#Everything else was from memory/internal image library

[airanke]

Pro-tip: use tools you're familiar with!! Tomorrow I will draw Abiteth 💙💙

[cybergracie]

the white lotus ⋆ ˚｡⋆ chapter three

✧ the lovers ✧

wc: 9k

pairing: personal assistant!oc x family reunion attendee!hyunjin

synopsis: Gemma Parker has spent years keeping things under control -- her career, her emotions, her impossible boss. But when a work trip takes her to a luxury resort in Italy, she finds herself slipping into a world of salty air, stolen moments, and lingering glances with a boy who sees right through her carefully built walls. Hyunjin is charming, frustrating, and absolutely not a part of her plan -- but as the trip stretches on and their paths keep crossing, Gemma starts to wonder if she's been chasing the wrong dream all along. Because sometimes, the best stories aren't the ones you plan -- they're the ones you never see coming.

warnings: marijuana use, alcohol consumption

a/n: enjoy this next part... things are heating up! ♡

masterlist | dividers by @strangergraphics

I woke up with a smile on my face. 

Which was… rare. Unsettling, even. 

For half a second, I let myself stay in that softness, eyes still closed, limbs tangled in the sheets, warmth pooling in my chest with the morning sunlight.

And then I remembered why.

Hyunjin.

I groaned into my pillow, immediately mortified at the involuntary moan I had let out the night before, shattering the moment we had found ourselves in waist-deep in the ocean. “Okay,” I muttered to myself, rolling onto my back and slinging an arm across my eyes. “Definitely need to work on my self-control.”

But the images wouldn’t leave. Hyunjin’s grin in the moonlight, his breath against my ear. The smug way he looked at me like he had known all along I’d give in. 

I kicked off the sheets and sat up, cheeks already burning. 

The bathroom mirror did me no favors. I blinked blearily at my reflection and groaned when I saw the flush still high on my cheeks, pink and undeniably guilty.

Great. Perfect. Love that for me.

I splashed cold water on my face, muttering curses under my breath like that would help erase the memory seared into my skin. “Focus,” I whispered to myself. “You have a job. You are here for Celeste. You are not here to make out with beautiful boys in the ocean.”

…Even if it had been the best kiss of my life.

Nope. Not thinking about that. Never admitting that outloud.

I forced myself to go through the motions – moisturizer, mascara, a quick swipe of lip balm, hair pulled into a low bun because I didn’t have the energy to fight it. Simple. Clean. Professional.

A girl who had her life together. A girl who absolutely hadn’t stripped down and kissed someone until her knees went weak in the middle of the night in salt water. 

Totally normal. 

I slipped into a linen midi dress – safe, structured, very not flirty – and slung my leather tote over my shoulder, double-checking that I had my laptop, a fresh notebook, pens, and the Q&A notes I’d printed at the front desk the first day. Because today was important. Celeste would be speaking at a historic Italian library, tucked into the heart of the city – arched ceilings, marble floors, frescoes older than the country I was born in – and she’d be answering questions from a curated group of international readers and critics.

Which meant I needed to be alert. On. Prepared for everything from microphone malfunctions to emotional breakdowns to passive-aggressive jabs masked as compliments. 

I took one last look in the mirror, my cheeks still flushed, still warm. Still thinking about him.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, exhaling slowly. Focus, Parker. Just make it through the morning.

I hadn’t planned on stopping. 

Truly.

But the smell of strong espresso and warm pastries curled out into the morning air of the lobby like an invitation. So I slipped out onto the breakfast terrace, grabbed myself a flaky pistachio croissant and a cappuccino, found a table and set down my tote bag like I actually had nowhere else to be. 

I broke off a piece of croissant and reached into my bag, pulling out my personal notebook, the one I always brought but rarely used. The pages were still mostly blank. I’d filled them with snippets and scene fragments, half-hearted musings about flight delays and Celeste quotes and things I probably wouldn’t revisit. 

But today… my fingers itched. To write. To capture. To make sense of the way I felt.

I rolled my eyes as I clicked my pen open, muttering under my breath. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Hyunjin’s smug voice played in my head like a taunt. “Just think of it as inspiration.”

I scoffed. But then, I wrote. Nothing polished, nothing I’d ever show anyone, but it was all there. 

A girl in the water. A boy with moonlight in his eyes. Fingers brushing skin. The ache of almosts. The danger of wanting something you can’t have.

Too romantic. Too soft. Too much like how I felt. 

A blush bloomed across my cheeks before I could stop it. I leaned back, dragging a hand down my face, muttering, “This is not my genre.”

“You looked pretty into it for someone who claims that.”

I froze. The voice was familiar, low and warm and way too pleased with itself. 

I looked up, and there he was. Hyunjin. Hair slightly messy, button-up shirt rolled to the elbows, sunglasses perched atop his head, a grin dancing on his lips and an iced americano in his hand. 

He slid into the seat across from me without waiting for an invitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

My notebook slapped shut so fast I surprised myself. 

He noticed, eyes flicking down before his smirk widened. “Did I catch a live inspiration session?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a yes.”

“You’re insufferable.”

He took a long sip of his coffee, gaze locked on me. And then he spoke, softer now, less teasing.

“Thanks for showing up last night.”

I blinked. Something in his tone shifted – not just playful now, but real. Quiet. Maybe even shy. I nodded once. “Thanks for waiting.”

His thumb traced the rim of his cup slowly, and then he looked up at me through his lashes. “So, uh. Any chance I can get your number? You know… so I don’t have to spend another two hours spiraling on a beach, thinking I got stood up and that maybe I peaked at twenty-four?”

I choked on my coffee. “That was subtle,” I coughed. 

“I panicked,” he admitted, grinning again. “Help me recover?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop smiling. Because even if this wasn’t in my plan, and even if it complicated everything… I wanted more.

So I handed him my phone. 

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was making a mistake, or giving something away. I felt like I was finally just beginning. 

He slid my phone back across the table with a little smirk that made my stomach flutter – completely unfair, by the way – and I glanced down to see what damage he’d done. 

The new contact name read: 

🌊 Trouble (aka Your Muse)

I let out a soft, involuntary chuckle. And then immediately caught myself, clearing my throat and rolling my eyes so hard it nearly hurt. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re welcome.”

He sipped his coffee like he hadn’t just branded himself as the most dangerous kind of inspiration. I slid my phone into my tote and tried very hard not to smile like an idiot. 

“Seriously though,” he said, nudging his cup aside. “What’s the plan today? Celeste has that Q&A thing, right?”

I groaned, biting my lip to hide the grin at him remembering. “Yep. Q&A in a historic library with a hundred strangers and a thousand potential crises. Should be a dream.”

He laughed. “Sounds like you’re living the fantasy.”

“Oh, totally. Nothing makes me feel more alive than prepping literary prompts while someone yells at me for bringing the wrong kind of mineral water.”

He winced, sympathy in his expression. “Oof. You’re gonna be late, aren’t you?”

I blinked before checking the time. Then swore under my breath. “Damn it. Yes. I am.”

I started scrambling to gather my things – notebook, coffee, the croissant I hadn’t even finished because he’d shown up and ruined my ability to eat or think or exist like a normal person. 

Hyunjin just sat there, watching me with an amused, lopsided smile, like he was enjoying every second of my mini panic. And worse, it wasn’t smug this time. It was… fond. And somehow, that made it ten times harder to function.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and gave him one last look, trying to hold on to whatever version of my sanity was left. And then – on impulse, without thinking – I reached out and squeezed his hand that sat on the table. Quick. Firm. A flash of skin and spark.

His fingers tightened just slightly in return, his brows lifting in surprise, but that little smile was still there, soft and crooked and real. 

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

He tilted his head. “You will?”

I met his eyes and, despite the blush creeping up my neck again, nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I will.”

And then I turned and booked it towards the lobby, my sandals slapping against the floor as I rushed towards the front desk, dodging slow walkers and rogue luggage and every intrusive thought telling me to quit my job and spend the day with him instead. 

I reached the front desk just as Celeste breezed in, wearing oversized sunglasses and the energy of someone who either hadn’t slept or had slept far too well. 

“There you are, Parker,” she called. “If I’m going to suffer through being asked banal questions by people who pretend they’ve read my work, the least you can do is show up on time.”

“Right,” I muttered, forcing a smile. “Can’t let you suffer alone.”

But even as I fell into step behind her, adjusting the strap of my bag, my thoughts were still back at the table. Still back with Hyunjin. Still playing that look on his face – surprised, soft, a little stunned – over and over again in my mind. 

The library, Biblioteca centrale della Regione Siciliana, was almost too perfect. Vaulted ceilings. Gold-leaf moldings. Light filtering through tall arched windows, casting soft patterns across the marble floor like something out of a Renaissance painting. It was the kind of place that made people want to sit up straighter, made everything feel more important. 

Which is exactly why Celeste was thriving. She stood near the center of the ornate room, the host already mid-introduction, and every pair of eyes in the crowd was locked on her, reverent and curious. 

I, meanwhile, was tucked into the back corner, where I could observe quietly and take notes without being in her direct line of vision. 

Also where I could check my phone discreetly. Not that I was going to respond… I just had to change his contact name before I was caught blushing at my screen every time it buzzed.

But Hyunjin, of course, had decided that now – mid-literary event – was the perfect time to be a menace.

Hyunjin: Try not to think about me too much while Celeste is talking about her deeply important inspiration sources 😌

Hyunjin: (But if you do… that’s okay too)

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. 

Gemma: I am at work. 

Gemma: I will not be engaging with your nonsense. 

Gemma: Go bother the sea turtles.

Hyunjin: They said you were cuter.

I let out a tiny breath through my nose, thumb hovering over a reply – then rolled my eyes and muted my phone entirely, slipping my phone back into my bag before I completely lost focus. I didn’t have time to be flustered. 

The host finished their glowing introduction, and Celeste took the microphone like she'd been born under a spotlight. “Thank you,” she purred, her voice velvet-smooth, “and thank you to this incredible venue. Honestly, if all libraries had architecture like this, maybe we’d see better book sales in the States.”

Laughter. Of course. 

Celeste beamed, and I watched her slip effortlessly into performance mode. She answered the first few questions with practiced elegance – quoting herself, referencing obscure literature she hadn’t touched in years, throwing out names of artists and philosophers like she had dinner with them weekly. The audience was eating it up, and she was practically glowing. The kind of radiant that only came when people were admiring her out loud. 

I scribbled a few lines in my notes, mostly timestamped reminders for myself. Nothing was going wrong, which meant I could breathe. 

And then, a man stood from the middle row. He looked vaguely familiar – late forties, sharp features softened by a warm tan, tailored blazer over a linen shirt. He smiled politely as he took the mic from the usher, his eyes resting on Celeste a beat longer than most. 

“Ms. Laurent,” he began, “your prose is undeniably lyrical. But I’m curious – how much credit do you feel your publisher and editorial team deserve in shaping your latest novel?”

Celeste tilted her head slightly, a calculated smile on her lips, but I caught the shift in her expression. 

That wasn’t a standard question. It wasn’t hostile, exactly, but it was pointed. 

I sat up a little straighter in my seat. My eyes flicked back to the man. There was something about him – the voice? The eyes? I couldn’t place it. Had I seen him on a panel before? A publishing contact? Someone Celeste had once fired over text? (That list was long.)

He thanked her after she answered – gracefully, if a little too quickly – and then sat back down, but I kept my eyes on him for a moment longer, trying to pull a name, a place from the fog in my brain. 

Nothing. But my instincts buzzed.

Something about that moment had shifted the tone just slightly. Not enough for the room to notice, but enough for me to know that something under the surface had just been prodded. 

Celeste didn’t let it rattle her. She jumped right into a reading from her newest book, sliding back into her performance voice, all slow syllables and seductive rhythm. And I went back to my notes. 

But in the back of my mind, two thoughts lingered like background noise. Who was that man? And what exactly did he want to stir up?

The walk back from the library was quiet in a pleasant, sun-warmed and satisfied kind of way. Celeste was practically floating, her oversized sunglasses pushed up into her curls, a hand fluttering animatedly as she gushed about how well the event had gone. 

“Did you hear that woman from the Paris Review?” she said, her heels clicking against the cobblestones as we neared the turn for the resort. “She called my language hypnotic. Hypnotic, Parker. That’s practically a blessing from the literary gods.”

“You were very… poetic today,” I said, smirking just a little.

Celeste nudged me with her elbow, which nearly knocked me off balance. She was a little buzzed, not messy, but her voice, her posture was looser, her compliments more frequent. “Don’t play modest. I saw you scribbling back there like your life depended on it. I know you’re proud.”

“Proud is a strong word,” I teased.

She laughed, the sound unusually light, like we were friends or something. And for a moment, one fleeting moment, I let myself enjoy it. 

These moments, rare as they were, always threw me off. These times where she wasn’t cold or cutting, where she made me feel like more than an accessory. Where we walked side by side, not boss and assistant, but two women sharing space under the same warm sky. 

“Hey,” I said casually as we neared the resort’s gate. “That guy who asked about your publisher – did you know him?”

Celeste barely blinked. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“He seemed… familiar.”

She shrugged. “Sounded like a standard industry question to me. People love to pretend I’m difficult to work with.”

I didn’t say anything to that. Instead, I chuckled, because shockingly, the tension between us from last night was completely gone. No passive-aggressive digs, no demands, no veiled insults. Just… normalcy. And I was grateful for that. 

For a second. 

Until we turned the corner and I saw them, the same group of men from the first night we arrived, posted up near the patio bar, laughing too loudly, all polo shirts and expensive cologne.

Celeste’s eyes lit up like a crystal chandelier. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, delighted, reaching for her lipstick as she slowed her pace. 

And then, without any warning, she shoved her bag at me. “Take this up to my room, will you?” she said breezily, already halfway unbuttoning her blazer as she adjusted her posture. 

I blinked, furrowing my brow. “Seriously?”

She waved a hand over her shoulder, not even looking at me. “Relax. I’m giving you the night off, Parker. No need to be bitter about it.”

I stood there, Celeste’s designer tote digging into my shoulder, watching as she glided toward them, already laughing at something one of them said, already turning on that liquid charm that people swore was effortless but I knew better. 

And just like that, the warmth from our walk back evaporated. 

I exhaled sharply, dragging my feet toward the elevator. I didn’t say a word, didn’t stomp, didn’t roll my eyes, but god, did I stew. 

Because just when she gave me the smallest glimpse of softness, she went and reminded me exactly who she was. And exactly where I stood. 

Her suite was quiet, still and perfectly curated, like a showroom version of a person – silk scarves draped artfully over chairs, half-empty wine glasses that somehow looked intentional. I let myself in with her keycard and shut the door behind me with more force than necessary. 

It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out. Drop the bag and leave. Maybe text Hyunjin a snarky postmortem about Celeste’s performance. 

But when I went to put the bag in her closet – because god forbid her things weren’t ‘properly placed’ – I spotted a small, matte black travel pouch, half-zipped and tucked behind a row of wedges she hadn’t worn once on this trip. 

I wasn’t trying to snoop, truly. But when I bumped it accidentally and it spilled slightly open, curiosity got the better of me. Inside, there was a neat row of pre-rolled joints, each in their own little glass tubes. A stash that would make even the most committed stoner cry. 

I blinked. And then blinked again. 

Celeste didn’t smoke. At least not this. She was a red wine and judgement kind of woman, not an ‘unwind with an edible and watch documentaries about planetary rotation’ type. Which meant these were probably for someone else. Or for show. Or –

My fingers brushed over the soft velvet lining of the pouch. Two wouldn’t be missed. Three tops. 

Don’t do it, Parker. This is a bad idea. 

But another voice, far more persuasive, whispered: 

Hyunjin. Hot tub. Wine. And weed. 

When are you ever going to be here again?

Before I could think too much about it, I grabbed three pre-rolls and slipped them into the zippered interior pocket of my own tote. They nestled in next to my notebook like they were mine all along.

I zipped up the stash, closed the closet, and exited the suite with an ease I absolutely did not feel. 

The door clicked softly behind me, and I stood in the hall for a beat, my heart thudding just a little faster than necessary. 

Then I pulled out my phone. 

Gemma: Meet me at the hot tub tonight. Bring something to drink. 

I hit send before I could chicken out. 

And then I turned on my heel, walking fast and light back to my room – half-giddy, half-panicked, and fully aware that I had just made a decision that was going to turn the night into something unforgettable.

Or unforgivable. 

Maybe both. 

Back in my room, time passed in a soft blur of words and daydreams. I was curled on the little balcony loveseat, hair still up from the Q&A, oversized tee slipping off one shoulder, laptop balanced across my thighs. My notebook sat open beside me, scribbled full of fresh fragments I hadn’t been able to ignore since last night. 

I wasn’t writing anything in particular – just following the thread. A girl who was learning how to let go. A boy who kissed like the sea, steady and crashing all at once. A night too sweet to be real. 

It didn’t sound like me, not exactly. But it felt like me. Like I’d been holding my breath for too long, and now all the air was coming out in sentences. 

I was mid-paragraph, chewing the edge of my thumb and typing with one hand, when my phone buzzed sharply on the railing beside me with an alarm. I blinked at it, confused for half a second, then sat up so fast I nearly dropped the laptop. 

Hot tub. Hyunjin. Tonight.

I’d set the alarm hours ago so I wouldn’t be late again, and now here it was – mocking me in real time. 

The butterflies hit instantly. I closed my laptop, shoved it to the side, and padded inside barefoot, pulling open the wardrobe where I had stashed the bikini I brought and had no intention of actually wearing on this trip. 

Until now. 

It was simple, black, high-waisted, a dainty scalloped trim with a twist in the top, and it still somehow felt scandalous. I pulled it on piece by piece, feeling the nerves gather in my throat like carbonation. 

As I fastened the top and stepped in front of the mirror, I caught my own reflection – bare, flushed, blinking at herself like she wasn’t entirely sure who she was looking at. Not the assistant, or the girl on the sidelines, but someone who was about to go meet a man who made her knees weak just by saying her name with a bag full of stolen weed and a craving for inspiration. 

I laughed out loud, biting my lip as I thought about last night again. “We really got into the ocean in our underwear,” I muttered to no one, cheeks warming again. This time, I didn’t hide it, didn’t roll my eyes. I just let myself blush. 

I reached for a loose cover-up and slipped it over my shoulders, grabbing my tote, double-checking the three joints were still in the inner pocket, and then paused with my hand on the doorknob.

But then something tugged at me. A need to ground myself before whatever this night became. 

I turned back into the room and sifted my phone out of my bag, thumb hovering over my favorites until I landed on the one I always called first.  

“Gemmy! I was just lighting some incense. You must have felt me.”

I smiled, curling one leg beneath me as I sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby. You sound… flustered.”

Sharp as ever. It was both comforting and mildly annoying how quickly she could read me through a single hello. 

“I’m fine,” I lied, already wincing.

“Liar,” she said, sing-song, and I could hear the faint flick of her lighter in the background. “Talk. What’s going on? Celeste didn’t have a breakdown, did she?”

“No breakdowns,” I said. “The Q&A today actually went well. She was… tolerable, even. For about twenty minutes.”

“Impressive. But that’s not what this is about.”

I hesitated, then exhaled. “It’s Hyunjin. The guy I told you about.”

There was a pause – just long enough to make me wonder if the call had dropped – before she let out a pleased hum.

“Ah. That explains the energy I felt earlier. You’ve got that swirl around you, Gemma.”

“What swirl?”

“That tangled-up, heart-racing, fate-stepping-in kind of energy. It’s delicious.”

I groaned into my palm, even as my stomach fluttered. “Please don’t make this a thing.”

“Too late, I already love him.”

“Mom.”

“Tell me everything.”

So I did. Not all the details – god, no – but enough. The beach, the red flashlight. The tour. The kiss, the tension. How he made me laugh, how I’ve never let myself feel this open with someone so quickly. How I wasn’t sure what I was doing, only that I couldn’t seem to stop. 

She listened in silence, a soft background hum of wind chimes and her lighter flicking dancing on the line. I could almost smell her incense. 

“Do you like him?” she asked, gently. 

“Too much.”

“And does he like you?”

I hesitated before saying, “It feels like he does. I mean, I think he does. But I also don’t want to get in my head about it.”

There was a rustle on the other end. “Hang on,” she said. “Let me pull a card.”

I could hear her shuffle her tarot deck, the cards whispering against each other like silk. 

A beat of silence. And then…

“The Lovers.”

My breath caught. “Mom.”

“I swear. Straight jumper. Flew out of the deck like it had something to say.”

I stared at the wall for a second, every hair on my arms rising. “That doesn’t mean it’s, like… him him, right?”

“Not necessarily,” she said, her voice soft now. “But it does mean you’re at a crossroads. And that this connection is real. Whatever it turns into, you’re supposed to run with it. You’re supposed to feel it.”

My throat tightened it. “So I’m not crazy?”

“No,” she said warmly. “You’re enchanted.”

I laughed, half-choking. “That sounds worse somehow.”

“It’s wonderful, baby. It means you’re alive.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Go let yourself have a moment, Gemma. A beautiful one. And remember – if you’re feeling that pull, he is too.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Unless the Lovers turns into the Tower. Then I expect a full update.”

I hung up with a smile, heart full, fear softened into something quieter. Something closer to confidence.

I stood up, adjusted my cover-up, and grabbed my tote. It was time. Time to indulge, to follow the pull. Time to meet this boy under the stars and see where this moment wanted to take me.

I got there first. 

A miracle, really. Nor just being on time, but early.

The path to the spa deck wound around the back of the resort, and I made my way past the well-lit jacuzzis, past the chatty couples and half-drunk honeymooners, until I found the one tucked furthest away from the others, half-shadowed by tall hedges and lit only by a low garden lantern and the stars beginning to pierce the darkening sky. 

Private. Quiet. Perfect.

My heart was thrumming in my chest, and my fingers trembled just slightly as I laid out my towel on one of the nearby lounders and set my tote down beside it. Then, with a soft sigh and a silent prayer to every star in the sky, I slipped off my cover-up and stepped into the water. 

The heat hit instantly. My muscles relaxed, nerves slowly unraveled, and the tension in my shoulders eased like butter on warm bread. I sank lower, arms resting on the edge, eyes tilted skyward. The sky was deep navy, stars emerging in twos and threes, another full moon already climbing. 

I took a long breath in. Held it. Then exhaled. And I let go. 

Of Celeste, of logistics, of fear.

And then –

“Look who beat me here.”

His voice. Low. Pleased. Infuriatingly smug.

I looked over and there he was. Hyunjin, wearing a tight black tank top and linen pants low on his hips, hair tousled like he’d just run his hand through it. He had a small canvas bag slung over one shoulder, and he was carrying… two bottles of champagne. And two glasses.

Oh, god.

“You brought champagne?” I asked, biting my cheek, the corners of my mouth threatening to betray me. 

“Correction,” he said, stepping up onto the stone edge beside me. “I brought expensive champagne. Because you’re worth it, and also because I panicked in front of the minibar guy and now I’m slightly over budget for the month.”

I laughed, shaking my head, heat blooming beneath my cheeks again, this time from something deeper than steam. 

Hyunjin set the glasses down and started opening one of the bottles with theatrical care, but I beat him to the punch. 

Still smiling, still pink-faced, I lifted myself out of the water and sat on the ledge, then reached into my tote. “I brought something too.” I pulled out the three joints, held in their sleek little glass vials, the golden tips catching the low light. 

His eyes widened. “Gemma Parker,” he said slowly, grinning like I’d just revealed a hidden tattoo, “what have you done?”

