say that like it’s not worth it.”

“I’m saying it because I think it’s nice that you care enough.”

“And it’s not just me doing all this,” you carry on as if hasn’t said anything.

“I’m sure,” he’s still smiling at you even as your voice turns snappy and the words begin to tumble out of you.

“A lot of people care.”

“I never said they didn’t.”

“They just don’t have as much time as I do. They have families and people to look –”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off, his voice raising a decibel to get you to listen. “Just take the compliment.”

You flush, pause before nodding your head, unable to utter the words thank you to him. You look back down at the papers, shuffle a few around again.

“How do you manage it?”

You glance over your shoulder at him, unable to fully look at him but needing to gage what he’s to get at with those words. Of course it’s not a dig, even though that’s immediately where your thoughts went, he’s asking because he seems genuinely curious. His eyes are still trying to take in the mountains of papers on your desk and you can’t tell if the expression on his face is because he’s impressed or because he hadn’t realised quite how serious you were about this.

“You said you’re doing this alone. I’m just wondering how you manage it all?"

You shrug, something you’re not sure he catches as he’s still not looking at you.

“Because I have to,” your voice is soft as you say it, matter of fact.

“This place really means so much?” He looks at you a small crease between his eyebrows.

You huff at laugh at that, shake your head a little. He’s not understood and even now with all this advice, the help as if he’s on your side, he still doesn’t get it.

“It’s not just for me,” you say. “It’s for Katlin who’s a single mum and struggles to balance work and her two kids but the community centre provides friends and a rest bite, it’s for Jan whose husband died last year and she’s now all alone, her children old and living halfway across the country, it’s for Mobeen who might have joined a gang if it wasn’t for the activities we run here. It’s for John who works on minimum wage, who has to pay child support and at the end of his pay check can barely afford food but he can come here and get food for free. It’s for a lot more people than just me.”

There’s silence when you finish, you could go on and on listing the people this place helps but you don’t. It looks like your message has stuck anyway, Namjoon has listened to everything you have to say and is absorbing that information. What he’ll do with it, you have no idea.

“Listen, we’re having a thing next weekend, nothing big, just the kids are going to make pizzas with the veg we grow here and everyone’s invited to come and eat it. Why don’t you come?”

He looks surprised even though he’s been going on and on about wanting to hear from the community. Well, isn’t this the prime invitation to do just that? Still, his less than enthusiastic reaction has you doubting yourself.

“If you’re busy that’s fine. And I guess it is the weekend, you probably want to relax and not work.”

“No, no,” the words come out rushed and he takes a small step towards you so his hips are pushed up against the table. “I’d love that.”

“Ok,” you say, finding yourself unable to hold back a small smile that curves its way onto your lips at his reaction. “I guess I’ll give you one of the leaflets.”

His eyes are flicking between yours, worry still on his face. With the small step he took towards you and even with the table between you, it now feels like he’s towering over you, your neck craned back so you can look up into his eyes. It should be unnerving, but for some reason it’s not.

“Or, uh, you could text me the details?” He’s gone sheepish, awkward as he struggles to keep eye contact with you. The whole thing only makes your smile widen and Namjoon’s cheeks to tinge with pink. “It might be useful to have your number, you know, in case I need to ask you any questions.”

“Any questions, of course” you smile, nodding your head lightly.

“About the project.”

“Yep.”

“Or if you have any questions about anything, you can ask me,” he sweeps a hand at the papers on your desk.

“Ok.”

“If you want any help, it might just be helpful.”

“And I never disagreed,” you say slipping your phone out your pocket so you can get his number.

“Right,” he says and when you glance up at him his face is now more red than pink.

He recites the digits of his number as you type them into a new contact. You struggle to know what to list his name as, in the end settling simply for Namjoon.

“I’ll text you then,” you say as you slip your phone away.

“Ok,” he replies.

You both stand staring at each other, neither of you quite sure what to do now. You’re the first to break it.

“I’ll show you out.”

“Oh no, it’s alright,” he says eyes darting from you to the door and back again. “I think I remember the way.”

You smile, give a small nod, but still he doesn’t go. An awkwardness seeps into the silence and you start to wonder if he’s going to stand there all day before he starts to move.

“Right, well, thanks for today. I guess I’ll see you at the pizza party.”

You think you catch him wincing at his own words and the fact makes you smile. You can barely say goodbye to him before he’s turning and waving over his shoulder as he disappears from site.

You end up texting Namjoon the date and time of the event on the weekend almost immediately. He replies a simple see you there. And though it’s a simple line, nothing special, something in you still flutters. You put it down to the fact that this isn’t something you should be doing, like a forbidden activity, texting the enemy.

But that thought doesn’t stop you from researching everything he told you and it also doesn’t stop you from messaging more questions.

They were good tips, legally companies have to ensure that the build and subsequent build won’t cause any environmental harm to the area, or if it does what they will do to mitigate against it. But like Namjoon said, most of this has already been accounted for in the tome that is their paperwork. It’s a company that have built hundreds of buildings like these before, they’ll know the law inside out, they won’t let things like this slip through. But that doesn’t mean they’ve covered everything. Even if Namjoon’s initial ideas lead to dead ends, they blossom more ideas in your mind to go after.

The messages to Namjoon start innocent enough. You were so nervous to send the first one you spent ten minutes editing the single line of text and then a further twenty minutes debating whether to send it at all before doing it.

When he replied it was like a flood gate opened. You no longer had as many nerves to contact him, didn’t worry so much about asking any stupid questions given he seemed happy enough to answer them.

And while you asked questions relating to the project, help on things that you weren’t sure about that he might know, he always answered with more reassurance than knowledge. He was never condescending, never acting like he was the smart one and not you, never jumped on your ideas and acted like they were his from the start. All things you would have thought he’d do from the start.

And in between the questions on the project were a scattering of more personal questions. Comments on how each other’s days went. Questions from Namjoon asking how best to cook broad beans as he noticed them growing in the community gardens and thought you might know.

It was nice. But also dangerous. You were opening up to him and while it seemed easy to do to a screen that replied with such nice comments, you had to remind yourself of who it was behind the screen. Just because he seemed nice didn’t mean you should let down your professionalism around him.

But he was making it very hard.

He appears ladened with bags, his loose grey top with small damp patches as if he’s carried the bags for miles and has sweated under the midday sun. You rush over to take bits off him and though he doesn’t seem keen to hand anything over, he eventually lets you take a couple of bags.

“What is all of this?” You ask as you make your way over to the tables.

“My mum taught me never to turn up to a party empty handed.”

You put the bags down, peak in to see bottles of fizzy drinks, packets of crisps and nibbles. You look over to him to see him already unpacking things, unaware of your shock.

“You didn’t have to bring anything.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to.”

Your thoughts automatically go to this being some sort of bribe, a way to butter you all up, paint him as the nice guy. But you push those thoughts from your mind. Maybe he is just nice. What’s a few bottles of Fanta going to do to appease anyone? He just genuinely wanted to bring stuff with him.

You’re still unpacking things when the kids notice all the extra food and start to come over. They at least have the good manners to not help themselves, big eyes looking up at you and Namjoon in silent question.

“Don’t worry about me, help yourselves,” Namjoon says and the kids need no more conformation, small hands quickly grabbing crips and bottles of drink.

“You might want to grab what you want before it all goes,” you chuckle.

“It’s alright,” he says, leaning down to help pour some drinks.

You get pulled away from him, both of you dragged in opposite directions to do different things. And while you’re glad that Namjoon seems to at least be eating and chatting to people, rather than working, whenever you look back at him, you still worry what people might be saying to him. You hadn’t planned on being separated, especially so early and for basically the whole time, you thought you might be able to chat with him, help him appease anyone with difficult questions. But he seems fine, relaxed and happy.

You see each other in passing more than anything, only get to exchange the odd word with him. And while you’re semi disappointed, you figure he probably doesn’t care, he’s here to talk to the community not to you.

You’re talking to Mary, one of the old ladies that visits, has for nearing forty years now, as everyone is starting to pack up and leave. You can’t help but keep shooting looks at Namjoon, watch as he helps clear up, tries to take as many things in his arms so no one else has to carry anything. You’re only half listening to Mary when you feel a squeeze of your arm, turning back to her with shame written in your face. She’s not looking at you though, her eyes where yours were, on Namjoon.

“He’s very handsome,” you flush at the implication.

“Yeah, I guess he is,” you mumble the words as if hoping she won’t hear.

“And he’s been so great today,” she carries on. “Don’t worry what anyone else says, you know people like to gossip and associate him with all the bad that’s happening here.”

You nod, head turning back to Namjoon, watch as he picks up more plates, the few people around him laughing as he tries to juggle it all. You had heard people asking why he was here and you’re sure he had a lot of less than favourable questions thrown at him. And yet he’s still here, and he’s still managing to make people smile.