I raised a brow, sitting up straighter, one leg still dangling in the bubbling water, the other curled beneath me. “Let’s call it borrowed inspiration.”

He whistled low, clearly impressed. “You’re so much cooler than I thought.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I murmured, taking one of the vials and handing it to him as he passed me a freshly poured glass of champagne. 

Our fingers brushed, and the air thickened, just slightly. 

I swirled the champagne in my glass, letting the rim tap lightly against my lip as I watched him sit on the edge of one of the lounge chairs with a smirk. “So,” I said, eyeing his still-clothed frame, “did you bring actual swim trunks to this very ocean-adjacent resort, or is going for a dip in your underwear just your signature move?”

Hyunjin laughed, a warm, chest-deep sound that felt like it rippled through the steam curling between us. “I wasn’t sure what kind of night this would be,” he said, his eyes glinting, “but for the record, I do have swim trunks on. Under my pants. Just in case someone decided to show up with stolen joints and high expectations.”

I snorted into my glass. “Cute.”

He waggled his eyebrows at the pun, and I rolled my eyes – but couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well?” I nodded toward the water, where the steam billowed like breath. “Get in already. It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Last night, you convinced me to get in. Now I get to peer-pressure you.” I leaned in conspiratorially, dropping my voice. “You’re not scared, are you?”

He squinted playfully. “You’re very dangerous when you’re smug.”

“Only mildly.”

Hyunjin stood with a little sigh, dramatically slow, as if changing into swim mode required a personal sacrifice. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushed them down. 

I took a sip of champagne. A very long sip. Because, yeah, the man was wearing swim trunks. But they were black and low-slung, clinging just enough to remind me exactly how close we’d been the night before. 

And then, he pulled his shirt off. Just lifted it over his head and dropped it behind him like it was an inconvenience. 

I blinked twice, followed by a slow, involuntary gulp. I wasn’t proud. But I was only human.

His skin was golden from the sun, his frame lean and strong, just the kind of not fair that made me consider rewriting my entire list of personal weaknesses and replacing it with the mole winking at me from just beside his navel.

He stepped into the hot tub with a hiss and a grin, settling across from me like he hadn’t just casually short-circuited my central nervous system. 

“Tables have turned, huh?” he said, sliding into the water until it lapped at his chest. 

“Mm,” I managed, trying not to stare. “How’s it feel being the one seduced by hot water and peer pressure?”

“Honestly? Incredible.” He reached for the glass tube, sliding the joint out and handing it to me. “Ladies first.”

The sky above us had deepened into full indigo, the stars sharper now, the moon glowing like it knew everything was about to change. 

I nodded and pulled a lighter from my tote, holding the joint to my lips and sparking the tip. Hyunjin leaned back against the tiled edge, arms sprawled lazily, head tilted to the side like he was already drunk on the moment alone. The scent of marijuana and sparkling wine curled into the steam, mixing the air into something much more intoxicating than the vices between us. 

I took a slow inhale, leaned my head back, and exhaled toward the stars. I let go of everything, relaxing my shoulders as I slipped deeper into the water. Because this little corner of the night, the hot water and sweet smoke and the boy across from me with a smug smirk and starlight in his hair –

It all felt like the kind of thing I’d remember for the rest of my life.

We passed the joint between us, fingers brushing every time with a little crackle of tension. Hyunjin’s smile was lazy now, lips glistening from sweat and champagne, eyes glazed with that particular softness that only came from being just the right amount of high.

“Okay,” he said, pointing at me with the joint before taking another hit. “Craziest Celeste story. Go.”

I groaned. “You have to be more specific. She’s built her entire brand on drama.”

“Exactly. So give me the worst. The most unhinged. The most ‘Gemma, take care of this before the media finds out.’”

I laughed into my glass. “Alright. One time, she staged a breakup in a Paris cafe… with a man she wasn’t actually dating.”

He choked on smoke. “What?”

“He was a critic who’d given her a lukewarm review three years earlier. She recognized him, invited him for espresso under the guise of forgiveness, then performed an elaborate, fake emotional breakdown. In French.”

Hyunjin looked absolutely delighted. “Did she cry?”

“Tears, smeared mascara, a glass of red wine that she poured over her own shoe. The whole thing. I had to tip the waiter a hundred euros just to apologize for existing.”

He cackled, head tipping back against the tiled edge. “That’s actually art. I respect it.”

“You would.”

“Now you have to hear about my cousin Chan getting banned from a karaoke bar in Seoul.”

And so it went. 

Stories flowed just like the champagne, warm, fizzy, a little messy. Everything was tinged in giggles and laughter and the glow of shared chaos. 

He told me about his grandmother who could out-dance the teenagers at family gatherings, the cousin who swore he saw a UFO, the time they all got locked out of their rental home and had to climb a second-story balcony in swimwear. 

Somewhere between the second joint and the third glass, my cheeks hurt from smiling. The kind of smiling you only do when your defenses are gone and you’ve forgotten how much you usually hold back. 

And then – without thinking, just floating – I started talking about my mom.

“She’s big into spiritual stuff,” I said, tracing a ripple in the water with my fingertips. “Tarot, astrology, lunar phases. She used to run this little aura reading booth at the farmers market. Had twinkle lights strung up and everything.”

Hyunjin’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Wait, really? That’s so cool.”

“It’s… a lot,” I admitted, laughing softly. “But it’s also kind of magic. Like, I called her today and she immediately knew something was going on. She pulled a tarot card mid-call and said it was The Lovers.”

His brows lifted. “Okay, that’s spooky.”

“Right?”

“What does that mean? Lovers – like actual lovers?”

“Not always,” I said, warming to the explanation. “Sometimes it’s about choices. Alignments. Feeling pulled in a direction you didn’t expect but can’t ignore. But yeah. It’s also about romance. Connection.”

He was watching me closely now, something unreadable flickering across his face. “And she pulled that for you?”

I nodded, suddenly aware of how close we were sitting. Our knees had been brushing off and on all night, but now the space between us felt almost nonexistent.

“She told me… if I’m feeling that kind of pull, there’s a reason.”

The steam curled around us. The stars shimmered just a little brighter.

Hyunjin leaned in, elbows resting on his knees, voice quieter now. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Feeling it.”

My breath caught. I didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, his skin glowing from the heat, his eyes half-lidded but sharp, waiting, like he already knew the answer. 

So I told the truth. 

“Yeah.”

The air thickened for a moment, and then Hyunjin let out a soft laugh – low and breathy, like it had slipped out before he could stop it. 

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet mine. “I’m feeling it too.”

The way he said it, so quiet, so sure,  and just a little amazed, sent a ripple down my spine that had nothing to do with the weed, the champagne, or the heat of the water.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. Not smiling, not teasing, just… seeing.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” he admitted, rubbing his thumb slowly along his glass. “It’s… messing with my head a little.”

My heart was pounding again, no longer nervous, only full.

“Same,” I said, almost whispering. “I keep replaying it. Over and over. The ocean. You. The way it all felt so…” I trailed off, searching for the right word.

Unreal. Intimate. Dangerous. Perfect.

He filled in the blank for me, voice soft. “Easy.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Like it was supposed to happen, even if it didn’t make any sense.”

He tilted his head, his expression open and honest and a little wrecked. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“Not even a little.”

We both laughed gently – not because it was funny, but because we both knew we were too far in to pretend otherwise. 

The warmth of the water pulsed around us, and without really meaning to, we both began to inch closer. Small movements. Little shifts. Knees bumping again and this time staying there.

His thigh brushed mine under the water, and neither of us pulled away. My fingers curled slightly on the edge of the tub. His hand was just there, so close…

And then, he took the joint again, burning low, and brought it to his lips. 

I watched mesmerized by the way his mouth moved, by the way he held the smoke for just a second too long – 

And then he leaned toward me. Closer, closer, until our faces were only inches apart and his eyes flicked between mine and my lips, asking, Are you sure?

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I just parted my lips, and he exhaled slowly, a stream of warm smoke flowing from his mouth into mine. 

I inhaled gently, my eyes never leaving his, the heat from the smoke and the water nothing compared to the heat simmering between us.

I exhaled, slow and shaky, and whispered, “That was unfair.”

Hyunjin smiled. “You like unfair.”

And god help me, I really, really did.

“You’re so proud of yourself,” I muttered, trying not to smile too hard as I reached for the joint again. 

“Obviously.” He leaned back, stretching his arms along the edge of the hot tub like he owned the moment. “That was, like, top-tier movie-level smoothness. Don’t act like you weren’t impressed.”

“I’ve seen better.”

He scoffed. “Lies.”

I giggled into my hand, a little too giggly, a little too floaty, and he caught it immediately. “You’re so high,” he said, a touch smug. 

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Prove it.”

He raised a brow. “You’re currently sitting in a steamy hot tub under the stars in a foreign country with a guy you met three days ago, high off stolen weed, blushing every time our knees touch.”

I blinked. “Okay, yeah. You got me there.”

“Also, you’re grinning like you’re on a game show where the prize is me.”

I splashed him for that one.

He yelped, dramatic as ever, wiping water from his face. “Yah! That was uncalled for.”

“You deserved it.”

We dissolved into laughter, the kind that made my ribs ache and my face hurt. And god, it felt good. It felt easy.

And then, somehow, without warning, everything slowed down again. The giggled faded into soft exhales. The space between us thinned. 

The way he was looking at me shifted from playful to something heavier. And just like gravity, that same magnetic pull from last night came back, humming between us like a live wire. 

And again, just like last night, I couldn’t tell who moved first. Him, me, or if it was the night itself, tugging us together. 

But our lips met in a tentative kiss – soft, hesitant, like we were asking the question all over again. 

Is this still magic?

Are you still thinking about it too?

The answer came fast and overwhelming. In seconds, the kiss deepened, growing hungrier, more sure. Like we’d both just realized we were starving. 

His hands slid around my waist, guiding me closer, and before I could process what was happening, I was in his lap, straddling him in a hot tub, water lapping at my thighs, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of the bubbles. 

He made a low sound in the back of his throat, something rough and wrecked and entirely not okay, and it went straight to my core. His hands gripped my waist like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he couldn’t stand how far away I’d been until now. 

I kissed him like I already knew this wouldn’t last. Like I had to memorize it.

Like if I was going to break the rules, I was going to shatter them.

My hips began to move before I even realized it – a slow, instinctive grind, a rhythm we both fell into like we’d always known the steps. 

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, a groan caught low in his throat as his fingers dug into my hips, not guiding me, just holding on, like he needed something to anchor him. 

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, then dragged my lips along his jaw, down the side of his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. 

His head tilted back slightly, chest rising beneath me, and when I sucked gently just below his ear, he whispered my name like a warning and a prayer all at once. 

“Gemma…” His hands flexed at my sides. “If you don’t stop…”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. 

I pressed a kiss to his collarbone, a soft gasp escaping my lips as his hips bucked slightly beneath mine, and everything in me went hazy and bright and hungry. 

“Tell me to stop then,” I murmured back, brushing my mouth against his again, half-drunk on him, high and tipsy and completely ruined for anything that wasn’t this.

And when his hands slid up my back and our lips met again – harder this time, desperate – I let everything else go. No consequences, no overthinking. Just heat. Just him.

My mind clouded as our tongues wrestled for dominance, my fingers curling into his hair as he smoothed his hands over my spine, hips pressing against each other with slow rocks and messy thrusts. 

I broke the kiss with a breathless gasp, leaning back in his lap, my hands now braced against his shoulders, my chest rising and falling like I’d just run a marathon underwater. 

Hyunjin’s hands were now firmly on my waist, but they loosened slightly, not letting go, just holding me. His head tilted back against the rim of the hot tub, lips parted and swollen, damp hair curling against his forehead, his eyes a little dazed. 

He looked completely wrecked.

I stared. My heart thundered and all I could think was, God, he’s beautiful like this.

His breath was shallow, his jaw clenched like he was trying very hard not to pull me right back in. And the look on his face – somewhere between restraint and ruin – sent a flutter straight through me.

I let out a soft, totally involuntary giggle, biting my lip as I tried to get my brain to start working again. 

His eyes flicked open and narrowed at me, flushed and still a little wild. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” I lied, voice full of too much heat to be convincing. “Maybe. A little.”

“Rude.”

“You look…” I gestured vaguely toward his completely undone state, “kind of like you lost a bet to your self-control.”

He groaned and let his head fall forward, hiding his grin against my collarbone. “You’re evil.”

“You started it.”

“You’re gonna finish it.”

We both laughed then, low and warm and breathless, our bodies still tangled, water swirling gently around us like a cocoon.

Then he pulled back just enough to kiss me again – softer this time, slower, like he needed to remind himself what I tasted like before we let go of this moment.

But he stopped before it could slip into anything more. 

His forehead rested against mine, his voice a little steadier now. “I don’t want to do this here.”

I stilled, searching his eyes. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Not like this. Not when I’m this high and you’re this… distracting.”

I smiled, brushing my nose against his. “I get it.”

“You deserve better than my very exposed public hot tub lap.”

“That’s incredibly specific and chivalrous of you.”

He smirked. “I told you, I contain multitudes.”

I leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth once more, then slowly slid off his lap, the sudden absence of contact making my skin hum with longing. 

We both sank a little deeper into the water, still sitting side by side, the bubbles filling the quiet while we tried to catch our breath. He reached out under the surface, and I met him there, our fingers intertwining, hidden from the rest of the world, as if the connection would be less dangerous that way.

We didn’t talk for a few minutes. Just breathed, just held on to each other. I let myself drift a little closer, thigh pressing against his beneath the water. Then, quietly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, I leaned my head onto his shoulder. 

He didn’t flinch, didn’t make a joke. He just let me rest there. His skin was warm and damp against my cheek, his breath slow and steady beside me. 

We sat there like that, suspended between steam and stars, and then he broke the silence, his voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges. 

“I like this side of you.”

I turned slightly, lifting my head just enough to glance up at him. “What side?”

He looked down at me, his lips tilting in a soft grin. “The rulebreaker. The girl who steals weed from her tyrant boss and seduces boys in public hot tubs.”

I laughed, nudging him with my shoulder. “I did not seduce you.”

“You literally climbed into my lap.”

“That was gravity.”

“Sure it was.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile lingered, something lighter and more delicate than before. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m not the total stick-in-the-mud you thought I was.”

“I never thought that.” He looked at me again, and there was no teasing in his eyes now. Only warmth. “I think you’ve been surviving. For a long time. And maybe… tonight you just let yourself live a little.”

My heart pulled tight at that. Because he wasn’t wrong. And somehow, he’s seen that without me ever saying it. 

I blinked up at him, feeling the words catch in my throat, but I didn’t need to respond. Not when he was looking at me like he already understood. 

We both turned our gaze upward. The sky was completely dark now, an endless canvas of stars glittering above us. They looked bright from here, like they had something to say. 

Neither of us spoke for a while. We just watched the stars, listened to the soft bubbling of the tub, felt our hands still joined beneath the water, hidden from everything but the truth of how we felt. 

Finally, I exhaled and whispered, “We should probably head in.”

Hyunjin didn’t move right away. But then he nodded once. “Yeah.”

And still, we stayed just a little longer. Because even though the night was ending, neither of us was quite ready to let go of the version of ourselves we’d found here – brave, bare, and no longer pretending.

The air was cooler outside the spa deck, kissed with salt and the faint perfume of night-blooming jasmine spilling over from hanging pots. The stone path was dimly lit, the kind of hush over the resort that only came when most of the world had finally gone to sleep. 

Hyunjin walked beside me in comfortable silence, our towels slung over our shoulders, the warmth from the hot tub still clinging to our skin. Our hands kept brushing, fingertips tapping like they were testing a question neither of us had spoken aloud. 

Until, finally, he just… took it. No words, just his hand finding mine, fingers sliding between each other like they belonged there, like we’d done this a hundred times already. 

I looked over at him, surprised by how casual he looked about it – except for the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Of course he was smug about it. But now, I didn’t mind one bit.

The silence was sweet, the kind you never get with strangers. But Hyunjin didn’t feel like a stranger anymore.

The hallway was quiet, shadows stretching across the tile, the flicker of a wall sconce catching the curve of his cheekbone. I turned to him, still holding his hand as we reached my room. 

“Do you want to come in?” My voice came out soft, careful – not desperate, not casual either. Just real. 

His eyes flicked to the door, then back to me. “I want to,” He said, and god, the way he said it – low and wrecked like he was already imagining it – made heat rush to my cheeks.

But then he shook his head. “But I’m not going to.”

I raised a brow. “Oh? Mr. Red Flashlight is suddenly a gentleman?”

He chuckled, stepping closer, his free hand coming up to brush a piece of damp hair behind my ear. “I want this to be something, Gemma. Not just a thing that happened because we were high and half-naked in a hot tub.”

I scoffed, even as my chest fluttered. “How dare you romanticize this like a functioning adult.”

“I know, I hate it,” he said, grinning as he leaned in, “but I’d really like to kiss you again now.”

“Then shut up and do it.”

And he did.

He kissed me like it was goodbye – slow and deep and lingering – except we both knew it wasn’t. It was more like a promise. 

He pulled me closer, his hands framing my face, thumbs brushing the tops of my cheeks like he didn’t want to miss a single inch. 

I curled my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, kissed him back until I was breathless and dizzy and still wanting more. 

When we finally parted, he didn’t step back right away. He just touched his forehead to mine and whispered, “Goodnight, Parker.”

My voice barely came out. “Night, Hyunjin.”

He let go slowly, fingers lingering for one last squeeze before he turned and walked back down the hall, towel slung over his shoulder, head tilted up like he was still watching the stars. 

And I just stood there in the doorway, grinning like an idiot, heart racing. Because I didn’t know where this was going. But it felt damn good.

The door shut softly behind me as I stepped into my room finally, the quiet hum of the air conditioning greeting me instantly. I stood there for a second in the stillness, the warm glow from the bedside lamp casting a gentle light across the room, as if the night hadn’t already unraveled me in the most unexpected, exhilarating way. 

My heart was still racing, and I still couldn’t stop smiling. 

Even as I peeled off my damp bikini and stepped into the shower, the steam rising around me, I was replaying everything: His laugh. His hands. The way his fingers flexed against my skin like he didn’t want to let me go.

I pressed my hands to the cool tile, letting the water beat down over my shoulders, trying to wash away the ache of how much I already wanted to see him again. It didn’t work. 

Once I was clean and dry, dressed in a soft oversized t-shirt, I padded over to the bed and flipped open my laptop, the screen casting a glow across my legs as I sat cross-legged, heart still buzzing, fingertips tapping without purpose. 

I opened my calendar and pulled up Celeste’s itinerary, eyes scanning tomorrow’s events. 

Boat tour along the coast.

Luxury, obviously. Charter, probably. There’d be wine, photos, “casual” poses that I’d need to carefully document for her social channels. 

I sighed and made a mental note to charge the good camera. 

Then I clicked away from the itinerary and opened my musings from earlier in the day, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

For a moment, I just stared. Still warm from the water. Still high from his hands. And then, I started to type. Not notes or outlines, just feeling, just writing, messy, emotional, and free.

About a girl who’d been surviving for so long she forgot what it felt like to burn. About a boy who looked at her like she was made of constellations and chaos. About a moment by the sea that didn’t need to make sense to feel like fate. 

The words came fast, as if they’d been waiting for a crack in me to finally escape through. I wrote until my eyes stung, until my fingers were sore, until the stars outside faded into the softest blue. 

And when I finally closed my laptop and flopped back onto the pillows, the world outside was still and quiet. But inside me – everything had changed.

[xoxonyxx]

What Should've Been (Azriel x Reader)

A/N Apologies for any grammar mistakes. This hasn't been spellchecked. Also this isn't really a part 2 to What Once Was b/c it doesn't follow where WOW ended, it's more like a glimpse into the past when Azriel was falling for Y/N. Hope I break some hearts a little more. Enjoy.

It was during one of the times that Rhysand had brought both Cassian and Azriel back home to visit. He had been trying to tame the eagerness he felt at the thought of seeing you again which was no easy feat. Lately, Azriel had no control over his feelings when it came to you, his internal struggle wreaked havoc in his thoughts. You were Rhysand's little sister and a dear friend to him, one of the very few he had and he knew you deserved someone so much better than him. So he’d try to push down whatever inappropriate feelings he’d have and attempt to convince himself that the only reason his heart stumbled upon itself when he heard your voice was because he was overwhelmingly happy you were near as any friend would be. The list was endless of how many senseless and idiotic reasons he tried to convince himself of.

Obviously, it was an ongoing battle that he wouldn’t wager on being the victor of.

Unfortunately for him though, he hadn’t seen you last night when they had arrived due to it being so late already and this morning you had already been up and about before anyone in the house awoke. 

You had been gone all day but that hadn’t been odd as you were often off with your own friends usually getting into trouble or entertaining yourself outside of the castle when your father was in a foul mood. However, once you had missed dinner he had been tasked with finding you by your worried mother as she saw how the sun began to disappear and you still had yet to return. That’s how he found himself searching all of your favorite hideouts only to find you sitting near the edge of the lake surrounded by books, illuminated by lanterns all around you and the moonlight above. 

“So this is where you’ve been hiding all day.” He sighed as he approached you, watching as your concentration broke upon hearing him. 

You turned to him with a small glimmer in your eyes and a hint of a smile on your full lips, so small that if he were anyone else, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“If I had known you were missing my company, I would’ve made sure to not leave you all day Az. We all know how needy you can get when you’re not given the proper attention.” 

Gods, what he would do to see your smile but as of late you had seemed to carry around a bitter sadness in your eyes that he couldn’t figure out. And no matter how many times he or Rhysand and even Cassian asked, you shrugged it off and said nothing to shed light on the issue. 

“Well how about we try not to disappear for a whole day next time, can’t have me starved of your attention, princess.” He responded as he took a seat next to you on the grass, close enough to feel your warmth. His shadows immediately made their chaotic way to you, gliding up your arm as you reached out to caress them. He blushed as he tried to restrain the shadows and call them back to him. 

Giving up when he couldn’t gain control, he finally looked around at the mess of books surrounding you. “Looks like you took every book from the library. What are you up to?” 

You glanced down at the book you were holding on your lap before closing it shut, fully turning to face him causing him to do the same. His eyes trailing your face, appreciating the glow the stars and the moon shone upon you, committing the image to memory and thanking every being in the universe for allowing him to exist in your presence. 

“I’ll tell you as long as you promise to listen to everything I have to say first and ask questions once I’m done.” Curiosity filled him before he gave a nod allowing you to continue. “Ok well for the past month I’ve been collecting every scripture I could possibly find on anything written on Shadowsingers which was incredibly difficult might I add but I should’ve expected that considering how rare you are. Anyway, I tried to learn everything I could find on where your shadows come from and what they are, even on how they work which by the way they’re actually so incredible Az, you have no idea. I went down the rabbit hole and actually found out that although very difficult it’s possible to hide from them.” 

You paused for a second, taking in a nervous breath before looking into his eyes and continuing.

“ And I don’t know… I just thought that getting to know them would make them a little less terrifying to see them as a part of you?” He silently stared for a moment, taking in everything you had said until he finally spoke.

“You did this for me?” He asked, softness lacing his voice as he felt warmth flood through him. 

You gave a slight nod as you played with the rings on your fingers. 

“Why?” He had to ask, he had to know why you would put in all this effort for someone as undeserving as him.