“He’s a good one,” Mary says gently as you both continue to look at Namjoon.

You can’t help but think that you’re one of those people, putting the weight of the project on his back, piling all the blame on him.

Namjoon must sense eyes on him as he looks over in your direction and when his eyes meet yours a wide smile spreads across his face. Your heart pangs at all that warmth directed at you and Mary’s words ring in your ears, he’s a good one. You’re not sure why the words and her approval of him means so much to you.

“I’ve been thinking,” you start slowly, the nerves evident in your tone. Namjoon waits, eyes firmly on you to show he’s listening. “I mean, I’m always thinking of things to help the community centre, but I’ve had an idea.”

“Go on,” he encourages.

You’re not sure why you’re so nervous to tell him, but you find it hard to keep his eye contact, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with each other. You don’t need his approval or praise, but still find yourself seeking it. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he shoots down this idea and the fact has your heart pounding in anticipation.

It’s been a few weeks and slowly but surely you have gotten to know Namjoon. There’s still a professional barrier between the two of you, some hidden thing that is that he’s working on a project that is to do with your community centre. It would be morally ambiguous for you to describe him as a friend, to hang out outside of whatever this is.

But he’s visited the community centre more than you’d imagine was normal. He still texts you ‘out of hours’. He helps you out and helps out around the community centre from time to time. And though he says it’s because he likes being here, is trying to help establish a good relationship with everyone, to bridge the gap between the centre and the company, you still question it. It’s not that he can’t enjoy being here if those are his true intentions, it’s more that there’s a small part of you that has grown to hope for a little more.

So here you stand, about to ask for his advice again. Open up about how to save the centre as if he isn’t on the team to destroy it.

“It probably won’t work,” you set yourself up to fail, lay the groundwork for disappointment so then the fall won’t be so bad.

“I’m sure it will.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“Then tell me.”

“I haven’t run it past anyone else yet. I haven’t even really done that much research into it. I was just interested to hear what you thought.”

“Ok,” there’s a small smile ok the edges of his lips as he watches you ramble.

You take a deep breath, you’re mad for doing this, aren’t sure why you ever thought it would be a good idea. But you’ve brought it up now, he won’t let you not tell him and really, you wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t want to tell him. You look down at your fingers plucking at a loose string on your sleeve’s hem as you start to talk.

“I thought that I could register the place as a charity.”

You pause, don’t look up to see Namjoon’s reaction but the fact you don’t hear one is enough for you to fear the worst.

“It probably wouldn’t work. These things probably take ages and with the site is already being planned to be destroyed it’s probably too late. They might not even accept the application or whatever it is you have to do. We can just pretend I never said anything.”

“No, no, no,” the slight panic in Namjoon’s tone has you looking up at him, his hands raised, his eyes wide. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Your eyes flick all over his face, trying to find any hint of a lie, but fail. He really thinks that? You’ve been so unsure since you thought of it that you struggle with the vote of confidence.

“I think you should do it. And I think that even if you can’t somehow secure this site to be attached to it, you’d be able to get funding to find somewhere else,” he’s smiling now, while you’re still looking at him in shock. “You’ve said it a hundred times; the community need this, they need you and they need help. Isn’t that exactly what that would secure for them?”

“I’m not sure they really need me,” you flush.

“You’d be great at it too,” he says as if you haven’t said anything. “And it would be what everyone here needs. What they already have, but you could make it so much more.”

He sounds so passionate. It’s hard to associate him with the evil company planning to knock everything down. The more and more you get to know him, the less you associate him with his job. He sounds so genuine and excited that you don’t even care.

You don’t need Namjoon to verify that it’s a good idea, but it still warms you to hear.

You love coming here at this time. The sun starting to peak its head, lighting the sky with vivid oranges and pinks. Rays shining down on different areas of the community centre. It makes the area look eternal.

But it also causes a pang in your heart. Makes you realise that it won’t be here forever.

You’ve always come here early, but recently you’ve been doing it more and more. A time where you can take it all in alone. Appreciate the site and all its corners without anyone else around. A time for just you and the centre.

You can almost hear the squeals of the children as they get pushed too high on the swings. The laughter of the adults as they sit around with a drink and food. The chatter of people kneeling amongst the veg. The soft thumping of the basketballs on the tarmac. This place, so full of love, with only a limited time left.

“You’re here early.”

You whip your head around at the noise, are met with a face you would never have thought you’d see here at this time.

Namjoon. Stood in the loose top and straight cut jeans you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him wear. His hair slightly ruffled, un-styled at this early hour.

“What are you doing here?”

He smiles at you in that easy manner, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he looks around at the dimly lit garden.

“I couldn’t sleep and I thought where else is better to come then here? It is a community site, right? Open to all?”

He’s doing that thing he always does, teasing you in such a kind manner, not in the rude way you always do it. And maybe it’s the early hour or the fact it’s just the two of you, or maybe just the fact you feel tired of all of this, feel so sad in this soon to be graveyard, but you end up melting. Shoulders sagging under the weight you’ve been carrying for so long, eyes closing in a long blink, when they open he’s looking over at you, a small amount of concern evident in his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Everything ok?”

“Do you enjoy your job?” You ignore his question and ask your own. You’ve obviously thrown him, he’s unable to answer and you go on to clarify yourself. “I guess I just wonder why you do it? Like, is it amazing pay, or do you think you’re good at it, or I don’t know?”

There’s another long silence and when it becomes clear Namjoon’s not going to answer you run a hand down your face, shaking your head slightly to try and gain some sense.

“Sorry, that was really inappropriate.”

“No, it’s alright,” he says. “I guess I’m just not sure. I mean, it’s a job, it pays the bills. Does anyone really enjoy their job?”

“I guess.”

Silence falls over the two of you as you stare out at the wild flowers and like you always seem to find when around Namjoon, you start to wonder what he’s thinking.

You didn’t mean any offense with your question, you are just genuinely intrigued. Because knowing him, even as little as you do, the high-up corporate job he has just doesn’t feel like him. It’s not like you doubt he’s any good at it, it just seems so opposed to all his morals. The man who offers you help and support with your ideas. The man who brings bags of snacks and drinks to something he wouldn’t be overly welcomed at. The man who cycles everywhere. The man who loves plants. The man who comes here early in the morning when he can’t sleep.

Yeah, the two don’t add up in your mind the longer you think about it.

“Do you fancy a tea?” You finally break the silence and Namjoon’s head slowly turns back to look at you.

“Ah, I’d love one but I honestly only came here for a quick five minutes. I need to head back and get ready for work.”

“Of course,” you say thinking you should probably do the same.

“Maybe another day?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you reply genuinely.

He turns and starts to head towards the exit and you find yourself falling into step with him, both of you silently leaving together.

“How is everything going? At work?”

“Ah,” he says, the noise not very encouraging. “Got a big meeting coming this week actually.”

“About here?”

“Yeah,” he says and you catch him looking at you from the corner of your eye. You know you shouldn’t ask about it but find you can’t stop yourself.

“What about? I mean, big meeting, is something happening?”

“I can’t really say.”

“Right,” you reply, not wanting to put him in the middle of anything, but also itching to ask and know more.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Just an information gathering session.”

“Information gathering?” You repeat, surely it’s late in the game to be gathering information? Shouldn’t they be more setting into motion plans to build.

“It’s nothing, seriously.”

“Ok,” you say, less than convinced, but you’ve reached the exit both of you coming to a natural stop.

“I’ll text you about that tea,” he says with a smile and you can see him trying to soothe whatever he thinks he’s disrupted over.

“Yeah,” is all you reply before he’s saying goodbye and disappearing.

He said don’t worry. You should trust him, but you can’t help but think that he meant the opposite. Before you head home you head to the small office in the community centre to pick up some of your papers. You should be doing more.

You’ve text Namjoon several times now and all of them have gone unanswered. It’s been over a week since you saw him at sun rise in the community gardens, and though that’s not long, it still concerns you.

You continue to do research into setting up a charity, there’s so much paperwork and hoops to jump through. It’s good, it shouldn’t be easy, but you can almost hear the clock ticking down as you try to get through it all. You never feel like you’re doing enough, but now, with Namjoon’s silence you can’t help but feel that even more.

And then it happens, all your worst fears wrapped up into a single sheet of paper, packaged to you in an envelope. It’s addressed to the community centre, not you, but as you tear it open you can’t help but feel the dread seeping in, it’s like you know what it’s going to say before you read it.

Black on white. And so few lines of text. It couldn’t be clearer. A threat, or more a warning from the company. They know what you’re doing, they know your plans and they’re telling you to stop now before they have to step in and do something. Legal action. Court. Things that cost money that neither you nor the centre have to fight back with.