You shifted slightly, reaching out to grab his hand, stroking his scarred hand as light as a feather and with the softest voice he’s ever heard from you up until today, you respond with an answer that sets his heart off racing. 

“You’re my friend Az, I’d do anything for you. And I just want you to see yourself as I see you. You think that no one notices but I do, I see how difficult it’s been for you to adapt to your shadows even after all these years and how desperate you are at hiding them at times and I want you to know that there’s no need. No need for the shame that fills your eyes whenever you catch a glimpse of your hands, no need for the embarrassment that you feel when you can’t control your shadows. There’s no need to hide, they’re a part of what makes you who you are and you as a whole are perfect Azriel.” 

His breath caught in his throat as emotion consumed him and from that moment on he knew that there was no coming back from loving you. He had never met a person with your heart, the heart that loved so fiercely and with so much passion that it could bring him to his knees. You would hold his own tainted heart in your hands until you decided you no longer wanted it and even then he wasn’t sure he had it in him to take it back. 

So for the rest of the night, you laid side by side underneath the stars explaining everything you had learned while he listened attentively, hoping you didn’t realize that you hadn’t let go of his hand yet. 

And as he rested his eyes upon you, determination flooded his veins and realization struck him. He could no longer be just friends with you. He could no longer pretend that he didn't burn with need to have you at his side, could no longer bring himself to forget that you were his very last thought before he drifted off into slumber and that it was you who consumed his every waking thought.

[nadzhosny2]

Memory is an extraordinary thing

Being gifted with a ridiculously good memory is going to be my downfall someday. But my memory is very selective. I might not remember what I had for breakfast this morning but I can remember the very first time I rode a train (I was 19 and it was in Paris *insert boujie face here* Kindly allow my little flex, it doesn’t happen often). I can’t, for the life of me, remember the national anthem but I can remember the names of all my teachers in primary school. Why? I haven’t the faintest idea.

I’ve come to believe that my selective memory comes from the fact that I’m an unbelievably sentimental person. I like to collect keepsakes consisting of the most trivial things imaginable; a ticket stub from a movie, the receipts of every single book I’ve ever bought tucked into the back cover, the script for the first school play I was ever a part of, my secondary school PE and school shirts that have the various signatures and little notes from my classmates scribbled on it from my last day of school before final exams, my final international law exam paper from my university. All little things that might seem meaningless or insignificant to others but hold enormous weight to me.

That got me thinking about memory, the most beautiful and terrible phenomenon of our lives and how it can be triggered by the smallest of things. A particular smell that reminds you of a loved one, a song that reminds you of a party, a quote that reminds you of your favourite teacher, a scar that reminds you of a trauma.

We hold so much history in our lives without ever realising it. Every single one of us has an ever increasing library of memories held within us that can be brought to the surface by a tiny stimulus.

Most people take pictures or videos of their lives to remember or document a certain event or experience. Some have journals dedicated to recounting their lives, recording the significant and the mundane, immortalising those moments in time and the emotions that come with them that they could come back to and reminisce.

I’ve always loved the phrase, ‘a trip down memory lane’. Our memory lanes lead to a memory universe. The universe is the store of all our experiences of life that we have collected that’s constantly expanding, always stretching out with the passing years until we draw our last breath, which then will be ingrained in someone else’s memory universe.

Imagine that? How marvellous is that thought, albeit a bittersweet one. That your end will be recorded in someone else’s memory, and theirs in another’s and so on and so on until the end of time. How one can never truly be forgotten as long as others keep them alive in their memory. That’s the closest thing to immortality we’ve got.

Think about this for a second, all of recorded history, everything we know about the past, the events that occurred, how the ancients lived, the battles fought, the stories behind the greatest marvels of the world come from someone’s memory! Someone who had the stroke of brilliance to write it down, sculpt it or paint it to make it tangible for all to see and remember. What a treasure.

Memory is an absolute necessity for the existence of history, without it, we would know nothing. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we didn’t have the power to remember? Stories passed down from generation to generation, traditions, customs all coming from someone’s memory of it. It’s absolutely astounding!

And all this can be traced back to our power to remember. This wonderful and terrible ability to recall our lives sometimes with excruciating detail or otherwise with hazy, distorted images and sounds.

I’d never fully appreciated my memory until right this moment.

N.B: I wrote this at midnight, on my phone, in the dark and have gone down a rabbit hole with memory but it all makes sense which is an achievement for me. Thanks for sticking to the end of my spiralling train of thought! ❤

[mynotsohealthyobsession]

Unexpected bond

Book: Bloodbound (between book 2 and 3)

Pairing: Adrian Raines x Lily Spencer (friendship) / Mention of Adrian Raines x MC

Words: 1.960

Rating: Mature

Warning: Angst / Mention of violence, death and harassment

**Tags in the reblog**

His jacket was on the floor, where he had thrown it a couple hours ago. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up as his forearms rested on his knees. He had his eyes shut and his back against the wall. His breathing was erratic and faltering, incapable of calming down. The powerful aura that he used to have, had completely disappeared, leaving him broken and defeated, looking as terrible as he felt inside. Whoever knew him beforehand and saw him at this moment, would doubt that that was actually the same Adrian Raines.

His hands had remnants of dried blood, the same that had coloured his white shirt, red. His body was still healing some wounds, cuts and a few broken bones, and bruises as result of their confrontation with Gaius. Every time he breathed, he felt a stinging pain in his chest but he couldn't care less. He had decided to not move from there no matter how long it took. Maybe she woke up before the expected, scared or disorientated. Maybe her bloodkeeper condition made it different for her and she needed some kind of help. Or maybe… Simply, he just couldn't leave her side. Whatever the reason was, he had decided to stay there, in Raines Corp.’s basement, near the sarcophagus in which, and he desperately hoped it was the case, Amy's body was changing, slowly transforming into a vampire.

As a couple of tears slipped on his cheeks, passing through the bloody print that her hand left on his skin as he held her, he couldn't avoid thinking how afraid he was of losing her, to face the world without her. Amy had saved them, after he had promised her he would protect her, she sacrificed herself for them. For him.

He squeezed his eyes tightly, letting his head fall back, against the wall. No matter how hard he tried, the images kept replaying over and over in his mind, in a horrible and constant loop. Amy taking the branch, getting close to Gaius. Her pained gasp as the sword went through her chest and emerged from her back. How his throat hurt from yelling her name, incapable of doing anything else but watch. The fire in her eyes, using the last of her strength to stab Gaius as her blood slipped down in the hilt of the sword onto Gaius' hand. Her little smile before she noticed that her knees gave up and hit the floor first as the rest of her body fell down. How quickly her skin became pale and cold as he held her, knowing that there was only one thing that could save her. How, mortally injured, she cupped his face, almost happy that they had 'won', even if right now it felt like he was about to lose everything that was important to him.

"Adrian?" His eyes flushed open, seeing Lily down the stairs. Her eyes puffy and bloodshot, all her usual energy and almost childlike happy mood, had disappeared. For the first time since he had met her, she seemed like an elderly woman who had lost against life itself. She sat beside him and offered him a pack of blood and what seemed to be a clean shirt.

"Thank you Lily, but I don't need it."

"You do." She gave him a broken look. "You think she would be okay seeing you still hurt?" She placed both things between them. "You are important to her, Adrian. She did what she did to save us. To save you."

"She shouldn't have done it! Now she's--" His voice abruptly cut, incapable to even put into words his fears and torments.

"I know." Lilly replied, distractedly fiddling with one of her rings. "But she's brave and her heart is bigger than anyone I've ever met." A pained smile lifted her lips a little. "Amy would never watch us die if she could avoid it. You know that." She fixed her stare on him, her voice a bit shattered. "Exactly like you or any of us would have done for her if the rolls were reversed."

"But I couldn't." His mind returned to the night before, when they had sleep holding each other. It felt so far away. "I promised her I would protect her no matter what and I couldn't. I failed her." It was the first time they shared this kind of conversation and time alone. It was obvious that Lily had a stronger relationship with Jax, like Adrian had with Kamilah. But, even if they were worried and sad too, right now, the pain Lily and Adrian were feeling, was different from theirs and had brought them together. "I should never have allowed her to get involved in this." To his surprise, she giggled.

"If you think you could have told her what to do, I'm sorry but you don't know her as well as you think." Adrian chuckled a bit alongside her. Lily was absolutely right about that.

"Did she ever tell you about the first time she saw me transformed, on her first day of work?" He wasn't sure why he asked her that. Probably because it was the moment that he realized that she would be special for him, even if he didn't know how much.

"Only a few parts."

"In almost 300 years a lot of people had learned the way she did about all this. And most… If not all of them, begged to forget, to return to their old lives." Despite himself, he smiled at the memory. "Amy… She just stood there. For a little while, she got scared, of course, but… She didn't run or scream. She started to ask me questions, curious, looking at me the exact same way she did all that day. Before her eyes, I was still… Me. She even joked about Nicole being dramatic during the feeding." He let out a sorrowful and shaking sigh. "I took her to Priya's fashion show and she told the security that she was my partner instead of my assistant." They both softly laughed.

"I think she had a crush with you almost instantly." Lily crossed her legs under her. "That night, before returning to the office, we chatted a bit. When I asked her about how you were, her answer was, and I'm quoting here 'super hot'." She said smiling at the same time that her palm dried her cheeks. "She was so happy to be able to stay in New York."

"It was an absolutely mutual feeling." Adrian passed his fingers through his hair, feeling an ache in his heart as his memory returned to the first time he saw her, that she had given him one of her beautiful smiles. "That night, she cut her hand with a glass. All the vampires around were drawn towards the fresh blood, to her."

"I know the feeling." She sadly murmured. "She mentioned that part actually, that you helped her and stood in front of her."

"I will never forget how she hugged me from behind. How when she was scared, she trusted me." His eyes started to burn with fresh tears. "She not only didn't allow the debriefing, but also convinced me to show her around the library." The tears ran free on his face and he didn't try to stop them. "She's brave and stubborn in the most wonderful way."

"I think you are not aware how important you are to her." They stood in silence, lost in their thoughts and memories until Lily talked again. "Amy had always tried to watch over you."

"I know she did." His voice was a low raspy whisper.

"Actually, I suspect you don't know how much." After a pause she sighed, as she had made a decision. "Amy is going to kill me for this…" She muttered. "There's something that she never told you." Adrian noticed the subtle change in her voice. "But I'm convinced you deserve to know." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "After the trial where Vega framed you and they declared you guilty, everybody started to discuss how to divide your stuff and..." She stood in silence, her eyes filled with doubts.

"What happened, Lily?" He shifted his gaze to look at her, taking his attention from the coffin for the first time.

"Priya grabbed her from the throat and 'claimed' her for herself." Lily shivered a bit beside him as his blood seemed to boil and freeze at the same time. "She said that she wanted to break her. And after forcing her to watch you die, maybe kill her."

"Was she hurt?" Adrian frowned, clearly disturbed as a new wave of anguish went through his factions. He was conscious of all the times she had been in danger because of him but discovering that there were occasions that she hadn't told him to protect him, it felt like a powerful hand grabbed his heart and squeezed it slowly and extremely painfully.

"Kamilah stopped her almost immediately but she had a bruise around the neck for a couple weeks. She covered it with makeup."

"Amy never told me about that." He lowered his face, both of his hands holding it, seeming overwhelmed as his fingers ran through his hair.

"I know. She didn't want you to know. She was sure you would feel guilty even when it wasn't your fault." Lily stared at his eyes, he never had seen her gaze so intense. "What do you think was the first thing she said, when we left the temple after that?" Adrian stared at her back, unsure if he wanted to know. "She asked Kamilah how we could help you, to save you." Lily sadly smiled at him. "Even back then she didn't wanted to lose you. That's why she did what she did tonight."

He remembered the deep sadness and concern he saw in her when their eyes locked to each other as he was dragged away. The softness of her hand and words when she had found him in The Baron's dungeon. The happiness he felt when he saw her in front of him. "I didn't want to lose her either." He forced himself to say the words that couldn't stop repeating internally. "I don't want to lose her. I can't. I need her, she just can't di--" The lump in his throat cutted his voice, incapable of ending the last word.

"I don't know if she had heard you but… If it's worth something, I know she loves you too, Adrian." Lily murmured, her voice gruff. "You are the most important person to her." Her hands dried her cheeks. "Well, the second more important at least. Best friends and roommates rights, you know."

"I'll take it." Adrian smiled before his face fell again. "And it's worth more than you can imagine." His eyes fixed again on the sarcophagus. "I just hope to have the chance to tell it to her like she deserves. And maybe hear her say it back."

Lily took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, standing up. "Are you sure you want to stay here?"

"Yes." She nodded and headed to the stairs. "Lily." He called her and she stopped to watch him. "Thank you. For the blood and everything afterwards."

"You are welcome, Adrian." She leaned against the wall for a minute. "I just know how sad she would be seeing you like this." She stared at the sarcophagus one last time, thinking the same thing that has been in Adrian's mind the last two hours and couldn't dare to face it: how silent the coffin was, without even a faint heartbeat or shallow breathing coming from it. Almost like it was empty.

✨

[curiousconch]

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 7)

Part 7: Round and around we go

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The attack in McGraw Byrne's offices reveals a deeper conspiracy that runs to the top of the law firm, which Alex pursued head on. But when the dust settles, she is forced to face the music of her own troubled mind.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.1k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / themes of violence, and trauma, language. Reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A week after, New York City

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The gunman panted as he ran through the dark and unfamiliar side streets of New York, the covering on his face not helping alleviate the sense of panic overtaking him.

His current state of mind paled in comparison with how calm he walked into the offices of that freakishly bright law firm.

The task was simple - get the phone and get out.

But when he found himself face to face with the woman who'd sent his life into a whirling clusterfuck, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

He missed.

A brute of a man rammed into him right before he took a shot. Who knew corporate slaves can be combative? By then he knew he was fucked. He snatched the phone then ran.

An earlier scope of the building gave him an easy way out, but the shitty maze of the streets of the business district didn't give much of a reprieve.

I fucking hate this city.

He didn't know how long he'd been running, not until he had to stop by the dead end wall in front of him.

Blue and red flashing lights caught him in a daze, his breath heavy, realizing he was boxed in by police officers in an alley.

"Freeze!" one had shouted. "Raise your arms over your head!"

He didn't have a choice. He's not willing to die for his uncle, nor take another sentence in prison. That scumbag wasn't worth it, regardless of how many times that man tried drilling the thought into his head.

I'm tired of this shit anyway. Though I'll miss the perks.

He raised his hands, then felt his knees buckle when someone kicked him from behind, forcing him to the ground. Someone pulled the ski mask off his head, his face now exposed for everyone to see.

He was the younger, spitting image of Koenig's CEO. Except for those piercing blue eyes.

Now everyone will know, he thought. Poor uncle Peter will be burned to the stakes after he spill every single sordid detail of all the crimes Max was ordered to do.

From that pretty little celebrity in L.A., the poisoned man from Oklahoma, the researchers from Massachusetts, and all of those other victims in between.

Good thing he kept all those souvenirs. He will prove to them that he was just a pawn.

The pawn that was Maximilian Koenig Cornell.

**

A few days after, Rooftop of McGraw Byrne

Alex took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette between her fingers, standing by the edge of the fancy rooftop lounge. She exhaled a plume of smoke, the friction in her throat giving herself a temporary reprieve from her chaotic state of mind.

By the rest of the world's standards, it should have been a beautiful day. The skies above her was indigo, filled with streaks of orange from the setting sun. The peacefulness of it a far cry from the storm that was brewing inside her.

Success shouldn't feel this way. She was having a hard time basking in her recent victories.

Alex was just named junior partner this morning, after successfully taking Peter Koenig and Sadie McGraw down. Max Cornell, who turned out to be Koenig's nephew slash hitman, had confessed. He revealed who really was pulling the ropes, all in the form of well-kept call logs and text messages.

The backlash of it all reached McGraw Byrne's founding partner. The same form of proof exposed Sadie's hand on the Koenig class action suit, as well as her involvement in tipping off authorities to paint Marcus Sharpe as Aliana's murderer. The intent was to veer suspicion away from Koenig, making thousands of dollars along the way.

Alex had completely unraveled the conspiracy, with the help of Aislinn and Gigi. Beau, surprisingly, was more than participative. But it was obvious for everyone at the firm who led the crackdown, and it didn't take long for recognition to come to pass.

In everyone else's eyes, she emerged the winner.

And now, when all is said and done, there was nothing to escape to.

Alex can no longer disassociate herself from the sight of the gun barrel held by the ghost she tried to forget all these years.

The sound of applause, soured only by Martin Vanderweil's display of pain-in-the-ass arrogance, should have made her want to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Instead, here she was, wallowing with herself to be overcame by old bad habits.

What happened in the library was etched in her mind, clear as day. The memory of that close encounter with death, being brought up to life by the lack of distractions, made her shudder.

Every waking hour was consumed by the man with the haunting blue eyes that meant death. Those same eyes from the past that suffocated her for so long.

A decade spent running away from them, yet they still caught up with her.

She worked so hard not to remember, not to let it bring her down, for it not to be her end game. She's at the top of the fucking career ladder, yet why can't she still have a sense of freedom?

Everything just felt wrong. She felt out of place.

Lost in her frustrations, she didn't hear the whirring of the elevator and the approaching footsteps that followed.

"Thought I'd find you here," Gabe said, stopping inches away from her.

It took everything of her not to swivel and look at him, opting to curse at herself for how her body quickly relaxed by the softness of his voice.

The storm clouding her mind instantly dissipated, leaving her bare. Gabe's presence made the oceans within her stand still, as if awaiting to be stirred.

"Didn't want to be found," she mumbled, closing her lips on the still burning stick of nicotine. Alex struggled to keep her gaze steady at the slowly darkening skyline.

I know. Gabe wanted to say. He knew that finding her here, seeking out the comfort of isolation screamed her desire to be left alone. He had seen her internal turmoil, hiding behind the air of stoicism she projected for everyone else.

That's why he was never more determined to find her. He wanted, no, needed, to be there for her.

Gabe knew he'd been a dick to walk out from her that morning in L.A., right after he admitted what he felt for her.

But there was rarely an opportunity to make it right. Whenever there was, there was no getting through her. No matter how much he tried to reach out, to make her see that he regretted his actions that day, she wouldn't let him in.

He couldn't blame her.

Gabe told himself he'd give her time, to give her space. However, fate had other plans.

He almost lost her that night, and it was a wake up call. When he watched helplessly as Cornell aimed at her, something in him shifted. He's no longer stuck in a limbo questioning who Alex was for him, or why he constantly wanted to be near her, wanting to make everything right.

He was decided to run after her, to stay with her, no matter what. He was done chasing after dreams of the past.

Alex was his future.

"Can't get rid of me easily," he settled on that reply, leaning on the glass railing beside her.

"Really?" she quipped sardonically. "I honestly didn't take you to be the staying type."

That had to sting.

He knew he'd hurt her by leaving, so he deserved that. It wasn't enough to make his resolve waver.

"I am," he insisted. "It just takes me some time to find my footing."

She lifted a hand to him. "Don't go there, Gabe. Just don't - "

"I'm not walking away from you again, Alex," he professed.

She whirled to face him with a look of sullen resignation. "I know."

Deep down, she wanted him too. But not in the fucked-up state she was in. She needed to think, she needed to recover, she needed to get a grip on herself.

But she needed to do it alone.

"I can't deal with us now, it's just.." She sighed. "Everything else that's happened is too overwhelming."

Gabe deflated.

It was the first time he heard her admit defeat. He's gotten used to seeing her fighting every step of the way, that finding her in this state of hopelessness felt alien to him. His chest tightened, hating himself on taking part of what pushed her to breaking point.

"I need to take a step back from everything, Gabe," she said, almost begging. "That includes you."

"What do you mean?"

"Can I to take some time off?" she pleaded, wrapping herself in her own arms. "I have to hit pause for now."

"For how long, Alex?" Gabe's voice was strained. She just made it clear that he wasn't what she needed.

Still he hoped. So he held his breath.

Alex thought quietly for a few moments, before looking back at him in determination. He found a semblance of the Alex he knew.

"A couple of weeks," she answered with a tone of finality.

He didn't want to. But in his heart of hearts, he had to respect her decision. He understood that even the strongest needed to heal. Even the brave Alex Keating.

"I'll arrange it," he relented, closing his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching out to her. "Anything else?"

She hesitated, biting her lower lip before she continued. "Actually, there is one more thing."

"What is it?" Gabe watched intently as she raised her head to look at him, her mouth curved into that familiar signature smirk that he'd grown to chase after.

"Will you wait for me?"

As per her usual modus operandi, Alex took his breath away by her unpredictability. Almost immediately, Gabe wrapped his arm around her to pull her close. He raised his free hand and let his knuckles brush against her cheek.

He smiled softly, a tad afraid that by holding her this close could break her. And yet, the effect she had on him couldn't be stopped from spilling out, as if it was what he wanted to say all along.

"I've waited my whole life for you, so what's a few more weeks?"

Alex beamed at him, relieved. "I knew you'll be up for the challenge."

"Because I care about you, Alex," he whispered.

"I care about you too."

Alex then dared to take it forward.

Before he had the chance to move away, she tiptoed and surprised him with a tender kiss on the cheek.

Gabe wasn't able to react as quickly, the contact catapulting his senses. Just as his mind plunged back to the ground, she was already walking away, the clicking of her black heels syncopating along with the beating drum inside his chest.

His sight followed her until she stood by herself in the employee elevator, her brown-eyed gaze melting him with earnest affection. As the doors shut closed, so did the heart of Gabriel Ricci.

It shut down in anticipation of her return.

**

Two months later

Mind hazy and craving for Chinese food, Gabe had asked the driver to take a quick detour.

He had just flown from Los Angeles, spending two weeks to assist on a big hotel chain M&A. He got out of LaGuardia at around 10pm, and now his jet lag and empty stomach were taking its toll on him.

The car stopped at the familiar block, and he got out of the vehicle, grabbing his suitcase. He walked the rest of the way, enjoying the craziness of New York City on a Friday night.

For a minute, it reminded him of her.

He heard rumors of her coming back, but HR had been heftily secretive on all things concerning her. With the firm fidgety over Vanderweil's recent harassment lawsuits, he erred on the safe side and didn't poke further.

It didn't take long for him to find Hoi On. Once inside, he greeted the servers in flawless Cantonese, striding straight to the counter.

As he gave his order, the kitchen crew brought out a bag of hunger-inducing takeout box. He was almost tempted to bargain for it instead of waiting for another 20 minutes. Until...

"Order complete for Alex!"

Gabe froze.

His senses were instantly filled by the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla and the echoing beat of heels hitting the floor.

There was no doubt about who was approaching the counter.

He found her standing beside him, the woman he'd missed every single day since he saw her last. The powerhouse junior partner with the easy smile and confident aura.

The woman whose return Gabe eagerly waited for.

"So," Alex began. "I take it tinsel town's fusion of cuisines can't match authentic Brooklyn takeout?" she teased, smiling at him in the same red dress she wore the first time she walked into his office.

He looked down over her - closely looking at the tiny changes in her features. Regardless, she looked more beautiful, taking note of the longer, loose tendrils of brunette hair framing her face.

"No," Gabe shook his head in amazement, his lips breaking into a lopsided grin. "Everything else couldn't compare."

She chuckled. The radiance of her laughter showed Gabe she was really back, and that she was finally ready.

"I bet they couldn't," she winked.

In an instant, Gabe's heart awoke from its slumber. It's as if it knew that this time, the wait was over.