Tears silently fall down your cheeks. You knew it was coming, if anything pride swells in you at the thought that you had gotten close enough to something that would make them threaten so much. But you also know you could have gotten further, they shouldn’t know this, they shouldn’t know you’re attempting to turn this place into a charity.

But they do, and you know exactly how, and you’ve never felt more stupid in your life.

You trusted him with information. You let him into your life. You thought he was starting to get it, was beginning to see what you see in this place, was starting to see the potential.

He was the one who had said how good the charity idea was. He was the one who helped you. He was the one who said you shouldn’t do it all alone.

And yet Namjoon is the one who sold you out.

He must have come that morning as a last look, a last goodbye. He must have known what he was going to do as he spoke to you about how beautiful everything looked. It makes you sick to think that you trusted him, that you thought he was listening to your ideas and giving you advice because he cared, not because he was silently taking notes to take back to his bosses.

You take a shaky breath, fold the paper back up and place it in its envelope and bury it beneath piles of paper, as if hiding it away will take the problem away. You wipe away the tears that have managed to escape you. You pull yourself together. If this is what he does then he’s not worth your tears or sadness.

You feel like you’re hiding out, probably because you are. Bunkered up in your small office, locked away from the world. That is apart from Alex who stands next to you.

You know he’s worried, a lot of people probably are and if you gave them the chance to see you, they’d probably say as much. But you’ve only seen Alex, only allowed him in this safe space you’ve created. He knows enough; what Namjoon did, how he’s betrayed your trust, how you in turn have betrayed everyone else, why you’re locking yourself away.

“Why don’t you take a break?” It’s possibly the fifth time he’s said words to that effect in the last hour.

“I just want to look up this one thing.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past half an hour. Can’t you just take a five-minute break to eat? Julies brought some cakes along.”

“I just really need to finish this.”

There’s a small huff, loud enough to let you know you were meant to hear and you can almost see the eye roll that has surely accompanied it. Still, you don’t look at him, still focused on your work.

“What if I bring one here?” He carries on regardless and you have to admire his determination. “Then maybe I can help?”

It’s another line he’s been repeating and another line you keep ignoring.

“Seriously, no one is expecting you to carry the weight of all of this. We want to help.”

You close your eyes. He’s right, you know he is. But you can’t get it out of your head that it’s you that’s made this situation worse and therefore it should be you that tries to make up for it.

But the way in which Alex speaks, the tone he uses like he’s desperate, like he wants to help, you realise he’s right. Though you may have taken on so much, this isn’t just about you, this is a community centre, it serves so many people, is loved by so many people outside of you. You’re not sure where you got blinded by it, but you need to try and realise that.

“I know,” you say with a sigh, finally looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”

He gives you a small smile, his eyes still sad as he looks down at you. You probably look a mess, hair unbrushed, tired eyes, papers scattered in a mess that reflects your mind. He’s right, you need a break if nothing else.

“You mentioned cake?”

He opens his mouth to reply but a knock on the door interrupts him.

His smile turns into a frown and you’re sure his thoughts are reflecting yours; who’s that? It doesn’t take long for the question to be answered, another knock and then a well-known voice.

“Y/N?”

Namjoon.

Alex’s frown turns back into worry as he looks at you. And you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’ve spent so much time trying to avoid Namjoon that you’ve never actually thought about what you’d do or say when you see him.

Alex doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look as if to say, I’ve got this, and is then turning and heading to the door. Your heart thumps in your chest as Alex opens the door, but he manages to only open it far enough to slip through and then closes it behind him again. The door, closer to air than wood, means you can hear everything despite not seeing anything.

“Oh,” the disappointment is evident in Namjoon’s tone, hoping for you but getting Alex.

“Is Y/N here?” Namjoon recover’s quickly, his tone back to the Namjoon you remember.

There’s a silence and you’re not sure whether Alex isn’t saying anything on purpose or whether he’s saying the words too quietly for you to hear.

“I know she’s in there. Just let me see her.”

“Just leave Namjoon.”

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline rushing through your body at the thought that he’s the other side of that door, at the fact you can hear his voice.

“I want to see her,” Namjoon says.

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“She’s not answering her phone, she’s not reading my messages, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe get the hint?”

“I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I haven’t done anything wrong.”

You’re not sure whether to be angry or let your heart break at the tone he uses. He sounds confused, like he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve you ignoring him.