The chase has come full circle.

Author's Notes: This may be the end of this series, but Alex & Gabe will return.

How did you find it? Let me see in your comments/reblogs! Thank you! 💖

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily  @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill @kachrisberry @weaving-in-words @peonierose @wanderingamongthewildflowers

@choicesficwriterscreations @lawsofattractionfanfiction

[izzabeean]

Chapter 9 : Anticipation

SUMMARY

Ushijima makes an appearance at your group outing, and you try to ignore his presence. But, of course, it’s easier said than done in this case.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,344

content : profanity, mild violence, depiction of injuries

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : Is the world so small that Y/N keeps running into Ushijima? Perhaps in this story, yes. This week has been a bit slow creatively for me, I don't feel my writing is the strongest in this chapter. But here we are, things are heating up and I'm happy to provide.

Post Thursday evenings PST, if not latest by Friday.

masterlist

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Everything feels so surreal as you lock eyes with Ushijima from across the table. He doesn’t smile or say anything, he just looks at you with his empty gaze like this is the first time meeting. Ever. Your heartbeat starts to thump faster conjuring up a lump in your throat that cannot be swallowed. Your breathing is shallow and your hands start to sweat as you dig your nails into your legs.

Why didn’t you turn around when your instincts told you to?

Why did you talk yourself into thinking this was a good idea?

However, for some reason, here you are. The sequence of events leading up to this point doesn’t make any sense. Even when you were dating, you wouldn’t run into him this much, so why now? Why all these dumb coincidences? There’s no room for you to heal when you keep seeing him like this.

“Hi,” you squeal, temporarily incapacitated by the confused looks from your other groupmates.

But your high pitch voice produces shockwaves through Oikawa’s system as you quickly introduce him and Iwaizumi to which Sara introduces Ushijima to all three of you. Then it becomes apparent that Ushijima hasn't said anything to Sara about you.

It’s sublime how quickly you push down the devastation bubbling at the surface and you wonder how it is even possible for you to force a smile in Sara’s direction. Clearing your throat you take a seat. Ushijima has stopped staring now and takes a swig of the chilled beer sitting in front of him. Your mouth feels dry from the nerves that are trying to drag your spirits down. If you were going to survive this torture, you’re most definitely not going to be sober. Grabbing the waiter's attention, you order yourself a beer as you feel yourself on the brink of a heart attack.

“You ok?” Oikawa mumbles knowing well that turning to your least favorite drink is a bad sign. It’s very clear to him this evening isn't going to go very well, seeing as you are already on edge from Ushijima’s surprise appearance.

“Mhm,” you hum shooting him a smile. “I’m fine. Totally chill.”

“You know, we can leave,” Oikawa whispers. “You’re not obligated to be here.”

And let him win? you think. I don’t think so.

“No, I’m fine,” you lie, biting your lip. It’s no time for you to concede, you just gotta ride this one out, show him how much better you’re doing without him. It’s the only thing to get back at him for everything so grossly unforgivable that he’s done.

The waiter returns with your drink placing it down in front of you. Nothing has looked so relieving and thirst-quenching before; the cold and crisp-looking glass filled to the top of light amber liquid with a dollop of airy foam. You pick it up and throw it back, chugging the heavy and sour alcohol. Then you think, maybe you shouldn’t have done that as you strike the glass down on the table. Licking your lips, you notice the startled looks everyone gives you at your uncharacteristic action.

“Should we order food,” Sara interrupts the weird tension which segues everyone back to talking amongst themselves.

Your stomach starts to swirl as you’ve come to realize that drinking that beer was probably the worst thing you could do while it’s empty. But as you study the menu, nothing seems to scream appetizing. Not when you can see in your peripheral Ushijima and Sara sharing a menu while discussing what they want to order. It makes you sick.

The restaurant is loud, but your thoughts are louder as you sit there wondering if anyone else can hear them. It hurts to see him here in front of you beside her. She most definitely doesn’t know about your history with Ushijima just by the way she’s acting around him. Sara doesn’t seem maniacal enough to do something so disrespectful to someone she barely knows. For god's sake, she invited you here. Why would she want you here if she knew? To rub it in that she’s Ushijima’s girlfriend. Doubtful.

Maybe Oikawa was right all along about Ushijima not being how you perceived him to be. Maybe, just maybe you honestly, you were blinded the entire time. And now you were finally seeing him for who he truly is.

You were scared to admit it. That if you did, your year together means nothing when it still meant so much to you. But in this case, actions speak louder than words and most definitely Ushijima’s actions are very clear.

“I'm going to step out for a smoke. Do you need some fresh air?” Iwaizumi asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh,” you reply looking at Oikawa sitting beside you who's chatting with one of your group members. "No, I better not."

"Alright, I'll be right back," he says sliding out of his seat.

You try to hide your face behind the menu so no one talks to you and your plan almost succeeded except for the open opportunity it gave Sara to sit beside you. Your face pales as she leans in to rasp, "I'm glad you could make it."

"Yeah," you exclaim a bit put off by how close she is.

"I honestly thought you weren't going to show."

It's hard for you to not flash a bitter smile, but you force yourself to continue the conversation, "It took some convincing but bringing Oikawa and Iwaizumi helped."

The silence stretches between the two of you as Oikawa's laugh fills the air. You take a glimpse at him, noticing one of your group members flirting with him. You roll your eyes while looking back at Sara who is enthralled in his aura.

"He seems really nice,” she compliments. "How long have you two been together?"

"Hmm?" It takes you a moment to realize what she’s asking as you realize she's subtly gesturing to Oikawa. And when it clicks you are filled with laughter. “Oh my god, did you just say that out loud?”

The thought of you and Oikawa remotely appearing to look more than friends from an external perspective makes you nearly piss yourself.

"Oh, I just thought, you'd both make a cute couple," she corrects herself with puzzlement written across her face.

When you realize she’s being serious, you pause. “No, we’ve just been friends for a while.”

"Oooh," Sara taunts giving you a very mischievous look. "You know that saying, love is friendship set on fire."

"It's not like that," you nervously chuckle at her comment.

"Alright, I won't pry," she jokes. "But seriously, I'm happy you're here!"

She gets up from her seat and walks back over to sit next to Ushijima. Your feelings are honestly a bit mixed from that conversation. You really wanted to hate her, but she just seemed so genuine.

------

You’re a couple more drinks in and feel a bit of a buzz as Sara goes into grave detail as to why she transferred to the university now . But you can’t force yourself to listen. Your attention shifts to Ushijima smiling softly at the way Sara bubbles with warmth. It’s funny to think that someone else can make him smile like that besides you because you know how hard it is to do so. But it seems so effortless for Sara.

The memory of meeting Ushijima for the first time flashes in your head. To the time in the library where he reaches over your head to grab the book, you were trying to get on the top shelf. Now you can barely remember as the image of Sara takes your place to retrieve the book from Ushijima's hands. She's the new you.

You know you're overanalyzing every single movement Ushijima makes. From where his eyes linger to where his hands are placed, you cannot stop looking as you stay in suspense to what he will do next. You’re close to being consumed by the sudden urge to lash out or cry. It feels like he’s trying to push your buttons as he leans over toward Sara. You're waiting for him to kiss her. Waiting for it to break you. And it makes you sick.

Suddenly you feel a hand on your knee and turn to Iwaizumi who is looking down at you with a soft gaze. It’s odd but you somehow feel this tension between the two of you. You should have known better in that moment, but your mind feels a bit hazy from feeling vulnerable and also the alcohol.

“Is everything ok?”

You feel anticipation fill your chest and you swallow thickly seeing as this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. You look at his hand for a moment, at his long fingers gently grip the top of your knee. You immediately remind yourself of his words the other day, wondering if he intended to friendzone you like that.

You nod, smiling.

“Let me know when you want to leave,” Iwaizumi whispers squeezing your leg.

His face dips down slightly and you don’t know why you do it and don’t know how you had the courage to. But you’re so caught up in your internal frustrations, you don’t think before you act. You lean in closer to Iwaizumi and plant a kiss on his cheek uttering a thank you.

As you pull back, his eyes widen. It takes you a second to process exactly what you’ve done.

“Um, sorry,” you say to Iwaizumi, you need to get out of there before you die of embarrassment. Quickly you excuse yourself from the table as you rush to the bathroom and you can still feel Iwaizumi watching you.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

But you find the bathrooms have a long line up and turn a corner as you burst through a door to outside. The cool air hits you making it much easier to breathe. Finally, you’re by yourself. Screaming wouldn’t even be able to help you let out the confusion you feel. This was definitely something you didn’t want to have happened. But here you are regretting your capacity to understand a situation. Honestly, you were definitely feeling vulnerable. This entire evening you were caught off guard and something it makes you do weird things.

“Can we talk?

Turning around, you see Ushijima standing in front of you. He gazes down at you with his unreadable stare that makes you want to cry.

“No,” you say a little unnerved walking away from him. But you’re stopped by him grabbing your wrist, the same wrist the creep outside the club grabbed you with. Still a bit bruised and weak from his grip. You let out a yelp, “Let go of me!”

“Just let me explain,” he begs.

But you’re not listening as you try to wiggle your wrist away-- it’s not a tight hold, but it’s enough that it still hurts.

“Please, let me go,” you express firmly.

He stares at you for a moment and with a deep breath exhales letting go.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you yell, grabbing your wrist. “Moved on already, what the fuck is your problem?”

“It’s not--”

“No, let me finish. You’ve already done enough. I can’t believe you. You could’ve just told me you found someone else, instead, I see you with her all cute and cuddly and now I have to fucking work with her? This is such a--”

But as you’re about to continue your rant, you’re interrupted by a voice.

“What’s going on here?” Oikawa asks, noticing Ushijima standing before you. He studies your face filled with rage while you’re clutching your wrist. “Did you hurt her?”

“What?” Ushijima replies confused.

Then Oikawa’s eyes turn dark, a look you’ve never seen before. And you never imagined what comes next. He grabs a fist full of Ushijima’s shirt pulling him close enough that they were inches apart, barely touching noses. You had to stop them before it went too far but you couldn’t move your body.

“After all you’ve been through this is how you treat her?” Oikawa yells.

“You don’t even know the whole story,” Ushijima booms, forcibly removing Oikawa’s grip from his shirt causing Oikawa to make an aching face.

“I know enough to see that you’re a complete dick. But we both know, I’ve known that from the start,” Oikawa hisses. His eyes are fixed on Ushijima shooting him a scowl while your hand is clasped to your shirt.

“Stop it,” you say, but they both ignore you.

“I think you need to get your facts straight,” Ushijima says staying calm and collected while Oikawa explodes with rage.

“Why don't act more like a man,” Oikawa protests.

Then time moves so quick you couldn’t even see Oikawa raise his fist to hit Ushijima square in the face. Because not even seconds after Ushijima retaliates. You rush over forcing yourself between the two men before a fight breaks, pushing your hands against their chest yelling at them to stop. Ushijima is the first to back away as Oikawa stays resistant trying to push by you. But you take both your hands and press them against him as Ushijima exits back into the restaurant.

"Why are you trying to protect him?" Oikawa cries. You look up at Oikawa whose face is glistening in the moonlight as his cheek starts to swell. His dark eyes lock on you as yours start to glaze over.

"Are you stupid? He could've really hurt you," you wail, trying to hide the fact you're physically shaking.

And he sees it.

"Don't ever do that again," you barked.

Then he gives you his signature shit-eating grin, a look that is nowhere near appropriate from just getting punched in the face.

“Told you he’s a dick,” he smirks, walking towards the front of the restaurant. “Let’s go home.”

“What about Iwaizumi?”

“He’ll take care of things,” Oikawa mutters. “He’ll meet us at home. Let’s go before that blockhead comes back out.”

------

Oikawa called a cab to get back to his apartment, you felt a bit bad for leaving Iwaizumi behind. Especially since you kissed him then left.

Things seemed to grow incredibly awkward between you and Oikawa as he sat in the bathroom cleaning the cut on his cheek from Ushijima’s punch. You weren’t really sure what Oikawa was thinking, but you didn’t really want to ask.  As you gently press the cotton pad to his cheek, he squints his eyes while the burning sensation shocks him and exhales sharply through his nose.

“Sorry,” you mumble and he immediately forgives you with a smile.

He tries to pin his eyes to something that can distract the sting, but instead focuses his attention on the feel of your fingers against his skin. You’ve never been this close before and he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

He’s thankful for your patience with him. Most certainly did he think you were going to be pissed, but your reaction was far from what he expected as you kept silent for most of the trip home and even patching him up. Oikawa looks at you to see your frown had deepened. “Are you mad? You look mad.”

You scoff. “No, I’m just tired.” You’re caught off guard by his uncharacteristic concern and almost recoil with the question.

Oikawa sighs, “Your face is screwed up like you’re mad.”

“Tōru,” you scolded, crossing your arm across your chest. You choke on your words before answering, “I’m tired, not mad.”

Oikawa holds his breath and continues to look at you as you continue to make that sullen look. He doesn’t believe you. The sight of you with defeat in your expression makes his heart break. He notices your bruised wrist, still purple and blue, and imagines it probably hurts after Ushijima grabbed it. Then he wonders if he could have done something better to help you in that situation. Even that night back at the club still haunts him. If only he’d answered his phone when you needed him the most then maybe things would be different than now. He can’t stand it. He can't stand that Iwaizumi was there to help you instead. And he's not stupid, he knows you like Iwaizumi. He wasn't blind when he saw you kiss him at the restaurant. Oikawa didn’t know why, but something stirred him that he never realized before and it became very unsettling.

You lay the gauze over the wound and tape it down.

“How’s your hand?” you mumble, checking if the ice pack he’s holding to his fist has subsided any bruising your swelling. The bruising was already darker by the time you got to his apartment and it definitely terrified you.

“It’s fine,” he replies.

At this point, you’ve turned away and started to clean up. There isn’t a lot of blood, but enough to make shivers go down your spine as the image of Ushijima’s fist colliding with Oikawa’s face flashes through your head.

You feel your breathing heave as you try to collect yourself from breaking down in front of Oikawa. But something stops you. Instead of your usual hiding, you feel yourself let go and come undone. One small tear rolls down your cheek.

And then another. And then another. And then another. Until you can’t urge yourself to stop them anymore.

Oikawa freezes as he hears you sniffling. This time you don’t hide behind your wide smile. This time you’re actually crying and honestly he doesn’t know what to do. His intention wasn’t to make you cry, he wanted to protect you. And now he feels guilty for even putting you in this position.

“I’m sorry,” you pant, your voice broken by stifled breaths. “It’s all my fault you got hurt. I should’ve never gone to that stupid dinner.”

There’s this nagging feeling in his head pleading to comfort you. To hug you, to tell you it’s not your fault. His consciousness is screaming at him to do something to help as he watched you come undone in front of him. But why is he so afraid to?

“You were right, you’ve always been right,” you continue. “I’m so so sorry Tōru.”

You pause wiping the tears away that tracked down your face feeling awkward from exposing your vulnerable side to Oikawa. Tearing your eyes away from the first aid kit, you turn to look at Oikawa. There’s pity written all over his face. Your hands curl into fists.

It’s painfully tense as Oikawa attempts to muster up the courage to stand up to comfort you. He doesn’t want to regret his decision but he still hesitates, considering you’re now gazing at him.

“I-- I just,” you stutter, partially because you want to fill the awkward silence someway, and partially because you’re worried you’ve scared him. “I was scared…”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Your heart feels like it’s in throbbing pain under Oikawa’s gaze.

His stomach clenches as you revert to silence.

Suddenly you hear the front door unlock and Iwaizumi call out that he's arrived. You feel your face burn up as you revert eye contact and lean on the counter to see Iwaizumi in the doorway of the bathroom.

“What the fuck happened,” he yells, visibly unamused that you both ditched him at a restaurant with people he didn’t know. You look at him with glazed eyes unable to utter a single word then that’s when he notices Oikawa’s appearance. “Shit.”

Oikawa’s face turns in a smirk. “You should have seen the other guy.”

“I did!” He protests. “Not even a scratch compared to you. You’re fucking stupid.”

"He hurt Y/N," Oikawa protest.

Iwaizumi's eyes widened looking towards you.

"He didn't hurt me," you reassure. "He just grabbed my bruised wrist."

Iwaizumi sighs, shaking his head. "You have to stop running off like that."

Oikawa watches the intimate interaction of indescribable energy or chemistry that lingers in the air between the two of you. He didn’t like it. Not even one bit.

[sondepoch]

Hogwarts, Basically (Solomon x Reader)

When you finally leave RAD, the last thing you expect is to be whisked off by Solomon to a human school of magic. What you expect even less is for the white-haired mage to become your dormmate, and to be forced into a life of spells, potions, and wizardry. But what you expect the least is to find yourself pining after the sorcerer, reduced to something akin to a lost puppy, staring at him in longing at every chance you get. Or, correction: What you expect the least is for Solomon to feel the same way.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

At the very beginning, Lucifer warned you: stay away from Solomon. Never trust the shady sorcerer. Keep your distance at all costs, and do not interact.

But you never listened.

No, you were convinced that you knew better. That the white-haired mage had good inside him, that he wasn't a demon in human skin with an agenda more suspicious than Diavolo's own. For an entire year, you believed in him, and the two of you stayed by each other's side the whole time you were in the Devildom.

You have so many good memories with him.

The two of you pulled pranks on Asmo. Downloaded TikTok onto Lucifer's phone. Ran a scam where you auctioned your souls off on D-Bay and kept the Grimm. You egged the student council hall on April Fool's day, and you even shared your food with the guy.

So many good memories.

So many tainted memories.

If you had known where it would land you, you never would have allowed yourself to get close to him.

"I fucking hate you," You grumble, darting forward and flopping onto your bed the second Solomon opens the door, groaning as you burrow your head in your pillow. It reeks of magic, much like everything else in this godforsaken place, and you're entirely sick of it, but you're too exhausted to even care right now. "I can't believe you fucking did this to me."

"Oh please, you're acting like this is the end of the world." The mage closes the door, and you hear the sound of shuffling as he puts his books away for the day, taking off his school jacket. His actions are innocent enough, but you're certain he finds amusement in your state, and the very thought fills your lungs with even more resentment toward your current situation.

"It is the end of the world," You grumble in protest. "I'm supposed to be relaxing right now. Playing video games with friends. Hanging out at a club. Wasting time on twitter, sending celebrities stupid pickup lines. Not doing more schoolwork at another fucking school of magic."

Solomon laughs lightly, a warm sound that you wish you didn't like.

"Technically, RAD wasn't a school of magic," He tells you.

"Oh, who fucking cares? This school is! You've kidnapped me and dumped me in Hogwarts, basically, and I hate Harry Potter!"

"How unfortunate for you, then." Solomon grins boyishly as he rolls your body over, eyes twinkling with mirth as he gazes at your utterly unamused expression. "Relax. You'll begin to enjoy your time here, once you get used to the course load. I dare say you might even find it fun to learn about our magical heritage."

"When pigs fly, Solomon," You quip back, opting to ignore the fact that your potions teacher told you that your end-of-year project would actually be to create a solution potent enough to give farm animals wings.

You sigh grumpily and roll over, closing your eyes and relaxing quietly as the sorcerer pats your shoulder, quietly telling you not to nap for too long, so you have time to finish your homework later.

You ignore him, for the most part.

I'll never enjoy it here, you convince yourself. As much as you love spending time with Solomon, you don't have it in you to completely change your life and begin studying magic, irregardless of how much the teachers at this school want you to. Ignoring the sound of scribbles as Solomon begins his own homework, you tell yourself that the mage is wrong, that all you need to do is flunk out during this first semester and then you'll be returned to your normal life in your home country.

What you don't expect is for Solomon's words to be proven true.

One week into your time at the academy, you've just begun to grow used to the course load. The students at school stop raising eyebrows at your face, and as you begin to grow accustomed to the school, it becomes accustomed to you.

Two weeks in, you've already fallen into a loose rhythm.

By three weeks, you've developed what a less apprehensive person would call "friends," and by four weeks, you're genuinely giving your studies your all, learning spellwork and enchantments with an almost-passionate fervor.

By the time the month has ended, you've actually forgotten your plans to flunk out.

And though you're surprised by your change of heart, the never-fading smile on Solomon's face makes you suspect that he predicted this from the start.

You glance up at him from your textbook, momentarily halting your note-taking to study the way the enthralled light never fades from his eyes, even as he glances from book to book while continuing to draw a summoning circle for his demonology class, somehow looking pleased even as he cross-checks his image.

You groan.

You've found yourself glancing up at Solomon more and more often in these past few days, distracted from your own studying by the way his hair falls over his forehead, or the way his chest sometimes peeks through when he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, or the way he sometimes bites his lip cutely when going over a particularly difficult passage. Hell, you once spent five minutes staring at the sorcerer's hands, because they looked oh-so-soft as he took notes on the book he was deciphering.

The first few times, you convinced yourself that it was merely because of how eye-catching he was. And that was a fair enough excuse. After all, the colors of this academy are black and gold—Solomon's pale skin stands out against the dark fabrics of the uniform and the even-darker furnishings of your dorm room.

But after catching yourself gazing wistfully at his lips a few too many times, you were forced to confront the truth.

You have a crush on the aggravating, annoying, sassy, difficult, handsome, cute mage.

But that's not even the worst part.

You think he knows.

A warmth creeps onto your cheeks the moment you begin to think about all the instances where Solomon has caught you staring at him over these past few weeks. There are almost too many examples. Early in the morning, when his hair is all messed up. Right after breakfast, when his lips have changed color to whatever potion he drank. On your way back from school, when you walk back to the dorm together. During homework sessions like these. Right after he steps out of the shower—oh, he's caught you gawking at him far too many times after returning from the shower. (You tried to play it off by saying that you were merely studying his pact marks, but you know he knows the truth. His abs are loosely defined, but they're there, and you want to lick them so bad it hurts.)

"MC?" Solomon calls, and you blink.

Fuck, you think, suddenly realizing that you were staring at him while you daydreamed about him.

Add one more to the count, you think with an internal groan, silently wondering how many more times the sorcerer will catch you staring at him.

"You good?" He questions, and you can see the smirk he's trying so hard to fight off his face.

"Uh—I'm going to the library," You blurt, opting to avoid the sorcerer's gaze as you grab your jacket, looping your arms through it with deftness despite how utterly befuddled your thoughts are as you escape the room. You don't have your books with you, or your library card for that matter, but anything is better than responding to that all-too-playful question.

You flee before Solomon has a chance to say anything else, all but running to the stairs and sauntering on down until you're outside the dorm building, the air crisp in your lungs as you inhale sharply.

I'm such a mess, you think to yourself, the lingering warmth on your cheeks beginning to cool as you fold your arms and walk in the direction of what you hope is the library. A few people crossing you nod their heads in greeting, quick smiles thrown your way as you return them, but no one stops to converse with you, and you're left alone to debate your affections for the sorcerer.

You sigh, trying to sort out your thoughts.

Solomon must harbor some affection for you, you know that.

After all, he's spent far too many nights explaining foreign concepts to you, calmly navigating you through the waters of magic where he could have simply directed you to a tutoring board.

Moreover, you've seen how he behaves with other students here at the academy. No matter who has come to your dorm, be two kids it for a group project or a single friend in preparation to summon a demon they're interested in, there's a barrier of cool distance Solomon maintains with everyone else, one that simply seems to disappear around you.