You can still hear Alex and Namjoon arguing, he’s not going to give up easily and you know if you don’t see him now, you’re just extending the inevitable. You’ll have to see him eventually.

With a deep breath you stand up and go to the door.

Alex’s back is nearly touching the door, so when you open it you nearly walk straight into him. He’s blocking most of your view, but over his shoulder you can see Namjoon, can see the way his eyes widen as they look at you and then look to Alex as if in a satisfied told you so way. You can almost feel the way Alex gets ready to bite back.

“It’s ok,” you say gently, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder as if it’ll help settle him down. He throws a look at you over his shoulder. “It’s alright, I can deal with this.”

There’s a few more seconds of silence as you and Alex have a silent conversation, you trying to tell him he should leave, him looking like he’s not sure that’s a good idea. In the end he looks back at Namjoon, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll be right outside.”

Namjoon nods at him in understanding, the acknowledgement enough for Alex to walk away.

It’s just you and Namjoon. Nowhere to run. You have to face this front on.

“Do you want a tea? Apparently, Julie brought cakes if –”

“Cut the bullshit Y/N,” you tense at the words and when Namjoon carries on his words are softer. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

Right to it then. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. He’s really going to play dumb about all of this?

“You sold me out.”

If he’s going to get straight to the point, then so will you. The fact he doesn’t react or recoil from your words seems to prove everything in your mind.

“I didn’t sell you out,” he’s shaking his head.

“Do you want me to phrase it differently? You told them everything.”

“I didn’t –”

“I trusted you, isn’t that stupid?”

“Will you –”

“And you just chucked it all back in my face, everything I told you.”

“If you let me –”

“Were you laughing behind my back the whole time? Were you –”

“I quit.”

Silence. Those two words doing everything he wanted, you’re finally listening. Trying to comprehend what he’s going on about, but you’re silent at least.

“I never sold you out, or whatever it is you think I’ve done. I quit. Well, I handed my notice in but they agreed I could leave with immediate effect given my ties.”

“What are you talking about?”

A smile creeps onto his face, something that is more familiar to the man you know. It’s barely there, but it’s there nonetheless.

“I quit my job.”

Your mind is whirling. While Namjoon’s smile only grows, you only become more confused. Nothing is adding up, everything you thought had happened is false.

“I’ve been trying to message you to tell you, but you’ve been ignoring me.”

“Because you told them about the charity.”

“What?” He says it as a laugh, his smile seemingly too big to disappear. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you just went. And then I got a letter from the company. And I hadn’t heard from you. And I just thought –”

He doesn’t seem annoyed even after you’ve admitted all your assumptions.

“But you didn’t?” You ask as if to double check you’re right.

“I didn’t.”

“And you quit?”

“I quit.”

“But why?”

He pauses, the first time he’s seemed unsure during this whole exchange. His eyes search your face as if to make sure that it’s a good idea to admit this. He obviously decides it’s ok because he starts to talk.

“I’ve never particularly hated my job. Even when I came here I didn’t hate it, but I think you made me realise that I didn’t love it, that there’s things in life that are more important and that I’d much rather be doing. Like this,” he throws his hands wide. “You do so much good here. Are so passionate about it. You’ll make an amazing CEO of a charity. And I don’t know, I was kind of hoping I could help.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry so instead you just stare open mouthed at him.

“You quit your job because you wanted to help?”

He lets out an awkward laugh. “When you put it like that it sounds stupid,” he says but you still don’t get it, you’ve only repeated the words he’s said. “I want to work for you. Or the charity when it’s finally up and running. I want to help set it up and run it and lobby and get money and just whatever you need.”

“You want me to give you a job?”

“When the charity is up and running.”

“But that could be months away. That could never happen. Namjoon, you can’t just quit your job, I can’t pay you.”

“I’m not expecting you to,” he answers easily, as if he has this all planned out, he probably has, he has just quit his job you hope he’s at least thought about it first. “I can get something to tie me over before everything’s up and running and you can afford to pay me. But until then I’ll work for free. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I can’t – I don’t understand.”

“I just realised that you’re right,” he carries on in that easy manner as if you’re not confused, as if it’s all so simple. “I don’t enjoy my job and this place brings me so much joy and I thought why should I waste away somewhere doing something I don’t like when I could be doing something I enjoy and puts some good into the world.”

“And you’re just expecting me to give you the job?”

It’s the first time the smile has faltered on his face. It dips ever so slightly and you can see his mind trying to work out how this isn’t part of his plan and what he needs to do to amend it.

You laugh before he can open his mouth.

“I’m joking,” you smile. “I’d love you to work here. I just don’t want to make any promises.”

“I’m not expecting any,” Namjoon says before taking a small step forward. “But you’ll make this work. I know it might not be smooth sailing, but I know you’ll do it.”

That weight weighing down on your shoulders again. The pressure of messing something up that means so much to so many. But you won’t be alone, at least Namjoon is offering for you to share the load.

“Ok,” you say, the smile spreading and growing on Namjoons face. “I guess it might be good to have a hand. You’ve done a lot already so I guess you can stick around to help some more.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh, eyes squinting into crescents of joy, head shaking side to side.

“As long as it’s clear this is all still you.”

“So if it goes wrong you can dip and run?” You laugh.

“No,” he says and your laugh dies in your throat at his tone and the way he’s looking at you. “Because this is all you. Your idea. Your brain. Your love. I’m just coming along for the ride.”

Your eyes dance across his face. How can he be so perfect? Kind and soft and yet so beautiful. It’s too much, like a cruel joke.

“I had another request.”

You raise an eyebrow, your silent answer to say he can carry on.

“Now I’m no longer working at Seven Living,” he starts. “I was wondering if I could take you on a date.”

“A date?” Your voice squeaks.

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to raise his eyebrow, a way of showing that he doesn’t buy your surprise, that you should have seen this coming.

“You think it’s ok to date if we’re working together?”

He shrugs, an easy gesture. “People who work together date all the time, I don’t see a problem with it.”

You think it through. It’s not a hard decision, doesn’t take you too long.

“Ok, you can take me on a date.”

You hardly see the beam that takes over his face, the deep dimples you’ve grown so found of, because he steps forward into you, dips down and presses his lips to yours. You let out a small squeak of surprise, tense in surprise. But it’s only for a second, Namjoon’s lips moving against yours makes you melt, relax into it, relax into him.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away only enough to look at you. “I got over excited, I should have waited.”

“It’s ok,” you smile up at him, can’t help but glance down at those pink lips you kind of want to lean back into.

“I’ll make sure to take you somewhere nice to make up for it.”

You don’t bother telling him that he has nothing to apologise for.

[buckyownsmylife]

Something Just Like This - August Walker smut

The one where August figures out what happened to you.

Warnings: smut, some angst, pregnancy, breastfeeding kink, daddy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex

A/N: this idea was requested and of course, I had to add in the smut.

August’s P.O.V.

I’d never been a patient man.

That made waiting at her house, with no idea of when she’d arrive, particularly frustrating. Especially considering the reason why I had found myself here in the first place.

I still couldn’t even think about it. Since I found out why it was that she suddenly disappeared from the face of the Earth, all I’d done was go, go, go. Search everywhere for even the smallest trace of her. Try to get inside her mind so I could maybe figure out where she’d go to hide.

Of course, I never once considered she wasn’t hiding at all.

“Shh…” I heard her soothe someone, not finding it difficult to figure out who it was. “There you go. Good boy.”

That was when the first wave of panic hit me.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had to deal with that emotion. I was usually so in control of everything. I designed my life to make it that way. No surprises.

Until now.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable.” She didn’t even glance my way, seated at the farthest corner of her living room, but I expected as much. She was an incredible agent before she decided to… retire. It was ingrained in our minds to check for the little signs, if we were being followed, if there was someone inside our house.

It’d be pretty irresponsible of her to disregard everything she’d learned. Especially now.

She didn’t pay me any attention as she took off her coat and hung it by the door, taking all the time in the world to do so before, at last, turning to the sleeping infant in the carrier she had deposited on the sofa before me.

At least he wasn’t a fussy child.

“So, how are you?” She sighed, letting herself fall on the couch, finally looking at me. “It took you longer than I imagined. Then again, I wasn’t sure you’d come at all.”

And that’s when the beast inside of me woke up, my nostrils flaring as I inhaled deeply, leaning closer to her so I could speak in a whisper but still have her hear me and take note of every hint of anger in my tone.

“How am I?” I repeated, unbelieving of her chosen words for the encounter. “How am I? You’re MIA for six months, I find out it’s because you got pregnant and you have the nerve to ask me how I am?”