Distance, you think, recalling the awkward way Solomon avoids physical contact with others, using sorcery to do things as simple as handing a glass of water to a guest. With you, though, you've both only grown closer, once-awkward pats now having turned into comfortably leaning on each other whenever one of you is tired. Last week, Solomon even ran a hand through your hair, and though he blinked afterward in surprise, as if he hadn't meant to do that, there was an undeniable feeling of closeness to his actions, something which others would hardly expect to see from him.

Another sound of frustration spills from your lips, aggravated at your situation with the sorcerer. The two of you are closer than others, but still not close. More than casual friends, but hardly intimate. Beyond nothing, but not yet something.

You kick a rock lying on the ground, watching it sail into the grass as you brood over the fact that Solomon is more confusing than the history of magic.

And you might brood some more, maybe even consider confessing your affections to the sorcerer in question, if not for the fact that you randomly look up and the building that greets you is not the school library.

You blink, abruptly turning around to check the way you came, but it is also a road that you've never seen, never heard of, and certainly have never navigated.

"Fuck," You mutter to yourself, realizing your predicament.

You're lost.

***

In your dorm room, Solomon is growing increasingly frustrated over the summoning circle he's been instructed to sketch. His fingers are supposed to be tracing the emblem of Mephistopheles, but it's so similar to Barbatos (and he's so used to drawing the summoning circle of Barbatos) that he keeps messing up at the end and has to restart all over again.

Or at least, that's what he tells himself is the cause for his repeated failures.

Solomon is hardly dumb—he's well aware that the reason for his utter inability to focus right now is caused solely and explicitly by you, and that this would not be happening if he weren't worried for your whereabouts.

But at the same time, there's nothing he can do about the fact that you're already gone, or the fact that he just messed up again on this seal.

A frustrated groan leaves Solomon's lips, inwardly cursing himself for driving you from the room. 

After all, he really needs to get this assignment done.

Then again, it's not like he would be doing much of a better job if you were still here.

The sorcerer can never find himself fully able to focus around you, eyes always drawn upward to study you. It feels like if he casts his gaze away for too long, he'll miss something—the way your eyes light up every time you understand a concept, the way your eyebrows furrow every time you don't. It's the little things he tries to pay attention to: how you silently nod your head at the end of every sentence you read to the way you aimlessly fumble with your blanket whenever an assignment bores you.

Solomon is positive that he's successfully picked up on every one of your little quirks, by now. At a single glance, he can tell what subject you're studying by the way you're sprawled out over your bed, and if he looks a little longer, he might even be able to tell how good a mood you're in based on the way you tap your pen against your notebook. Give him enough time, and he's even picked apart how the way you kick your feet in the air relates to how nervous you are for an upcoming quiz.

Yeah, Solomon really hasn't been doing too well in his school, with how much he's been focusing on you.

Of course, you don't notice it at all. No, Solomon cast a spell long ago which makes it look like he's studying diligently even as he gazes absentmindedly at the way you run a hand through your hair when you're tired, making it incredibly easy for him to catch all the little glances you've been giving him these past few weeks.

Does he feel guilty for watching you watch him?

Absolutely.

Does he think about removing the spell?

All the time.

Does that mean he will change anything?

Most definitely not.

The look of shock on your face every time he casually "catches" you staring at him is too attractive for him to stop, especially since the immediate state of fluster it induces is so amusing to watch.

But that doesn't stop him from regretting calling you out just now, because while he's pretty sure you know your way around the campus, he's also well-aware that whenever your head is in a jumble, you lose all sense of awareness.

I'll wait, he decides, rapping his pencil against the outline of the sketch he's working on, reaching for a ruler. I need to finish this assignment, anyway.

But then ten minutes turns into twenty, and by the time Solomon is done with his assignment, the hour is over, signaled by the four loud rings from the grandfather clock on the ground floor.

The mage glances at your empty bed, set just six feet across from his, and he frowns.

I'll wait a little longer.

But one hour stretches into two, and two stretches into three, and nearly four hours have passed by the time the sun sets, and Solomon is pacing back and forth in the dorm, glancing at the door every time he turns, in hopes that you'll walk through it.

Fucking hell, he thinks to himself, grabbing his academy jacket as he flips his book closed and shoves it onto his desk.

He isn't going to torture himself any longer like this.

Hell, he'll confess if that's what it takes to bring you back, because right now, he's going crazy cooped up in this room and there's only one thing that's going to calm him down.

Shoving his keys into his pocket, he yanks the door open, all final hopes of you standing on the other sides crushed when he sees the almost-empty hall, and the questioning eyes of students wondering why he's heading out when it's so close to curfew.

He huffs in exasperation, slamming the door shut as he walks out, long legs carrying him in the direction of where he suspects you got lost.

He's really fallen for such a troublesome person.

Then again, Solomon adores even that part of you.

***

You've never been so relieved to see a clump of white hair.

Or, well, maybe you have—you know, given that Mammon has saved you more than a few times from Lucifer's wrath—but you've never been so relieved in the human world to see a familiar, fluffy clump of white hair.

"Solomon!" You exclaim the moment you set your eyes on the mage, sprinting forward to capture him in a tight hug. He stiffens at the contact, and you inwardly note that this is probably the closest you've ever physically been to him, but you don't care. Maybe it's the instincts that were drilled into you after being surrounded by demons for a whole year, but you had seriously begun to think that you would die out here.

"How on earth did you get here?" Solomon asks incredulously, gazing at your surroundings.

"I, um." You suddenly feel embarrassed. "I got lost, and then I sort of just picked a direction and walked."

"You..." Solomon pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, unable to even bring himself to repeat your words back to you. "You do realize that that's the worst possible thing you could have done, right?" The mage shoots a frown your way. "Do you even know how far off-campus we are right now?"

You ignore his words off with a smile, following him gleefully as he shakes his head in disapproval. "Then isn't it wonderful that I had you to come find me?"

You laugh, the sound filling the otherwise empty night, missing the way Solomon fights off an instinctive smile at the sound.

"If you turn tail and run away every single time I catch you staring at me, we're going to have an issue," The sorcerer mutters, more under his breath than to you. You ignore his words, neither wanting to nor knowing how to respond. "Your crush on me is only going to bring more trouble to us, if things continue on like this."

And that gets to you.

(And though you don't know it, the sorcerer is equally mortified by his statement. He certainly hadn't wanted to confront you like that.)

"You know?!" You exclaim, eyes round in horror. You always knew that he must have had his own suspicions, but for him to just come out and say it? You stare at the man with a mouth agape, raw embarrassment warming your cheeks for the second time today.

"Ah, yes," Solomon comments lamely, wincing when he hears how his words must sound. "I mean, ahem, I would actually, erm, consider myself, goodness look at that goose, to harbor similar sentiments.

"You...what?" You ask suspiciously, partially confident that Solomon just confessed but at the same time confused whether his words mean what you think they do. "You like me?" You ask hesitantly, watching the mage's expressions carefully.

"'Like' is such a strange word," Solomon begins. "One might consider it to be an expression of indifference, whereas another would—"

You cut the mage off with a sharp elbow to the stomach and a pointed glare, warning him to stop being around the bush.

"Fine," He mutters, shooting you a sulky glare. "Yes. I like you, okay? Are you happy now?"

A warm smile blooms on your face as you hear the sorcerer say those words, savoring the beautiful pink that swells on his usually-pale cheeks as he averts his eyes and crosses his arms.

"Yes, that does make me happy," You muse, grinning. "For how long?" You probably didn't have to ask that question—but Solomon's evident embarrassment makes it impossible not to milk this situation for all it's worth.

"Since...the Devildom," He mutters, the pink on his cheeks surging with even more prominence.

You blink at that.

The Devildom?

That's even longer than you've liked him!

"Wow," You confess, eyes slightly round in wonder. "I...I had no idea, this whole time."

"Yeah, I...kind of made sure of that."

"What do you mean?" You pause in your walk to glance at the man standing next to you. "How'd you stop me from figuring it out?"

"I, uh," Solomon scratches the back of his neck, glancing away sheepishly. "I may have used magic."

Wow.

Well, that—

Yeah, that was entirely expected.

A huff leaves your throat, and you cross your arms dramatically as you saunter ahead of Solomon, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that Asmo once warned you that, if Solomon ever started liking you, this was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

You pause, glancing right and then left as you approach a crossing, completely unsure of which way to go but unwilling to reduce yourself to asking the sorcerer from help. Not when you can feel the waves of apology radiating off him.

"Are you mad?" He asks when you stop, and the hesitant inflection of his voice only makes you fall for him more because of how annoyingly adorable you find it.

"Maybe," You respond, deciding to keep him in suspense. "But you can make it up to me."

Before Solomon can ask how, you walk in front of him and turn around such that you're facing him, one arm on your hip as you send a confident smirk.

"Given that we both like each other, see..." You trail off, standing in front of him with a devilish grin on your face as you wait for him to piece together what you're hinting at.

You see his eyes widen, the moment of realization dawning in his eyes as he understands what you're asking him to do.

Solomon doesn't hesitate much after that. He barely spends a single moment preparing himself, and then one hand is reaching for your cheek while his lips pull closer, and you savor the sight of his eyes closing as he presses his lips to yours, and then your own eyes are closed, basking in the feeling of warmth as you grin and lean into the kiss, lifting your own arms to his neck, looping them around to play with his hair the way you've thought about so many times.

Something about the situation is undeniably blissful, undeniably comfortable, and undeniably right as you both kiss, and the very notion that you could have ever been so hesitant about doing this makes you both laugh, the two of you smiling and giggling into the kiss like fools.

You lean back slightly, pulling away to beam at the sorcerer with a proud smile, but Solomon chases your lips, dipping his head forward and halting you from going further back by snaking a hand around your waist. Not at all minding this development, you grin as he turns the kiss passionate, slipping his tongue through your lips with a determined force you can't help but be turned on by, and then the lightheartedness of the previous moment is replaced by a sudden passion for more of this, more of the feeling of Solomon's mouth against yours, more of him.

You bring your hands to his chest, pushing him backward and onto a bench that could not be more conveniently placed as you press his body down onto it, and he doesn't bother commenting on how you're wrinkling his shirt when you grab fistfuls of it and straddle his lap. Or maybe he does try, but you'll never find out, because seconds later your lips are back to being pressed against his and everything else in the world disappears.

"Fuck," Solomon whispers, gasping when you part for air, his fingers just about to slip under your shirt as he caresses your waist.

"Yeah," You respond, knowing exactly what he's talking about. When your eyes dart from his flushed neck to his eyes, the look he gives you is nothing short of sinful.

Seconds later, the two of you are kissing again—because really, Solomon can't look at you like that and not expect you to immediately throw yourself at him—and his fingers really do squirm their way underneath your shirt, the feeling of his touch almost electric as his fingers grip your waist firmly.

And then it really doesn't matter that you're both still in public, that you're straddling Solomon on a public bench and that it's almost well curfew, because holy fuck you've both wanted to do this for way longer than anyone should have to wait, and now that you've started, nothing will pull you apart.

Bonus:

From his lovely little cloud in the heavens, Simeon cheers, a warm smile on his face as he watches his two favorite humans give in to the attraction that has always been painfully obvious to him.

He hums peacefully, internally wondering how he'll go about collecting his money from Lucifer, now that he's won their bet about how long it would take for the two of you to grow intimate—but his bliss is short-lived as he watches you tug Solomon's tie off, a light gasp leaving both his and Solomon's lips, though for two very different reasons.

"No!" Simeon cries, gasping dramatically with a hand over his chest as he realizes what is happening. "You're in public! In public!"

He moans in distress, falling to his knees as he sends a prayer up to Father for you both, his horror widening as he catches sight of buttons popping off your shirt as Solomon slips his hands underneath it, both of you starved and desperate for more contact than your clothes can provide.

"Little lambs!" He wails in horror, and all the other angels stop what they're doing for a moment to wonder what has their Simeon in such a twist, nearly every angel in the heavens listening to the sound of his utterly defeated whimpers that follow as he crawls back into bed, trying his best to forget the unholy sight that now plagues his mind.

"Forgive me, Father," He murmurs, fingers darting from his forehead to his chest, then right and left. But then, he thinks of a better prayer: "Forgive them."

Bonus bonus:

Centuries later, Simeon will reluctantly (and drunkenly) recount this tale to Asmodeus, who will immediately cheer in support. The fifth-born will claim to have always sensed the unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, and has always been an ardent supporter of "giving in to temptation," regardless of how public one's surroundings may be. After hearing Simeon's story, he'll order another round of drinks for the bar, paying for it himself in honor of everyone's two favorite humans, the demon cheering both your names loudly and downing a shot before promptly passing out on Simeon's lap.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Fun fact: originally, the academy that mc and solomon are at was supposed to be RAS - the royal academy of Solomon - just like RAD, but solomon was the headmaster (and there was a corresponding RAM run by Michael in the Celestial Realm) :) Not fun fact: I’m also working on a diavolo fic right now and it feels like every word is a breath of air being ripped from my already asphyxiated lungs :)

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[prophetparadox]

DMC OC Week Day 4: Likes/Dislikes

(No image because I couldn’t find one that’s relevant sorry)

Midnight again, so here’s another @dmc-oc-week prompt! This one is just a bullet point list since I didn’t have time to make a fic for it. Plus it’s pretty simple. Don’t have much else to say for this one. Enjoy!

Likes:

Since Kay is usually stuck at the Devil May Cry office, she’s had to find ways to kill time. This has led her to binge watch a lot of movies/tv shows since she missed out on them while growing up. Sometimes she just puts things on as background noise while she’s doing something else, but she likes watching things and will proceed to talk about her favorite ones to whoever walks in. Her tastes are eclectic, but she tends to prefer musicals, sci-fi, fantasy, and animation. She loves Tim Burton movies the best though.

She also tends to binge read. She tends to frequent the local library and check out a couple of books at a time depending on what she’s reading. Any books she really likes she proceeds to buy for herself. She tends to check out classics and books she’s heard a lot about, but sometimes she’ll pick something up just because it catches her eye. Usually if she’s not watching movies or something, she’s reading books. She enjoys the works of Stephen King and Edgar Allen Poe the best, though she also enjoys fantasy stories and stuff with vampires and werewolves in it.

Her music tastes are also a bit eclectic, as she enjoys a little bit of almost everything. Whenever Dante’s out, she usually starts playing her favorites on the jukebox. She likes pop, various kinds of rock, and of course musicals. She also has a tendency to sing along to what she’s listening to when she thinks no one’s around to hear her.

A hobby she managed to pick up was baking. She likes to try her hands at making sweets in the hope that she’ll improve with practice. Though she usually has to hide them from Dante so he doesn’t eat them all at once. Her specialty is salted caramel brownies.

Since she can’t go out on demon hunting missions, she tries to get some sparring sessions in with Trish and Lady when they’re around so she doesn’t get rusty. While she wishes she could go out on the field more, she greatly enjoys their sessions.

Nero got her into video games, to the chagrin of Dante’s wallet. She tends to prefer longer games with a lot of content so she can go longer without needing a new one, and tends to gravitate towards RPGs.

Kay loves animals, and will happily pet any dog she comes across while out of the office. She wants a pet herself, but knows she probably can’t have any. So she dreams of the day when she can have one. Once V enters her life, she quickly bonds with Shadow and he ends up being the demon shapeshifting cat she didn’t know she wanted.

Dislikes

Boredom is the bane of her existence. She’s always trying to find something to do, just to stave off the feeling of boredom. She’d rather take unpleasant tasks over nothing at all.

Unfortunately, living with Dante means living with his messes. Which means cleaning up said messes. She hates cleaning, and would rather go on not needing to do it so often.

She hates thunder. Thunder brings her back to unpleasant memories she’d rather never revisit, and the louder the thunder the worse it is for her. She tends to hide herself away during storms, too worried about the potential questions others might ask.

She hates what her “job” amounts to. She’d rather be fighting demons over getting Dante’s pizzas and takeout and coffee. She wants to do more than just intern work.

She is very tired of Dante treating her as his daughter. She appreciates that he cares about her, but she’s not his kid and she doesn’t want to be treated like one. Sure, Dante’s older than her, but she’s an adult now and can handle herself.

Do not try to wake her up early, you will regret it. She enjoys having a full night's sleep and unless there’s a damn good reason to be waking her up early, you shouldn’t. You will incur her wrath and you will be sorry.

[trvelyans-archive]

You probably should’ve known that Gray would find you here.

Although, to be fair, you did tell him that this is where you go when you need a break. But you thought that, at least, if you didn’t tell him which bookshelves you wedged yourself between, he would never find you if he came looking. Unfortunately for you, he came looking. And he definitely found you.

You don’t know if he did it for your sake or Nick’s. Maybe that makes it all worse.

He lingers at the end of the aisle, scratching the back of his neck and scuffing a stained patch of carpet on the floor with the toe of his shoe. (You can’t see it from where you’re sitting on the floor - you only know that because you look at the same thing whenever there’s someone else in between the bookshelves doing something weird like looking for an actual book and you’re waiting for them to leave.) The lighting in the library casts odd shadows over his face, but you can tell he’s looking at you - and probably smiling sheepishly at you - and clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

Fat chance.

Nick doesn’t get it. He never gets it. He understands that you’re upset but doesn’t understand why, and trying to explain it to him is useless, especially because he can hear your internal monologue in real time and by now should have memorized all your problems as well as his chocolate chip cookie recipe. But he doesn’t, which means he should know to stop listening and tune you out when you’re thinking bad things about yourself - after all, it always leads to an argument - but he didn’t, and now you’re here, tucked away in the darkest corners of the library like an afterthought with the only person you want to talk to not knowing that because he can’t hear your thoughts from the end of the aisle.

You could ignore Gray, and he’d leave. That’s something you know very well.

But you wave him towards you anyway (and nearly roll your eyes at his cautious approach).

You don’t like to fight when Gray’s around. You both know that it upsets him, trying to play referee, trying to make it productive  - and he knows that it upsets you whenever he takes Nick’s side. Nick’s his best friend, of course, so he has every right to defend him, but... you just wish things were different. In literally every way there is.

“Hey,” Gray says as he comes closer, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatpants while the air conditioner above him rustles his stupid perfect hair and makes him look like the even more stupidly perfect love interest of a bad silent European film. “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I almost gave up ten minutes ago.”

You don’t need to read minds to know what goes unsaid in the awkward silence that follows. I’m glad I didn’t. Though usually you’d be secretly pleased to know that, right now it’s just another nail in the coffin. After all, lately, things have been changing - he’s been taking your side a little more often, tentatively backing you up when you and Nick get in an argument. It’s easier that way because Nick’s much more likely to forgive him (especially considering you’re pretty sure Gray’s just doing it for show) but... that sucks, too. He can’t keep playing on both sides and wait for a truce that’s never going to come. Or, even if it does come, it certainly won’t stick.

But he’s not a quitter. And neither are you, at least not in this case. And that’s the worst of it - you really are trying.

Contrary to what it might seem like, you and Nick get along most of the time. You tease each other and make jokes and talk about stuff happening around the city and then, when you disappear up to your room to watch movies, he turns on the radio and bakes cookies or makes dinner or... well, whatever else he does after work. Living together works if you don’t spend enough time together for you be irritated by him, and if you don’t sit close enough to depress him with your thoughts.

But sometimes even tucking yourself away into the shadows doesn’t help. You should know that, because Gray found you in the library tonight anyway, and his eyes on you make you feel like you’re stuck in a fucking spotlight. Nervous sweats and buckling knees and all.

You sigh. “Maybe I didn’t want you to find me,” you say, trying to be nonchalant about it.

If this was Nick, he’d be met with a ‘fuck off’. Well, okay, maybe not that, but it’d certainly be implied. Gray is different, though.

Jerk.

“You would’ve hidden better if you didn’t want me to find you,” he says with a quiet laugh. He’s right, too, and it wouldn’t have been hard. You could’ve just grabbed a book and hidden your face behind it until he passed by the aisle, or, in a more extreme case, knocked down a couple of bookshelves as a distraction and then bolted in the middle of all the commotion. “I just... I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to look for the right words so you don’t actually bolt. “I wanted to make sure that you’re okay.”

You nearly sigh again, but you bite your tongue to hold it back. “I’m fine,” you insist.

“You’re not, Marian,” Gray says. His nose wrinkles as he frowns. “Mari.”

“What, can you read my mind or something?”

Unfortunately, the joke falls on deaf ears. If usually does when Nick and Gray are trying to be serious and you’re cracking jokes so you don’t cry or knock something over (usually your’s) or both. He sits back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and stares at the tips of his shoes. “It got intense back there,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He’s obviously waiting for you to take the lead on this conversation, but you’re not going to. He clears his throat. “So...”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gray,” you say with much less conviction than you’d like.

“I think you hurt Nick’s feelings,” he continues. Like you hadn’t said anything at all.

You try again. “I don’t care.”

Gray lets out a soft sigh, and you don’t know whether it’s from sheer disbelief or straight-up disappointment. “I don’t think that’s true.”

He doesn’t need to read your mind to know that you feel bad. He can probably read it on your face - with him, it’s your worst enemy. Of course you feel bad. Nick gave up his young adulthood to take care of you, and you can never thank him enough for picking up the slack and taking care of you after everything that happened with your parents. But that’s part of it. Fuck, that’s most of it. You can never thank Nick enough for everything. You’re a failure to your family. You’re a disappointment. You’re nothing but a big fat zero.

And you know that very well. The world has made that very clear. Why would you bother pretending any different? And why does Nick? Why does Gray?

“He should know better,” you insist anyway, because like hell you’re going to admit you’re the one at fault here. “I had a bad day, and he knows that, and he didn’t tune me out like he should’ve when he knew I was going to be in a bad mood.”

“He wants to help,” Gray says.

“I don’t want him to. We all know how therapy went, right? Poorly. And if they can’t fix me, what can Nick do?”

The words sting - you can see it on Gray’s face. Still, he pushes through. He perseveres. Because some people can do that, you think, and it’s something you always manage to forget. You certainly can’t. “He wants to be there for you. He just wants to help,” he repeats.

So do I. Gray doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thinking it.

“It just makes it harder,” You’re surprised at how quickly your anger has turned into exhaustion. Or maybe you’re not. “And I’ve told Nick. And he doesn’t get it.”

He sits back on the heels of his hands, thinking, and you stare at the space between you while you wait for him to say something. Bringing up therapy was a low blow - it definitely wasn’t a nice part of your life, and one Gray was unlucky enough to be a part of. One time you came home after a session and locked yourself in your room for a day and a half straight, and you’re sure Nick probably cried about it at some point before he and Gray managed to coax you out like some sort of wounded animal. It’s a painful memory. For all three of you.

That’s one of the few things you agree on.

“I know it can be frustrating,” Gray says finally, and you look at him again. “And I know he gets on your nerves. And I don’t blame you entirely, Mari. I know your condition can be...” He chews on his bottom lip, looking for the right words because he probably thinks there’s a chance he’ll scare you off. “Difficult. But Nick is trying to make you happy. He loves you.”

That’s all he can manage to say right now, apparently. Which you can’t blame him for.

After all, Gray doesn’t get it, either.

“Well, I love him too,” you mutter, looking at your shoes. There’s no point in pushing anymore - you’re tired, and you want to go home, and above all, you don’t want Gray to hate you. You already cause him much more trouble than you’re worth. “You could tell him that next time you see him.”

Gray chuckles. “Maybe you can tell him yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “Depends on how he greets me when I get home,” you answer. “If he goes in for a hug, I’m out. If he made a batch of apology cookies, then...”