She didn’t look the slightest bit affected, sighing as she turned to look at the boy in the carrier. “Let me go put him in bed so you don’t have to whisper anymore.”

In the time it took her to do that, I grew impatient. ‘How am I’. The hell kinda question is that.

When she came back, she looked different. Well, she was different from the last time I saw her anyway - her frame looked fuller, hips wider. It made me lick my lips in desire, but I had other issues to focus on at the moment.

Like the fact that she looked angry. “How can you ask me how I am when you’re the one who disappeared to have my child?” I almost yelled, still trying to be respectful of the sleeping infant in the other room. “I thought you were kidnapped! Murdered in the line of duty!”

She blinked a few times, seemingly surprised about the direction the discussion was taken, but what the hell was she expecting?

“What do you want me to say?” Was her response. “Can you put yourself in my shoes for a moment? We fucked occasionally and I ended up pregnant. I didn’t even know where you were stationed, and I didn’t know how to explain to our superior officer why I needed to know classified information about one of their best assets.”

I forced myself to take one deep breath, understanding that if she had done so, she could easily be targeted as a spy. When she looked down at her feet, hands on her hips, I knew she was disappointed.

“Have you ever even wanted a family?” She asked me. “I don’t know! I know next to nothing about you, August. All I know was that we fucked and the contraceptive didn’t work and now I have a piece of you with me forever. A piece you didn’t even want to give me.”

I wasn’t egocentric enough to completely miss her point. But still, now that I’d made a fool of myself, the only thing I could think to say was, “You’re not even going to apologize?”

Her head snapped up, fire in her eyes and I knew she was about to tell me off when I grabbed her by the chin and pulled her to meet my lips.

“I think you have a lot to make up for, kitten…” I insisted, pressing kisses all along her shoulder just to hear her mewl for me. “You just assumed I wouldn’t want to have anything to do with my own son, and kept this away from me…”

“I missed your entire pregnancy. God, can’t imagine how these looked…” I whispered, holding her breasts as I pulled away to stare at them. “Did he leave some for me?” I teased, slipping the front of her blouse down so I could rub her nipples, enjoying how her head fell back in bliss. I imagined they were much more sensitive now. “Will you let me try?”

I waited for her nod to lean down and wrap my lips around her nub, sucking lightly, mindful of how she felt now that she was breastfeeding, and I was rewarded by a pleasured gasp, her fingers flying up to my hair to pull at the strands, but keep me attached to her.

“Remember how I made you cream around me?” I teased, running my tongue around her nipple, relishing in the sweet liquid that slowly dripped from her. “Yeah, you loved it, didn’t you?” Her whine had me smirking as I easily manhandled her into resting against the wall, abandoning her breasts momentarily to nuzzle her neck.

“I loved it too,” I admitted, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as I hoisted her leg up to wrap around my waist before working on getting my cock out of my trousers. “God, you have no idea how much I missed this pussy…”

Slipping inside of her was always delicious. The way she instinctively clenched around me, arms tightening around my body to keep me nearby. My name slipped from her lips, and it had my lips twisting up.

“Hmm…” I mused, pulling away to take in her state of ruin. “I think I want you to call me daddy now…” She snickered, but I wasn’t completely joking about it.

A punishing thrust against her sweet spot had the title slipping from her lips without her even noticing it. Smirking, I started to really fuck into her, imagining how sexy she must have looked like, all round with my child.

“You should have told me.” I shook my head before letting it drop against her shoulder, knowing she didn’t know what I was referring to and probably couldn’t even tell while I was fucking her. So I decided to focus on this moment instead, appreciating how it felt to actually have her after thinking I’d never get to see her again.

“Shit, you feel so good,” I cursed right as a loud moan escaped her, and I had to slap my hand over her mouth, trying to quieten her down. “You better be quiet, baby. You don’t want to wake up the other baby, huh?”

She melted in my arms, allowing me to push her further up the wall as I sped up my thrusts, searching for that blissful release I could only truly reach with her.

Her eyes rolled back as my cum spilled deep inside of her, not worried about contraceptives anymore because they’d failed us once, what’s another time?

Besides, I was kind of hoping to be able to experience what I missed this time.

“You’re staying?” She asked when she saw me adjusting my clothing after I made sure to clean her up, and I figured my raised eyebrow was enough of an answer, but I gave her one anyway.

“Someone’s gotta take care of you and the little guy, huh?” I grinned, pulling her into my arms. “Can’t believe you thought you’d ever be able to get rid of me.”