That was another joke, but Gray must have heard it this time. You know that because his eyes light up and reaches into his pocket, fishing around for something until, a few seconds later, he leans forward and holds his arm out as far as he can without getting too close. In between his fingers are a couple of plastic-wrapped chocolate chip cookies. “He started making them right after your left,” he says, smiling kindly at you so the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

You lean forward a little, squinting at them knowingly. “Did you take one, Grayson?”

He laughs, reaching up with his other hand to scratch the back of his head. “Maybe,” he says. “But they’re for you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” He thrusts them in your direction again. “Truce?”

You meet his eyes and force a stream of several images through your brain. Frog guts. Crying children. Bloody zombies with terrible make-up and detached limbs. Sure, it’s all pretty dark - something you’ve become accustomed to - but it’s meant to keep people away, and it works for you. Most of the time. Not on Gray, though, who is still looking at you and smiling, and you wonder how he’s allowed to be so perfect when you’re the exact opposite, and why the fuck that’s the reason you love him, too.

You take the cookies from him, giving him a smile of your own. “Truce,” you agree. For now, at least, but to Gray, it seems like enough.

[greytoiletpaper]

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the Street Siblings au by @a-sketchy-character | @streetsiblings without which I may not have had the motivation to write this much.

Drizzle | Deluge | Squall | AO3

Chapter 4: susurration

The world is dark.

Somehow, she knows how many marks and cuts criss-cross her body; how many bruises decorate her like a canvas. But she can’t feel them, not even one.

Instead, all she can do is listen, tuning in to the rain as it pours, as red droplets fall in time off of Mad Dog’s blade. If she really listens to the sound, it almost sounds like a different boy’s laughter.

She focuses on the noise and it alone, her body so perfectly still.

Mad Dog thrusts his blade to her chest, and Cassandra’s eyes open.

-- 

They’ve only been in Gotham for a week, yet, it feels like he never left. At least for Park Row, the “Crime Alley”, the city has never changed. Slowly, the Red Hood and Ravager make the area their own. He does everything to make sure that the Bat never catches a whiff of what he’s doing. He knows it is pointless; even if Bruce knew, he would be too much of a coward to venture into the evil heart of the city.

It infuriates him, the remnants of the old argument. If Batman was ever truly needed. It would be - no, should be - here. In the black, beating heart of Gotham, where crime and cruelty channel through its citizens as if it were in their own blood. Yet for all he prattles about his crusade of justice, Bruce will never set foot into Crime Alley; too hung up on the ghosts of his past to banish the ones that haunt others.

It’s why he’s wearing the original persona of the man who murdered him. Jason had lived these streets, born and raised and died because of them. Deep down, Jason understands what Bruce simply refuses to believe. Some people simply want to watch the world burn, and they can never be stopped, only carefully controlled, managed or otherwise taken out. He never wants what happened to him to be inflicted on someone else. Not if he can help it.

Now, Red Hood is here, slinking through the darkened hallways of Arkham. Past every guard and camera until he arrives at one particular cell. He knocks on the door, and a mop of neon green flips upwards.

The madman beams; his eyes are whirlpools of chaotic energy.

“What’s this? Birdy clipped his wings!” The Joker begins, guffawing like a howling hyena. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me, little Jay.”

To his credit, Jason doesn’t react. The pneumatic seals of the helmet hiss as it comes off. The Joker never takes his eyes off his face.

“There you are, my boy. Just like your uncle Jay” The lunatic says without tone, feral grin seeming plastered. “Say, you seen Cass anywhere?”

That makes him shift uneasily on his feet. The Joker leans in close, almost conspiratorially.

“You think the Bat ran her out? That he…” Something morbid flashes in the eyes of his monster. “Killed her just like I did you?”

Jason wants to drive his fists into the man’s back. Stamp on his legs until the bones shatter. Bludgeon him over and over with whatever is on hand until the madman’s flesh is nothing but paste. Instead, he stands frozen as the cackling echoes around the room and in his ears.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Is what he says. “And I’m not doing this for me either.”

His hand lifts the pistol from its holster.

“I’m doing this because someone has to do what Batman can’t.”

The Joker takes the words in stride, nodding to himself. To Jason, it’s the calmest he has ever seen him.

“Not a fan of the whole motorcycle fetish style, but to each his own,” The madman’s eyes, still rotting in their own insanity, meet his. Something about the gaze seems so clear despite the instability. “You’re going to be wonderful for the Red Hood name.”

He sighs.

“When you do it, boy, make sure you get as much of the colour out of me.”

Jason nods and presses the barrel into Joker’s forehead, closes his eyes, and everything is silent.

 --

He presses his hand to the glass, the rain sliding down the pane on the other side, its streams the same lengths as the rivers that flow from his red crown.

--

Fact One, a statement: Roman Sionis is the Black Mask, one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords with connections running deeply in the underground drugs and weapons trade.

Fact Two, an amendment: Roman Sionis is the Black Mask, arguably one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords with sizeable connections in the weapons trade.

Fact Three, a truth: He is absolutely livid with the Red Hood and the Ravager.

Roman stares at the text on the notepad; he picks it up and throws it across the room.

In the space of two nights, the new duo had taken over his entire drug operation and cut off every tie Roman had to Crime Alley. Internally, he thinks ‘cut off’ is still too lacking a description. Half of his thugs breathing through tubes for days. Pimps found castrated and dangling from lampposts. Drug dealers with their mouths frothing as they dissociated. If the rumour mill among villains is anything to go by, Red Hood had killed the Joker in his own damn cell. Roman shudders. He’d seen the images from the crime.

The pair are definitely a threat, and Roman needs him gone as soon as possible. Hiring the Joker would have been one of the best choices: effective, relatively cheap and definitely motivated to take on whoever dares don his previous mantle. Alas, reality disagrees.

Black Mask picks up the phone, ready to dial the more expensive alternative. He sighs and hopes they don’t call Deathstroke the ‘Terminator’ for nothing.

 --

Cassandra dives away at the last second, adrenaline flushing through her body and lifting the fog from her mind. Her opponent’s blade impacts with the ground, firmly planting itself the whole way. Mad Dog, clearly thrown off, becomes an easy target with her renewed energy.

She does not hold back, unleashing a flurry of blows to the assassin’s chest, even as he tries to hold his defence together. With renewed focus, she redirects every strike he makes and strikes him back thrice as hard.

It is not long until Mad Dog is at Cassandra’s mercy, nearly a bloody pulp under her hand.

“Finish it,” Shiva calls suddenly, and she almost complies. But, with her hazy vision, the images of Faizul and the assassin blend together. The vertigo Cassandra is feeling becomes sharper, and she’s drowning in it.

In her hesitation, Shiva tuts and stabs her own blade into Mad Dog’s heart, crimson fluid spraying in all directions.

Cass doubles over, desperately heaving, and liquid green purges from her body.

 --

Bruce stares up at the readout on the Batcomputer. There are new players in Gotham, but there’s something that makes them stand out from the others. They make headway faster than he’s ever seen it, clearing out and claiming Park Row as their own territory in a week.

Twenty-seven confirmed kills and thirty-four hospitalisations. He would have stopped with his investigation then and there. Yet, the detective in him tugs the back of his mind. He checks through the names again and finds that each one is attached to a laundry list of crimes that become more appalling the further he reads.

Then Red Hood killed the Joker; and for the first time since the madman’s debut, Gotham is quiet.

Bruce rubs his face in his hands and turns to the screens entirely dedicated to monitoring his daughter Cassandra. (The memorial makes itself known in his peripheral vision.) Her work in Hong Kong as Black Bat had been phenomenal so far. Every story he can find of her weaves the same story: Black Bat, hero of the Forgotten. Of the waylaid and the oppressed.

What would they think? Bruce finally turns to the statue, mouthing the words on the plaque to himself. 

“Can you promise something for me, Bruce? Just one thing?”

  “Anything for you, Jaylad.” 

He tears his eyes away.

Damian becomes cagey whenever either of the three vigilantes come up in conversation. It is suspicious, but he has had the lesson very solidly ironed in his mind how unconducive to understanding he can be. So, he gives his son his space.

Despite the child's refined nature, little pieces of him remind him of Jason, far beyond the boy's temper, pride, or even his cursing. Bruce had seen Damian in the library once, his fingers tracing the spine of a newer copy of Huckleberry Finn.

Red and orange flash by his primary monitor, and Bruce pulls himself from his thoughts.

Batman rises, ready to confront whatever ghosts will taunt him in the shadows.

-- 

The world roars in her ears, and no matter how hard she tries, Cassandra can’t stop the erratic sequence of deep breaths that claw out her throat. For once she’s glad she’s not wearing her old costume. The mask reminded her too much of smoke inhalation and chains and-.

“Why?” She rasps in a throaty, breathless voice that has not escaped her for years. “Why would you do this?”

“Can’t a mother test the progress of her daughter?” Shiva replies coolly. Her stance gives off nothing, so Cassandra does not deign her a response.

“He went looking for me, you should know.”

Her head snaps up.

“He was curious. A unique girl who can read the body as if it were a book and a unique woman who can do the very same? An unlikely coincidence,” Shiva turns her head away, ducked down as if she had already admitted too much. “He asked me, if it was my choice to leave you with your father.”

“It wasn’t.”

Sandra nods.

“He told me that was, and I quote, ‘a load of shit’.”

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass mutters under her breath. A hush falls between them, not comfortable but not unwelcome either.

“It is not me you came here for,” Sandra says with such conviction that Cass can’t help but gape in her disbelief. Of course, she did. Shiva gave birth to her.

Before she can voice her thoughts, Sandra grasps her shoulder and wraps her arms around Cass.

“You’ll find your brother soon. I can promise you that.”

 --

Gotham rumbles, her shock snaking through the crown of her scalp. She knows that tonight is the night; when events will pass and tear the whole city asunder. For better or for worse, she cannot tell.

But she is eager to find out for herself.

 --

“Think that’s a wrap for tonight?” Jason asks quietly, almost inaudible over the Gotham rain. It’s the only coherent sentence he’s made in days, so Rose takes what she can get.

“Probably, you’re not shanghaiing me into grabbing groceries, right?”

“Maybe,” He chuckles, but even though his voice is filtered by their comms, she can tell it’s forced. “Anyone ever tell you how similar some of our problems are?”

“Really? You realised this just now?” Rose rolls her eyes because, honestly. “I mean, at least your dad isn’t some psycho assassin supervillain.”

“Aww, Rosie, making your old man sad. Truly, I’m hurt,” Hues from orange and blue armour melt from the shadows as Deathstroke emerges, eyeing her. “You don’t wear the uniform like Grant did.”

“It’s not meant to and either way, I barely knew him or Joey.” She draws her blades, trying to hide how much her arms are shaking. It doesn’t help. “No thanks to you.”

“Is that Slade?” Jason’s voice is like music to her ears, relaxing her muscles in the ways she needs.

“I made your brothers stronger,” There’s an edge to Slade’s voice, sharp as the glistening blade he brandishes. Ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. “I suggest you come with me so you can be the same.”

“What, dead because of problems you caused?” She laughs shakily, grimacing under her mask. “I suggest you fuck off.”

“I’m coming, Rose.”

“No can do. There’s a hit on the two of you, and its fait accompli,” Deathstroke makes a ‘what-can-you-do?’ gesture and Rose darts forward, her tears faster than the raindrops that dance on her skin.

 --

Batman has followed the Red Hood for hours now, and he has no idea what to think. He expected someone wielding the Joker’s former identity to be as insane as the Clown Prince himself. Yet, the red helmet only bobs up and down as if it were in conversation rather than rotating listlessly.

Despite how antithetical the new face in Gotham is to his beliefs, some actions catch him off guard about the man.

While he has seen no deaths on this patrol, with every bone the criminal breaks, the same hands offer food to street children and escort working girls to their homes. Bruce is thrown, viscerally, into a memory of the bird that flew beside him to do the very same.

The Dark Knight watches him stalk through Park Row, freeze and then take off in another direction.

It is time.

He pursues the criminal, sprinting across the rooftops of Gotham, gliding above catwalks and fire escapes. Within minutes, he overtakes and blocks the path ahead of Red Hood, who curses and vaults over his body.

Or at least, he tries to as Batman grips the man’s ankle and slams him back into the pavement. Hood never misses a second, drawing a knife and swiping at his limbs. He lets go; the man faces him again, twirling the knife round and round.

“B,” A modulated voice hangs in the air, but there is a quality to it that tickles his conscious, like an old ghost whispering in his ears.

“Red Hood, I suggest you surrender peacefully, or I –.”

“Cut the act, alright? You think that just because you’re Batman, nobody can be above you,” Red Hood laughs. Through the modulator of his helmet, it comes off as hollow. “The truth with a saying like that –.” The knife is stowed away. “– It just means nobody is beneath you either.”

The criminal grapples him; kick, jab, punch, kick again in a rapid dance of attacks that Bruce can barely keep up with. Some of the criminal’s movements are achingly familiar yet so foreign that the composite form nauseates him. Red hood strikes over and over until he actually has him, the Dark Knight, pinned.

“And some of us can’t wait to drag you all the way down.”

Jason had always had a gift for speaking. His sister’s hands may be knives, but his words were bullets.

Breaking out of the Red Hood’s hold, that is what Bruce muses in his mind.

 --

They’ve been at a game of cat and mouse for so long now. Locked in a chase of diving and darting around a maze of alleyways and rooftops. Jason drops on one of them and turns to face his pursuer, who draws short away from him.

“What, can’t work it out?” He triggers the seals on his helmet as he lifts it off. Without the lenses he can see, even in the rain, the second Bruce recognises him. “You really didn’t care enough to remember my name or something?”

“Jason,” Bruce’s tone gives off nothing and everything. “W-Why are you doing this? How are you –.”

“I’m doing this because you refuse to do what needs to be done.” Jason snarls, venom laced in every word. “You want to rule them by fear, but you never go any further with the ones who aren’t afraid.”

“Jason, I don’t under-.”

“I died for your cause, and in less than a year you shove some other kid in the uniform so he can die too!” He is raving now. He also doesn’t care. “You let my murderer run wild and slaughter thousands and when someone finally steps up to do what needed to be done, you cut her out?”

“I had to –.”

“Had to what? Isolate her? Run her out of the only family she’s ever known? She was my sister, my whole fucking world; who believed in you and you left her like she means nothing to you! Cass is gone now, and that is your fault!”

“If you would –.”

“Do you even remember? That the only thing I ever made you swear to me, that you vowed on your life, was that you’d never let her down?” For once this night, his voice isn’t angry or vicious. It is a void, detached from any feeling. “Guess I should have known better.”

He knows, almost intrinsically despite the years, that if there is one thing that Jason has said tonight, those are the words that pierce Batman’s defences. It’s why he lets Bruce rush forward like he wants to. Allows the chase to continue. When he jumps, Jason lands in an apartment that carries the same bloodstains that leaked down his mother’s arms a lifetime ago.

 --

Black Bat arrives in Gotham, and superficially, it is empty. She almost hails Barbara when bright flashes shine in her peripheral vision. Lo and behold, Deathstroke and an unknown are locked in a duel below her.

Cassandra drops from above, and at that moment, she kicks Deathstroke into a wall hard enough to knock him unconscious. His opponent, she notices, stops immediately.

Before her is a girl, hair silver under the moonlight, garbed in orange and black.

Then the Batmobile rounds the corner, a small figure rising from the hatch.

"Black Bat," Robin says, "You have not responded to Oracle, she was-."

Damian's eyes bug out once he notices the girl beside Cassandra. She fully expects him to snarl or draw his ridiculously long katana. Instead, uncharacteristically rushes forward and embraces the girl tightly instead.

"Wilson. A-are you finally assisting us in Gotham?" Damian says, even with his head buried in a shoulder. "Drake may be intelligent, but his incompetence with the sword is impossible to rectify."

"Missed you too, D-man," The girl chuckles and ruffles the boy's hair. "I would help, but what’s up with tall, slim and broody over there?"

Cassandra crosses her arms expectantly at Robin, who obviously only just remembered her presence when he unlatches himself immediately. His cheeks may be red, but Damian still raises his chin proudly.

"I found her, Rose," His body language and eyes seem to sing. "I found his ukht."

The girl spins sharply, wolfish eyes drawn wide. “You’re her,” Rose breathes, awe rippling off her body. “You’re Cass.”

She would have flinched, but the body language is so familiar. Cass tilts her head.

“Yes.”

Rose grabs her arm so hastily that she almost rips it back in shock. But something is so honest about her body language that Cass relents, letting the girl lead her where she is needed.

 --

He kneels, tracing the dark stains. Behind him, Batman pauses. Not even he would dare to disturb the sanctity of this room.

“Jaylad, please -.”

“Don’t call me that. That isn’t who I am,” Jason rounds on Bruce. He gestures to the shattered window, the ripped upholstery, and the bloodstained floor. “This is what I grew up being, what I never wanted anyone else to.”

He taps the insignia on Bruce’s chest with his pistol.

“That, right here, was your promise to people like me. People that needed help and protection,” He spits. “And you couldn’t even do it for the ones closest to you.”

"I just want to-."

"Want to what? Parade your antiquated sense of morality to hide, while the rest of the world suffers for what you refuse to do? Or cast out others from taking it in their own hands?"

Tears are building in his eyes, but he wipes them away while Batman stands ramrod straight.

"I don't think you understand. That you've never understood," The man begins, and Jason gapes because what the hell does that mean? "If I let myself cross that line, even for Joker, I won't ever come back."

"You know what I think about that, Bruce?" Jason breathes deeply, feeling the whispers of the Pit roaring with the heavy rain in his ears. "I think that's a huge self-aggrandizing load of bullshit."

He charges forward, knocking Batman's legs from under him and ramming his face into the ground. Batman is down to his knees before either can even blink.

"And I'm so fucking tired of hearing it."

Jason levels the barrel at Bruce’s forehead, torbernite lining the edges of his vision, engulfing him in an absence.

“What’s the use of you learning to do right when it’s troublesome to do right?”

 --

Then, her voice shatters the tension in the air, gripping his heart and silencing the susurrations of the rain that suffocated his ears.

“When it ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same.”

-- 

“Cass?” The boy in the alleyway says. A gun. An apple in his hand. The girl falters in the doorway, her fist tongue clenches, and she nods.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[ambertea]

the photograph

Ten struggles to move past Rose after Doomsday. (Hurt, no comfort.)

(Read on AO3)

The TARDIS door swung shut, and his head weighed heavily against the wood.

The past week had been a blur of activity. Searching for something he knew was impossible – a way to crack through to a parallel universe without destroying two worlds at once. When he had finally given up on that, he’d spent his time in a desperate rush to try and talk to her, at the very least, to give her the goodbye he’d denied so many others.

After that had come Donna and the Racnoss, and he had been almost relieved to have a reason to push her out of his head. He hadn’t had to face the burning sickness in his gut, or the deep, heavy longing weighing down on him like a boulder.

Now—finally—it was time to grieve. But he couldn’t.

Seeing her crying in front of him so openly – hearing her I love you – and being unable to return either had been an all-consuming pain, a slap to the face, a kick to the gut. Somewhere along the way, though, the feeling had simmered, leaving him with only all-consuming exhaustion.

After Gallifrey had gone, something precious had been ripped from his brain. It was like losing his hearing – or perhaps more than that, as though his ears still worked but the rest of the world had grown utterly silent. Now, aching as he did, he thought he might have a matching wound across his chest.

Sighing, he turned and walked up the ramp, flicking some buttons on the console panel. The TARDIS was unnaturally still, her own grief gentle but devastating. He looked around and paused.

What was he supposed to do now?

For lifetimes, he had spent the time in between adventures in the library, blonde hair tickling his nose. He could just keep going – look for another planet, another time – but something about that felt disrespectful. He owed her his pain, at least. Really, he’d never given her anything else.

Purple was blurring in the corner of his eyes, and he groaned and stared towards it. Her shirt. Wandering over, he held it gently in his hand and tried not to think of the last time he’d seen her in it.

“What do you think?” She asked, spinning into the room. He froze.

She still had on the same shirt as yesterday, held tightly by a dungaree dress. Long boots slithered up to her knees, clinging to her ankles and exaggerating the length of her legs. Three buttons – one more than Cassandra! – had been pulled apart across her chest, cleavage peaking over the denim. If she so much as very slightly leaned forwards, he may well have an aneurysm.

“Bit…blue.”

She frowned, looking down at herself. “It’s my favourite colour.”

“Favourite colour? Humans are ridiculous.”

She laughed and then quickly ran away, her boots thundering across the grating. His hearts calmed down, just a little, but then she was back, her massive red rucksack clutched in her arms.

“You help me choose, then.” She said, unzipping the bag and rummaging through. He leaned back on the console and snorted.

“Rose. I am a 900-year-old Time Lord. I am not here to help you with your fashion.”

“Alright, so I’ll just stick with what I’m wearing.”

He gulped.

“S’pose I can help. If you really want.”

She rolled her eyes and threw a few tops across the floor, and he stepped closer to inspect them properly. The majority of them he had seen before, each one a different memory of a time he’d been left tongue-tied.

“What’s that one?” He asked, pointing towards a magenta top he had never seen before. She held it up to herself and frowned down, eying the crown painted over the chest. He nodded approvingly, positive that this, at least, would cover…. everything that needed covering.

“I think mum got it for me at Primark…” she looked at it doubtfully. “You like it?”

“Love it. Now hurry up, we’ve got places to be.”

She giggled, her fingers fiddling with the top of dungarees until the buttons popped open.

“What are you doing?” He choked.

She grinned. “Changing my top.”

He nodded quickly, his hand brushing through and then gripping at his hair.

“Yep, right, course. I’ll just, uh—” he spun away from her teasing smile.

His eyes fixed upon the TARDIS wall, and he tried his very best not to think about her with her top off.

“Alright, safe now.”

He turned back and groaned internally. How did she do this?

Bounding up the console, he flipped some buttons and switches at random, looking down at them mindlessly.

“What do you think of this? Will it do?”

Absolutely not.

“In the late 1970s? You'd be better off in a bin bag…”

He was standing outside her room.

The top was clutched in his hands, his arm tight and tense. It couldn’t stay in the console room forever. He may as well hang a banner over the struts, paint big black words declaring that she was gone. It had to be hidden away, along with the rest of her, and then could close the door on the happiest chapter of his life for good.

But first, he needed to open the door. Which was proving difficult.

His hand reached forward and hovered in the air. The doorknob glared out at him, shiny and menacing. He had faced down Daleks, Cybermen—the Devil himself. He could do this. With a grunt, he pushed the door open.

His legs stepped forwards as if separate from his brain – kicking away the clothes scattered across the floor. Rose’s room had always been an absolute state, but homely in a way no other room in the TARDIS had ever managed. Her life was scattered across the photographs hanging on the walls, precious ornaments she had collected strewn carelessly across her desk.

His shoulders tensed and then slumped. He could feel her.

She was here in this room, her presence dawdling in a way he had never fully understood or believed in. Her spirit lingered over her dirty makeup brushes, raced through her stack of grimy teacups, settled along her unmade bed. She may as well have been standing in this very room, just out of his eye line.

Trembling, he collapsed onto her covers and bowed his head in silent prayer.

He yearned for his earlier dullness. Whatever this was—this swirling vortex of misery and self-loathing—was clutching at his lungs, squeezing at his throat. Tears dripped down onto the duvet, and he wiped them away, sniffing.

A gleam of light dazzled in the corner of his eye, and he turned towards her bedside table. A metal-framed photograph of the two of them. He reached out, cradling it in his hands, and gazed down at their flushed, happy faces.

“Rose, we can’t take a selfie in the 50s.”

She pouted, juggling her phone between her hands. “They won’t even know what we’re doing!”

“Humans have been taking selfies since they were barely more than apes.”

“But not on a phone!” She exclaimed. “They’ll just think we’re…leaning close.”

He snorted. “That’s scandalous enough.”

Rolling her eyes, she put her phone back in her jacket pocket. He leaned against the wall and watched the street, trying to keep his face fixed in a pleasant smile.

The image of her, faceless, was still vivid in his brain. To see her without her usual vibrant expressions had been harrowing, like losing her whilst she stood right in front of him. For a second, he didn’t think he would ever smile again.

“You alright?” She said, shoving into his shoulder with a bit too much force. Her heels toppled, and she began to fall, and he quickly grabbed her before her face collided with the pavement.

“Those things,” he accused, pointing at her shoes “are dangerous.”

“And a bit painful.” She grimaced. “Pretty though, don’t you think?”

In truth, he’d barely glanced over her shoes, but nodded all the same. He still couldn’t get over her looking like this—it reminded him of the first time he’d seen her dressed up, a lifetime ago. He had been awed then, and he was awed now.

“Not great for running, though.”

“Nah, but we’re done for the day, aren’t we? We saved the day and all that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We saved the day, did we?”

“I was definitely an important part of it.”

He hummed, crossing his arms. “Seemed to me like you were just standing about.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t do everything, can I? Spotted the TV thing before you. Anyway, we’re a team. We do things together.”

“So did we save the day when we met, then?”

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “That was definitely me.”

He drank in her joy thirstily, letting her calm strength wash over him until he felt a bit lighter. The tables were being cleared away, and a few merry couples had taken to slow dancing across the road. He glanced at Rose and saw her eying them wistfully.

“Okay,” he sighed. “I guess we can take that selfie.”

She squealed, her phone instantly out of her pocket, and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him closer. Her cheek was pressed up against his, soft and warm. He grabbed her waist and pulled her tight against himself, grinning along right with her.

She looked down happily at her phone, angling it so he could peer along with her. He looked absolutely besotted. But then, so did she.

“Would you do me the honour, Dame Rose,” he asked, bowing towards her and offering his hand “of this dance?”

“Sir Doctor, I believe I will.”

He hadn’t intended to return. The first time had been an allowable weakness, a natural stage of the grieving process. Going back felt wrong somehow, even inappropriate. He had never shared her room during her time with him, so what right did he have to it now?

But there was another woman on the ship, and if there was anything Rose had taken issue to, it was that. Especially with the way Martha had looked at him—no, that wouldn’t have pleased her at all.

He poked his head around the door, feeling oddly like he was intruding on the empty room. Stalking over to the bed, he picked up the photo of her on her bedside table. His fingers traced over the lines of his face, trying to call back the feeling of her skin.

He desperately wanted to know how she was doing, where she has. One part of him hoped she would forget him altogether—a bigger part begged her not to.

“I got a new suit.” He told her, nodding down to himself. “Blue.”

A knock rapped upon the door and he shot up, dropping the photograph. He cracked the door open slightly to see Martha looking at him curiously.

“Sorry—just wondering where the kitchen is?”

“There,” he nodded behind her, quickly instructing the TARDIS to shuffle the rooms. “Goodnight.”

“Is this your room?” She asked, and he ignored her, shutting the door behind him.

He hurried back over to the bed, inspecting the frame for any damage, but it was unharmed. Sighing in relief, he put it back carefully, and laid down, staring at it.

“It’s okay. It’s just one trip.” He whispered to her, feeling a bit silly but needing to say it all the same. “And I told her your name, just like you wanted to me to.”

She smiled back, frozen and wordless.

“Mickey all settled in?”

She collapsed onto the sofa and sighed, her eyes inspecting his face. He steeled himself. He had been waiting for this – for her to explode over Sarah-Jane and Mickey and his harsh words outside of the chip shop. It was why he had hidden away in the library, behind dense shelves of books. But as always, Rose had found him as if by instinct.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re--what?” he spluttered.

She kept her eyes on the carpet, hands twisting anxiously around in her lap.

“I shouldn’t have said—what I said, earlier. I was just being stupid.”

“Not stupid.”

“Okay, naïve, then. I just thought me and you were…” she glanced up, eying him carefully. “I don’t know, special.”

“Special.” He echoed, letting it bounce around his brain.

“And it just made me panic. And think about what happens when I die.”

“Well, that’s a way off yet.”

“Yeah, but it’s just like—who’s going to remember me?”

He frowned. “What?”

“I don’t really have friends on Earth anymore.” She said, turning to him and keeping her voice quiet. “There’s not even any records of my life from the past few years. I’ve got mum, but after that—” she fidgeted, casting her eyes down at her hands “I dunno. My whole life might as well have not happened. No one will remember it.”

“I didn’t forget Sarah-Jane.”

“You might as well have. How often do you think about her? Really?”

He scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward.

“And now you’ve invited Mickey, which is fine—” she paused, taking a deep breath. “But it feels like even your memories of me aren’t going to be just me now. You’re going to look back and remember Rose-and-Mickey.”

“Instead of just you.” He said slowly.

“Well, yeah. And I know it’s selfish—”

“Not selfish.”

“—self-centered, then. But I kinda hoped you’d remember me.”

She fell back, as though winded from her own words, and he looked at her thoughtfully. Rose’s mortality was a subject he rarely allowed himself to consider, but when he did, he was usually focused on its effect on him. He had always assumed she was too young to think about it with any real unease. He offered out his arm and she quickly snuggled into him, face buried in his suit.

“When you…go,” he said slowly, the words painful on his tongue. “I’ll tell people. Promise. The whole universe will get sick of hearing about you.”

She snorted gently into his chest.

“I’ll write books, even. Poetry. Make some art.”

“More art,” her muffled voice reminded him, and he smiled.

“Some more art. A whole museum full of Rose.”

He pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her back, and kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll remember you. How could I ever forget?”

“They’re back,” he said as he walked through the door. “They survived.”

He undressed quickly, his clothes piling on top of hers. He bounced onto the bed, gazing at her, lying on his front.

“Cult of Skaro.” He told her, brushing dust from the bedstand. “Dalek Sec turned human. Just like the Dalek you touched,” he sighed, looking down. “I tried to save him. I knew you’d want me to.”

Rose looked back at him.

“No, I’m all right. Well—” he hesitated. “A bit angry, maybe. Four of them managed to stick together. Why couldn’t we?”

He rolled over; eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“I know. We got rid of millions of them. Stopped them killing everyone, that made it worth it.” His eyes twitched over to her, and then quickly away. “I guess.”

“I don’t think you have Daleks, over in that universe. Shouldn’t do, anyway, although really who knows where they manage to get to? But even if there is one over there, you should be able to sort them out. Right in the eyestalk, remember? Only weakness.

“Although knowing you, you’d have them charmed before it got to that. Offered them tea or something. Given it a hug. God, Rose—I hope you’re being careful over there. Joining Torchwood is great, but risking your life is less fun when it’s just you. You probably know that by now, you trouble magnet. But I couldn’t bare if it if–” he paused, aching. “Although, I suppose I wouldn’t know anyway.”

He pulled the pink covers up to his face, brushing them against his cheek. They smelt less of Rose now, after a week of his visits—he thought the TARDIS had probably washed them at some point, although he’d specifically asked her not to. Still, they were a comfort.

“When I first saw them,” he breathed. “I thought they’d come from the void. And I was horrified, of course. But not entirely. I thought, maybe—” he buried himself deeper in the covers, “but I guess not.”

“How did it feel?” She asked, her hand clutching his tightly. “Being a picture?”

“Sketchy.”

She looked at him sternly, ignoring his wide grin. He pulled her towards the cake table, but she tugged him back, her fingers digging slightly into his wrist.

“I’m serious.”

He gazed at her, wondering whether she truly wanted the answer. No, probably not. But her eyes were pleading with him, and she had just saved the day. Her wish, as always, was his command.

“Flat—no, I’m serious,” he said quickly, halting her open mouth. “Couldn’t really move. Couldn’t feel the TARDIS. Just stood there and…existed. It was terrible.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tugged him a little closer.

“Those kids—”

“—are not okay, no matter how well they look now. It was like being trapped in my own brain. It was hard to work out what was real and what wasn’t. Even now—”

He stopped himself quickly, biting at the inside of his lips. She placed her hands loosely around his neck and kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Feels real to me.”

He laughed. “Can’t taste pencil?”

“Well,” she said, pulling him closer still. “Let me double check.”

“Rose,” he breathed, stumbling through the door. “Rose—Rose—”

He staggered across the room, arms out and craving for her.

“Rose—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He had left her. Again. A whole year under the Master’s brutal torture, but the worst pain of all had been staying away from her for so long. He clutched at her, his eyes devouring her face, the cold metal cutting into his skin.

“I couldn’t—I didn’t believe it—he was alive, Rose, and he was—” he struggled through his shallow breaths, trying desperately to articulate, to make her understand that he hadn’t chosen to stay away. “Rose, I was trapped. I spent every second thinking of you.”

She was looking at him, unmoved by his rambling pleas. He pressed his head against her, eyes squeezed shut, begging for her to understand.

“I wouldn’t leave you on purpose, you know I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—”

His eyes were streaming, but it felt so good to hold her close to him again. She was angry, she always was when they were separated, but she was here, and it was slowly relaxing him.

“I wasn’t the last. He was just hidden. I never thought—I was so alone,” he paused, smiling down at her. “Yes, I know. Apart from you, I meant. Does that even need saying?”

He ran his hand down his face. “No, I’ll be okay. I just needed to spend some time with you.”

He hugged her tighly, burying his face into her shoulder.

“How long did you wait?”

“5 and a half hours.” She gasped out, and he grimaced.

She was giddy with joy, and he realised suddenly just how frightened she must have been. What had he expected her to do, stuck on this space station? Wander around and hope one day he’d turn up?

“I’m sorry.” He said, pulling away. She looked down, but he pressed a finger against her chin, forcing it upwards. “Really.”

“It’s fine.”

He shook his head and stepped a little closer.

“I should’ve never left you. I never will again.”

He kissed her sweetly, and she stayed utterly still for a second before kissing him back enthusiastically.

They pulled apart and beamed at each other, their hands naturally gravitating together.

“We never did this,” she said, settling her head on his shoulder.

“What?”

“This,” she said, nodding at their clasped hands. “Us.”

He brushed the hair away from her eyes and then traced his fingertips over her lips. He had always loved these lips, loved the look, the touch—

“You never kissed me.”

He pulled his hand back and stared at her, confused. She shuffled out of his embrace, her sympathetic gaze grating at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. He had always been physically affectionate to her, every light touch a happy expression of love.

“You never told me that, either. Not once.”

He shifted in his chair, looking away.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Because I’m not sure you know.”

Martha left, and he thought maybe it was for the best. He had honestly liked Martha, found her intelligent and self-confident. But he knew she made Rose feel insecure, which was the last thing he wanted.

He spent his days curling up in her bed, chatting through their memories and finding joy in her smile. The universe had taken enough of his life. From now on, he would spend it with her.

“Doctor,” Rose said, settling heavily on the bed, “I’m worried.”

“About what?” He asked quickly, scooting up to her and taking her hand. She looked down at it with a frown.

“You’ve not eaten in a week. Not slept in months.”

He smiled. She was adorable. “You’re worried about me?”

She groaned, laying back. He mirrored her, studying her face.

“When was the last time you left the TARDIS?” She asked, and he frowned.

He’d forgotten he was on the TARDIS. He saw so little of it now.

“Are you getting restless? Because we don’t have to stay here. Maybe the library? You’ve always loved it.”

Her head towards him, and he was confused by the intensity he saw in his eyes. Maybe she was growing tired of his presence, sick of his constant rambles. He reached for his hair, nervous, and was surprised to find it down to his shoulders.

She reached towards him, and he stole her into his arms, trying to rub some warmth into her cold body.

“What about past the library?”

He frowned. “The console room?”

She groaned and rolled into his chest. He rubbed her back, trying to comfort her.

“What about the garden? We could plant strawberries for the summertime. Strawberries and ice cream for lunch, every day. Like a children’s book.”

“Why don’t you go outside, to plant strawberries?”

He pushed her away from him, bewildered, staring up at her with furrowed eyebrows. “Outside?”

“Grass. Sky. Stars.”

He let her fall beside him and stood up, angry.

“We can’t go outside. You know that.”

He glared at the wall opposite, his hands curling into fists. She brought this up so often these days, a constant argument that he never seemed to fully win.

“You need to,” she whispered behind him. “You need to go outside.”

He spun around. “I need to? By myself?”

She was very still on the bed, her eyes staring upwards blankly.

“Yes. God, Doctor, this isn’t you. When have you ever stayed still this long?”

He frowned at her. “But—we’re happy. Me and you, in the TARDIS. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She gazed up at him, looking pained. “Do you really think I would have wanted this?”

“Of course!” He shouted. “This is exactly what you wanted. Just me and you, no one else. Domestics. Love. All of that.”

“Love?” She whispered. “Is this love?”

He staggered back. He had always loved her, never faltering and never hesitating.

“What else could this be,” He asked, feeling tears rage in his eyes “but love?”

“Pain.” She whispered.

He fell back against the wall, sliding down until he was draped on top of the carpet.

“Pain?” He echoed, feeling an ache against his chest. “I pain you?”

“No,” she said from the bed. “No, never. But what about you?”

“Me?”

“How do you feel?”

He paused and took stock. Quite hungry, actually – and tired, which was unusual.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

She stayed motionless, and he stood up slowly, shaking the sudden fatigue from his limbs. She gazed up at him sadly.

“You need to move on. Get past me. Find someone else.”

“Someone else?”

He paced up and down the room, treading on both of their clothes.

“Snap out of it.”

He froze and turned slowly.

“Rose,” he muttered, “don’t.”

“I love you, Doctor.”

He stumbled slightly, exhaustion overtaking him. He sat down on the bed and froze. Slowly, he stood up and turned.

Her face was shattered across the bed.

“Rose,” he gasped out, his hearts racing. “No.”

“I love you,” she cried. He knew this—had always known this—but even now, saying his goodbyes, a flood of joy coursed through his blood.

He reached out to her and pulled her lips towards his. Her hands immediately went to the top of his head, grabbing at his head, moulding his body on hers. He clung to her back desperately, cursing their bodies for stopping them from moving even closer.

She pulled back, gasping for breath. He ran his tongue around his lips, tasting makeup and saltwater.

“I love you too.” He whispered into her ear.

He was on the floor, shards of glass scattered across his body. He brushed them off, slowly sitting up.

“Rose?”

The room was silent.

[esbarnes]

Distance

Part 6.

I could feel my control over Red starting to slip. I was tired of being so close to him and not really being with him. I was angry at whoever was behind all of this and more than anything I wanted things to be back to normal. But something told me that wasn’t going to happen. Red was ready to take over and finish this with tooth and claw, and I was just about ready to let her. 

Eilene’s pov

It had been weeks since the night they got their memories back from Alyssa and since Lilith came up with a potion to protect us all from having our memories messed with in the future. There was a small part of me that hoped that this potion would help restore Hamish’s memory of us, but it didn’t. Alyssa and I had brought them up to speed about everything going on. I told them about what I had found out from being away and about the bonds. Randall was thrilled with this “So basically we have internal walkies talkies with each other!” he said excitedly. “Yeah kinda, while you were all still memory wiped I started practicing. I was able to reach all of you although you probably didn’t realize it at the time.” I replied. This caught everyone’s attention and Lilith said “That was you in the Library!” “Guilty.” I replied. I showed each of them how to feel for and use the bonds. It was easy for Randall, Lilith it took a few tries but she finally got it. Jack took to it pretty easily as well and then he and Alyssa got a text that said “Temple NOW.” from the Grand Magus and left.

That left Hamish and I in the living room as Randall and Lilith took off to their bedrooms. He seemed nervous to be alone with me and then said “how about a drink, I promise I wont bite, unless you want me to.” He was smiling and I couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Hamish’s pov

- My god her laugh - he thought and then shook his head to concentrate. After they had taken sips of the drink he made, she went on to explain the bonds and how to use them. He focused his breathing and thought of her. But nothing happened. He huffed and took another drink while he sat down at one of the bar stools, which she noticed. Hamish couldn’t help but look at her deep green eyes and think about his dream. He had to look away, none of this made sense and then Tundra started shifting under his skin again. Hamish could tell that Tundra wanted to be near her, to touch her and protect her. But he still couldn’t figure out why. It was just Eilene after all. Eliene saw his pause and looked concerned. She walked up to him and placed and hand on his shoulder. “Just close your eyes, take a deep breath in and then out. Now think of me. See me in your mind and the bond will do the rest.” said. He did just as she instructed and just then his dream came back to him. She gasped at the images he was sending to her through the bond and in return he just felt hope and warmth. He pulled her toward him and rested his forehead against hers. Breathing her in like he hadn't seen her in months, like he missed her. Both of their wolves were scratching at the surface and their breathing had gone heavy when both of their phones went off breaking the moment entirely. She stepped away from him to fish her’s out of her back pocket while he grabbed his as well. They both had gotten the same text, “Temple NOW.” From the Grand Magus herself. 

Eilene’s pov

They both arrived to the temple and were given various assignments. The Order was under attack yet again. Even though Hamish seemed to be aware of their connection, I couldn’t help but notice the strange pull he had to Vera Stone. I would be lying if is said it didn’t bother me. It set my wolf on edge even more so. Hamish was ours. There was a small part of me that thought maybe this was for the best, maybe this would gave him a second chance at being with someone who wasn’t a werewolf, someone he wouldn’t loose like he had Cassie. But Red said a resounding “No!” I had to stop having thoughts like that or I was going to lose what control I had left. 

I had already been filled in on the magic heist, which for the record I thought was a bad idea and also why the others had left me out of it. When we arrived at the temple we all understood why. Everyone was on edge and The Grand Magus was telling us about how an emperor Demon Rogwan was going to break through to this realm and destroy us all. I then heard Hamish mutter something about Vera, being smart for not mentioning that the reliquary had been emptied - By us - I thought. Then Randall piped up next to him and asked “Dude are you hot for teacher?” Hamish blushed a bit and then looked over at me “I just admire good leadership.” he said and then looked away. That was a lie. 

After a bit of initial panic we all came up with a patchwork plan that involved summoning Rogwan early to surprise him and hold him, while Jack and Lilith tried to find the sickles that the Demon Zecchia had stolen for them and then stolen from them. Hamish, Randall and I would stay at the temple to do our best to keep everyone safe. This meant I had to finally explain to Vera what I was and to some degree who I was. There was no way I could trust her but I needed her to trust me, just enough to get closer to her. “Wonderful, we have more werewolf muscle in case things get out of hand, which they most likely will. Rogwan is a demon who eats your fear, which makes you reckless and completely removes any self preservation you may have. We will all need to be careful. if you mutts hadn’t stolen my reliquary to begin with this wouldn't be an issue.” she said. Something about her tone made Red Snap. I could feel her move up to my eyes and that they were glowing bright yellow, when I took a step toward her. This caught her attention as well as Hamish’s, since he took a step toward me. Randall hung back behind us ready to jump in if he was needed. I looked Vera Stone straight in the eyes and said. “Regardless of the mistakes that have been made, if anything and I mean anything happens to these “mutts” I will personally hold you responsible.” I could see her square her shoulders as I continued “And there is nothing in this realm or any other that will keep me from you.” Hamish reached a hand out to touch my arm and the whole room felt tense waiting for the Grand Magus to respond. She looked at me with what almost looked like respect when she nodded and  said “Understood. First let’s live through the day and then we can discuss your issue with authority Ms. Danvers.” With that settled we prepared for the worst. 

Of course, our plan fell apart at the seams. Rogwan seemed particularly fond of the fear of werewolves and had already gotten to Hamish and Randall. Jack and Lilith had had zero luck getting the Sickles back nor could they remember where the stolen reliquary was. Alyssa was also down for the count and was working with the Grand Magus on one last plan. At some point in the chaos I remembered that I had found a random chest that seemed to have nothing but an assortment of information in it and a book on the demon realm. It also had some kind of spear in it that if I remembered correctly could hurt demons. It was a long shot but I had to give it a try before anyone else lost their fear. I had to get back to the den, get the book, the spear and make it back to the Temple before Vera set off a magical bomb. 

Hamish’s pov  

Having no fear didn’t seem all that bad, especially when you were a werewolf that could heal. It was like being immortal. Randall and I had to get the others to Rogwan so that he could take their fear to! Jack and Lilith were already headed back to the temple when he and Randall had arrived. It seemed as though Rogwan had saved some of the other members of the order as well since they were all hanging around and doing all kinds of fun things. A few of them were even trying to learn hand to hand combat with a knife that looked a lot like the one he had been stabbed with a while ago and another huge knife that reminded him of Crocodile Dundee. As he passed bybthem he said “Now that’s a knife.” in his best Australian accent. They just nodded and kept trying to stab each other. Just then Vera Stone walked passed him with Alyssa Drake behind her. They were headed to one of the more private temples toward the back. - I should say something to Vera - he thought, but she was already out of sight. Shortly after Eilene came in, she looked like she was on a mission, she had some things in her arms and her eyes were still a bright golden hue - God she’s beautiful, I should make love to her right now - He thought. But before he could get to her the two acolytes playing with knives saw her and stepped in front of her. “Hey, I’m no longer afraid of werewolves, watch this.” and as he finished speaking he stabbed her. 

Watching the knife slide into her stomach. Seeing the mix of surprise and pain on her face caused something in him to break completely. The sound that came from him seemed to be a combination of both him and Tundra “Noooooo.” It was more of a growl than actual words. He was on his way toward her when she dropped what she was holding, gripped the boys shirt and tossed him across the room. The only problem with this was that she threw him into Hamish and  they both fell to the ground. Hamish was pushing the kid off him when he noticed the knife he had used to stab HIS Eilene with WAS same knife that was deadly to werewolves. The same knife that had stabbed him. She wouldn’t have long if she kept fighting these fearless acolytes and if he didn’t get her to the Grand Magus soon. 

Part 7. coming soon!

[badassbabeparker]

GIVE. ME. A. PART. 2. TO. THE. BODY SHOT. BLURB. IMMEDIATE. Am NoT KiDdEd.

A/n: Hi lovelies! Wow it feels like it’s been a while. I’ve been struggling a lot lately with not only my mental health but writers block and each have been influencing the other. Anyway I finally wrote a part 2 to this blurb as requested by my lovely carebear and others. Here you are! Enjoy! 

Word count: Somehow this managed to be 2k oops

Warnings: alcohol, swearing maybe?, jealous feelings.

The sun mocked you that morning, rising far too quickly and lighting up your room through the curtains you forgot to close. You rolled over and tried to block the light with your pillow, groaning as your head pounded in your skull and the bitterness of the alcohol remained on your dry lips. 

With no chance of going back to sleep in sight you swung your legs off of your bed and rubbed your eyes. You noticed that you were wearing a pink button up shirt that definitely wasn’t your own. You put it down to someone lending it to you and went to get up from the warmth of your bed but what you didn’t expect was the little wince to sound from your floor.

“Ow.” 

You gasped and looked down to see Harrison lying on a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. He was also very shirtless which explained the familiarity of the shirt. 

“Haz?! What the hell are you doing sleeping on my floor?” 

“I was worried about you.” He laughed, rubbing his eyes. “You were pretty out of it and you asked me to stay so I did.”  

The memory came flooding back to you - sobbing into Harrison’s shoulder, muttering about Tom drunkenly until you feel asleep on his shoulder with one last mutter of “stay”. Your cheeks flamed red, avoiding Harrison’s sympathetic gaze before he stretched. 

You got up, stepping around Harrison. Once you reached the door you turned back with a small smile. “Thank you Haz.” 

Harrison smiled up at you, sending you a wink as you left your room and journeyed into the kitchen. You shivered as your bare feet hit the cold tiles of the floor but the pace at which your heart was beating was enough to distract you.

You poured yourself a bowl of cereal and tried to focus on the task at hand instead of the sound of the bedroom door opening and especially the person walking out, you couldn’t help but steal a glance. 

The girl from last night, still dressed in her clothes from the night before exited Tom’s room, heels in hand. She was followed not long after by a sleepy Tom who oddly enough was also still in his clothes from the night before. 

They didn’t spot you as you kept quiet, instead exchanging a hug which also striked you as odd. Tom often didn’t acknowledge the girls as they left let alone hugged them maybe this was more than a one time thing. The thought made your heart drop as you grabbed your bowl, hoping to sneak back to your room. 

Unfortunately for you a creaky floorboard ruined your stealth. Tom turned around and smiled sheepishly. The girl also turning to look at you.

“Oh hey Y/n.” 

A strange look crossed the girl’s face at your name, you decided not to dwell on it too much as they said goodbye and the girl left with a kiss to his cheek. You entered your room and sighed as you leant against the back of the door.

“Aw nothing for me?” Harrison pouted, now up from his space on the floor with his jacket on and zipped up. You shook your head and tried to smile, sitting down with your bowl of cereal but not feeling very hungry anymore. “What’s up?”

You tried hard to not think about Tom and the girl who seemed to be more than a one night stand but your heart still hurt from the image. Harrison seemed to sense there was more than a hangover on your mind and he wrapped his arms around you. 

After a moment of rambling about what you had seen and Harrison trying to tell you it was probably an act, you got up and exited your room. 

Tom was sitting at the table with his head in his hands, but he lifted it up when he heard the door open. His eyes widened at the sight of Harrison coming out of your room and you dressed in his shirt. 

You saw a look of hurt and… jealousy? Cross his face before he put on his regular charming smile and greeted his best friend as if nothing had happened. You furrowed your brow as you watched them before shaking your head and blaming your hangover for stupid thoughts. 

Harrison left with a wave and a goodbye and then it was just you and Tom like it always was except now there was an unspoken tension between you. Neither acknowledged it but it was clear. 

You were so desperate to break the tension that you started to speak of the first thing that came to mind. 

“So have fun last night?” 

Tom raised a brow at you, his rather blank expression unchanging. “What?” 

“I hope you weren’t quiet on my account.” You let out a nervous laugh, internally cringing at yourself before you focused on grabbing a drink from the fridge. Tom watched you for a moment without a word before he looked back down at his breakfast. 

Another stretch of silence passed before Tom was the one to break it. “So you and Harrison huh?” His jaw tensed as he spoke, eyes transfixed on the cereal in the bowl.

“Um,” You thought about your answer. This could be the thing to test the waters, see if his feelings were jealousy or something else. “No, he was just helping me out. I had a bit too much to drink.”

“Yeah those body shots are lethal.” Tom quirked a smug smile before he cleaned up and went to get ready for the day. You rolled your eyes and shook your head as you did the same. 

~~~~~~~~~

The library was empty that day, not many people went to study on a Sunday. You were quite pleased at the emptiness, it made it easy to focus and to drive your brain into your work. Which you did for about an hour before your body started craving caffeine. 

Thankfully the stall for coffee was just outside and was good enough to quench your need. You stood at the back of the small line consisting of two girls who were gossiping to each other. You ignored their conversation, instead choosing to scroll through your newsfeed on your phone. Until- 

“I saw you with Tom Holland last night.” 

You tried not to listen, you really did. 

“Yeah he was nice.” The other girl shrugged and your heart fell into your stomach. She was the girl from last night, the one that had been doing shots with Tom, the one that had been standing in your apartment hours earlier. 

“Nice?” Her friend questioned as you tried to hide your face in your hoodie. 

The girl sighed as they grabbed their coffee and moved to the side. “Well he took me to his room and we were about to… you know. But then he just got sad.” 

“Really?” 

She nodded, holding her coffee tightly in her hands and making a disgruntled expression. “He started crying about his roommate and how in love with her he was.” She took a sip as her friend touched her shoulder sympathetically. “That girl’s so lucky and she doesn’t even know it.”

The coffee vendor asked you what you wanted but you couldn’t hear him, all you could hear was the girl’s words being repeated in your head. Your heart was most definitely in your stomach or throat now, you could feel it everywhere, pumping as quickly as it could. 

You forwent the coffee and smiled to yourself as you made your way home, trying to run through what words you would say to Tom. Maybe you could just kiss him and surprise him like they do in the movies. 

But then just as quickly as the elated feelings had come, they had been torn away by one particular thought. 

What if it wasn’t true?

What if the girl had only been saying that because she knew you were behind her? Or to cover up the truth about what really happened last night? 

Your heart slowed down as you reached the door, your smile faded into nerves as you entered and saw Tom playing video games. He waved at you without taking his eyes off the screen, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to beat the level. You smiled at him as he paused the game and turned to look at you.

The awkward tension from that morning had simmered away and it was just you and Tom again like normal. How could you possibly ruin that again? The words bubbled in your throat as he asked you what was up but they faded into nothing as you made up an excuse and headed for your room.

And that was that. 

Or so you thought. 

It was 2 weeks later when you were both invited to another party. It was louder than yours and you hardly knew anyone so you stuck to Tom like glue, not that he minded of course. 

Eventually you ran into Harrison as Tom went to get drinks. You could feel the buzz of the alcohol coursing through your system as you spoke to Harrison, the smile on your face permanent as your thoughts drifted to Tom. 

You saw the girl from the other party and the library enter with her friend and all of a sudden your jealousy kicked in as she greeted Tom. All of a sudden you were asking Harrison to do shots and making your way to the kitchen. 

More people joined in as the shots got more daring including the classic body shot. Harrison had volunteered for you to finally do one on him and you smirked, feeling more tipsy than before as he poured the salt on him. 

You looked over to Tom and saw that look again from across the room as you met his eyes - the clenched jaw and burning gaze. He made his way to you quickly and just before you could lick the salt from Harrison’s abs, he volunteered himself.

You made no objections as he took off his shirt and laid down, the salt on his abs as he smirked at you. “Go ahead darling.” You almost shivered at his words before you complied with the rules of a body shot. Lick. Shot. Lime.

But before you could finish, the lime went missing. You searched for it before Tom smirked and opened his mouth, revealing the green skin of the lime. He smirked as he took it out. 

You felt as if you were in a daydream again but everything felt much more real. You pinched yourself to make sure and Tom furrowed his brow before you kissed him without a second thought. 

You tasted the lime on his tongue as it swirled around yours, his lips melding perfectly to your own. He tasted like whisky, tequila, lime and Tom. He was what you had been needing and craving this whole time and even though your mind was deep in alcohol it didn’t take much to realise that you loved him.

When the kiss parted, both of you needing air, you both had wide smiles beneath the slight haze of alcohol which was steadily wearing off. The kiss seemed to bring you both back to Earth and finally right where you both needed to be.

Tom laughed and rested his forehead against yours. “I wanted to do that for fucking ages. I love you.” His words were soft and genuine, making your heart melt. 

“I love you too.” You smiled and kissed him again, sure that you would never get tired of his lips. The kiss lingered for longer and was much sweeter than before as you explored every inch of his mouth.

It was Tom to speak first as a calm silence settled over you. The party was roaring on and yet it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

“Another body shot?” Tom smirked and you returned it with a bite to your lip. 

“Try and stop me.” 

Famous last words.

[peonypearls-muddled-musings]

There are three different forms that pure Shapeshifters can take. Untethered, Anchored, and Sleeping.

The first Shapeshifters, who would become the Hierarchy, arrived from the stars on a meteor. They were invisible, microscopic, and very awake. By latching onto people, animals, etc, the Shifters are given different opportunities.

They can enter the living organism through the bloodstream and find their way to the nervous system, becoming no more than a parasite. The Shifter can see everything happening, but the host will still have all basic functions; however, they face death after being a host for more than several days as the strain catches up to them instantly upon the Shifter’s leave. The Shifter exits the host by causing a sensation for the host to cough; thus expelling the Shifter’s microscopic form. This is the Sleeping mode for the Shifter; they use it after being alive for hundreds of years to regain their strength. When they leave the host’s body, they will be able to perfectly recreate this host’s DNA, which also helps reboot the Shifter’s longevity.

Anchored is how most of the original Shifters got their start on Earth. Once again, they enter the bloodstream of their host, but the host is often a mother-to-be. Entering the bloodstream and latching onto the unborn child, the Shifter goes dormant again, until they’re literally reborn. The Shifter is in full control of the child, who retains all of their memories, but the Shifter remains dormant until the child is old enough to benefit from their knowledge. These children often show signs of early intelligence, both emotional and scholarly. The Shifter can choose to live life through their anchor body as long as they please; but the anchor will not survive once the Shifter leaves this form, since they’re merely a husk for the Shifter to dispose of once they return to their true form.

The true form, being the microscopic form, is often abandoned quickly as the Shifters begin amassing the knowledge to turn into different people and creatures. Once they leave the body of whoever they were tethered to, they can then recreate these features. And the more features they know, the more they can twist and mix and match to create their own ideal image; this is what makes an Untethered Shifter. Untethered Shifters can pass their DNA library onto future generations. Each member of the Hierarchy has a different internal library; and in order to preserve Shifter lineage and to strengthen the future generations, the Hierarchy does not limit parentage to marriages. Many children were born outside of unions in the Hierarchy, and they were all raised equally. Their children’s birth features, like any child, resemble their parents, but upon a certain age, they can begin shapeshifting; but they cannot enter the microscopic form. This has been researched by Boxrom and Tuvra

Humans now also play a new role with the Shapeshifters.

Most humans were driven out, or killed, or enslaved when Malgam led the Shifter Revolution. Those who were spared were sent to a huge prison out in a desert. These humans are often recorded for multiple purposes. Their health, their features, etc. These files are are often searched through to continue to make cures for illnesses that their genetics can contain that Shifters can possibly inherit. Others are seen by Shifters who wish to have a certain feature of theirs. If the Human allows the shifter to latch onto their body, they’re given special treatment until the Shifter leaves. If the human is still alive, they’re given very minimal freedoms, and are often kept as no more than pets. 

Some humans are chosen to be the host for a Sleeping Shifter, which means the Shifter will be attached to the human for at least 10 years. Which is a death sentence. However, when a human is offered to host a sleeping Shifter, they’re taken to a special home in a hidden neighborhood; away from any family or friends to live the rest of their lives in luxury, but with no true rights. Again, they’re basically a fancy pet who can’t leave their monitored, beautiful home. They’ll finally have warmth and food: and nothing else.

[alwaysmychoices]

“Drunk Texts”

Synopsis: When everything seems to be going wrong, there’s one person Charlie can’t seem to let go of, and after a night drinking, she finds herself in his very apartment...

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlie Greene)

Choices Story: Open Heart (set after Chapter 13)

Rating: Teen (mild profanity)

Words: 2461

Note: I haven’t written in so long, but Open Heart inspired me! I just sat down and wrote this on my day off, so while it may not be my best, I hope you like it!

Part 1 of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” 

part 1: drunk texts - part 2: a day with dr. ramsey - part 3: unspoken - part 4: in the morning light - part 5: brunch - part 6: the library -  part 7: the cure - part 8: the celebration - part 9: goodbye

It’s all your fault. You did this. You killed her. How can you even call yourself a doctor?

 Charlie woke with a start, a jumble of words lingering in her mind as the nightmare began to dissipate. Her fingers turned white as she gripped the sheet, desperate for the last three words to leave her: It’s your fault. But they didn’t leave. She was tormented by them just as much in reality as in her dream.

Charlie held out her arm, blindly reaching for the alarm clock on her bedside table to check the time, but… it wasn’t there. Startled, Charlie sat up peered through the dark room for the familiar glow of her clock, convinced she must have knocked it over during her nightmare, but there was no eerie glow to guide her.

“What the…?” Charlie mumbled, gripping her head as dizziness suddenly swamped her brain. She tried to remember what happened the night before, but it was a blur. She didn’t remember much after arriving at the bar, and she definitely didn’t remember coming home.

Charlie slowly crept out of bed, fumbling in the dark room for some light source, and after bumping into several pieces of furniture, she found a light switch and flipped it without a second thought. She winced as the artificial light illuminated her surroundings, and with a grumbling dissatisfaction, she recognized the signs of a brutal hangover starting to form.

“This… isn’t my room,” Charlie gulped, surveying the modern furniture of a tasteful yet clearly unused bedroom. Something about it felt vaguely familiar, but Charlie was far too encumbered by her banging headache to figure out why she recognized it.

Maybe Lahela just took me to his apartment last night? she thought to herself, trying to explain her new surroundings without considering the more dangerous alternatives as to why she was in an unfamiliar room instead of her own apartment.

Thoughts felt like they were burning into her brain, causing pain with each attempt at deduction. Charlie shook her head, trying to cast off any detective work until she could get her hands on some water.

She opened the bedroom door and stumbled out into a hallway, suddenly aware of her sore limbs and uncomfortable skinny jeans still hugging her body. They were the same ones she’d worn to the bar last night, the extra pair she kept in her locker in case she didn’t feel like wandering back to her apartment in scrubs. Charlie’s stomach lurched as she remembered the locker room…

Landry.

For a moment, the nausea settled in her stomach turned to boiling betrayal. The thought of him made her want to scream and cry at the same time, and her mind battled between wanting to destroy him and wanting to hide from him. She remembered the first time they met, how happy she was to find another nervous intern that was just as obsessed with Dr. Ramsey as she was. She’d instinctively trusted him and could never have imagined that the ambition they shared would ever betray her.

Tears prickled at her eyes, but Charlie willed them back, rationalizing that she was too dehydrated to waste body fluids on him.

Deciding that she didn’t want to think about him anymore, Charlie straightened her spine and navigated the dim hallway to find a glass of water ASAP.

When she exited the hallway, she found herself in the main room of a sprawling apartment. The stunning cityscape glittered back at her through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a lavish living room leading to a chef’s kitchen. All at once, Charlie realized where she was, and her jaw dropped.

No, no, it can’t be- Charlie didn’t even get to finish the thought.

“Good morning, rookie.”

Charlie grimaced, recognizing the voice immediately. Despite herself, she felt a rush of happiness at the sound of her nickname. It sparked months of longing and years of admiration, and she couldn’t fight the way her heart swelled at the mere thought of his presence.

Charlie slowly turned to face the voice and confirm her suspicions.

Ethan Ramsey.

She was in Ethan Ramsey’s apartment, hungover in last night’s clothes with absolutely no memory as to how she ended up in his guest bedroom.

If only the first-year med student fangirling over Ramsey’s textbook could see where she was now…

“Dr. Ramsey,” Charlie swallowed heavily, her skin prickling with embarrassment as she took a few tentative steps towards the kitchen.

Ethan Ramsey had never looked so… human. One week without a job had transformed her hero into an actual human being, and it startled Charlie. His stubble was longer than usual, less carefully groomed that she’d always seen it. His hair was a mess of bedhead, some parts even sticking up, and his sweatpants were rumbled from sleep. Charlie could have spent days in shock over the revelation that the Ethan Ramsey even owned sweatpants, but despite herself, her cheeks flushed as she realized he was only wearing sweatpants. How the hell did a workaholic doctor look like that without a shirt? Terrified she’d start drooling any moment, she averted her gaze to the crossword puzzle in front of him, and a small smile perked at her lips. Of course, he loves crosswords.

“How much do you remember from last night?” Ramsey’s question caught Charlie off guard, and fighting through her hazy hangover brain, she struggled to process the question.

“Nothing,” she admitted solemnly, “Nothing after tequila shots at the bar, at least.”

Under Ethan’s watchful eye, Charlie half-expected a pop quiz for her to demonstrate her deductions and piece together how she ended up here, but Ethan wasn’t her boss anymore. He was no longer the teacher pushing a student towards success. Now… Ethan didn’t know what he was.

A former boss? A knight in shining armor? A creepy former teacher who kept finding himself in compromising situations with an enigmatic intern?

Maybe even a friend?

When he looked at Charlie, it was obvious that she was miserable. Even now, he could smell the hint of tequila on her clothes from a long night of trying to forget her problems, and imagining such a scene caused his heart to squeeze. He could picture her so easily, slumped into a barstool as she desperately tried to forget the decisions she’d made. He’d been there enough to know how she felt… And he suddenly wished he couldn’t picture it. Maybe he could have prevented this. He could have been a better mentor. He could have actually told her what to do instead of forcing her to figure it out as she went along.

He could have stayed.

The thought nearly paralyzed Ethan as he suddenly understood the lingering hurt behind her stare. He’d hadn’t just left Edenbrook. He left Charlie, too.

“What happened last night?” Charlie hesitated, so embarrassed that she almost didn’t want to ask. Charlie had never been one to disappoint. She’d been a stellar student her entire life, always reaching new heights and finding solutions to every problem. Sure, she’d disappointed people along the way, but disappointing Ethan was different. The shame manifested itself deeply, in a way she’d never felt before.

Ethan paused and then reached for the cell phone plugged into a nearby outlet. He handed over her smartphone, and wordlessly, Charlie her text messages to see a brand new text thread.

Oh no… Charlie felt like she might puke as she scrolled through all of the messages she’d sent “Ethan ❤️☠️.”

There were so many messages, each more embarrassing than the last. It went through pages of Charlie drunk texting him about how she’d made new friends in the bar and didn’t need him coming to her rescue. He asked several times where she was, and somehow, Charlie thought of a new way not to tell him. At one point, she even wrote how he “wasn’t even that handsome” unless you’re into the “brooding, sexy thing.” By the time she reached the bottom, Charlie slumped into a barstool at his kitchen island and avoided eye contact like the plague.

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie mumbled, unable to think of anything else to say. If she could have, she would have disappeared.

Ethan couldn’t help but smile, still finding her insincere attempts to insult him funny, and he placed a glass of water in front of her along with a few tablets of ibuprofen.

“It’s okay. I was just happy to be ‘Dr. McSexy to the rescue,’” Ethan couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.

Charlie’s eyes shot to his, desperate to see if he was kidding, and when she realized he wasn’t, she groaned. “I didn’t say that, did I?”

“Only about 5 times,” Ethan shrugged as if it was nothing and couldn’t help but laugh when she winced at the thought.

“Fuck,” Charlie held her head in her hands, “I’m never drinking again.”

Ethan chuckled, nodding to the glass of water, “Drink that. And take the ibuprofen. I can only imagine the hangover you have right now.”

Charlie obeyed, peering up at him curiously, “How did you even find me? I went out of my way to go to a bar in the middle of nowhere to avoid running into people I knew. And it doesn’t seem like I was being very helpful.” Charlie vaguely motioned towards her cell phone.

Honestly, Ethan wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit the lengths he’d gone to to find her. He’d practically searched every bar in Boston before he found her, becoming increasingly concerned when he didn’t see her at every turn. He’d been so scared…

He blocked out the mental image and shrugged instead of answering, “I just found you.”

Charlie watched him, knowing that he was hiding something, but she didn’t push. If she’d learned anything from Dr. Ramsey, it was when not to push him… She’d done it before, and every time, she went home sad and rejected.

“You cried the whole way here…” Ramsey’s voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear it, “I… I wasn’t very good at listening to you before I…” he trailed off, but Charlie could easily finish it – before I left.

“What did I say?” Charlie tried to laugh it off as if they were still talking about her drunken adventure the night before, but they both knew it was more than that.

“You told me that Dr. Emery is investigating you, what Dr. Olsen did, that… I abandoned you when you needed me.” There was shame in Ethan’s voice.

Charlie paused, unsure of how to proceed. She hadn’t dared let herself say that to anyone, not even herself, but now it was out. Now, it existed. Now, Charlie had to admit that, after months of supporting Ethan at every turn, he let her down. He left without ever wondering what it would do to her. He marched right past her as she begged him to stay.

The cold, stinging rejection returned, spreading through her body like wildfire.

Charlie had never wanted anyone to stay like she’d wanted him to. And as her friends circled around her and bolstered her with support, she could never stop thinking about the one person she wanted to be beside her.

“It’s not your job to support me anymore,” Charlie shrugged it off as best she could, putting on an obviously fake brave face, “Hell, it was never really your job anyway.”

“Charlie…” Ethan tried, but she was already getting off the stool.

“I should get going. You’re not paid to deal with annoying interns anymore,” Charlie grabbed her phone, peering around the room to find more of her belongings so that she could leave as soon as possible.

There was a reason why she hadn’t contacted him since he left, and now, she remembered it.

“Charlie, wait,” Ethan stopped her, grabbing her arm, and she froze at the touch. She looked back at him, eyes full of confusion… and hope.

This was it. The moment he could finally say it. He could tell her of all the long nights he’d stayed up thinking about her. All of the times he took the long way in the hospital just to get a glimpse of her. All of the times he’d been proud of her and what she’d achieved. How deeply he hoped she would win the competition just so he could spend more time with her. All of the times he’d almost broken all of the rules for her.

How much he loved her.

But something stopped him. Maybe it was fear of losing her, or maybe it was fear that she loved him, too…

“I’m sorry. You’ve supported me, and I should have supported you,” Ethan swallowed, “You’re a good doctor, but you’re an even better person.”

Charlie’s jaw nearly dropped, and a swell of a familiar euphoria filled her body at his words. She’d never say what it was, though, deep down, she’d always known it was love.

“Thank you.”

Ethan wanted to say so much more, but instead, he released her arm and turned back to the kitchen, pressing a few buttons on the coffee maker to make two cups for the morning. It was a presumptuous move, but honestly, he couldn’t have taken it if she really did rush out of his apartment – and his life – that morning.

“I’m visiting Naveen at his river house today. He’d love to see you,” Ethan glanced up at her, issuing a silent invitation.

“I’m not sure he wants to see someone who smells so distinctly like tequila and mistakes,” Charlie flushed, watching him make the two mugs with warm butterflies in her belly. He wants me to stay, she thought to herself.

“You can use my shower, and I’m sure you can find a change of clothes around here,” Ethan suggested.

“Do you have enough women over to keep a change of clothes for them?” Charlie arched an eyebrow, hoping that the jealousy brewing inside didn’t slip into her voice.

“I meant, one of my tee shirts, Charlie,” Ethan couldn’t shake the smile as he recognized the jealousy in her voice.

“So, I have permission to raid your secret drawer of embarrassing tee shirts?” Charlie was obviously enthused.

“What makes you think I have a secret drawer of embarrassing tee shirts?” Ethan laughed.

“You’re unpredictable, and I personally enjoy the mental image of you in an embarrassing tee shirt,” Charlie insisted.

Ethan cocked an eyebrow, “You enjoy the mental image of Dr. McSexy in an embarrassing tee shirt?”

Charlie groaned, hiding her face as she turned a bright shade of red, “I’ll never live that down.”

Ethan didn’t answer because he knew that he would never forget that, though he honestly doubted that he would ever forget anything about Dr. Charlie Greene…