#I want people to crawl out of that theatre on their hands and knees shaking and sobbing and throwing up

[roryhastoomanyfandoms]

Concept for Beyond The Spiderverse; Miles gets his shit rocked by whatever, maybe a heroic sacrifice attempt. O'Hara gets over to him first, and Miles, one (1) inch from death, sees a dark, broad figure in blue above him through the haze of pain and near-death fog, and tells who he thinks is his father that he's sorry and that he loves him.

Cue Miguel "Repressed Catholic Grieving Father Who Was Just Trying To Maim This Child" O'Hara trying to 1; cope with being a dad again, in any capacity, for even a moment, and 2; figure out if he should play along and pretend to be Jefferson, so this child can at least think he's dying in the comfort of his father's presence

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength."  Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

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[mattmurdocksscars]

Heaven Part 1

Here it is! This is part 1 of Heaven! It’s based loosely on (and uses lyrics from) Heaven by Julia Michaels. 

Rating: M for Mature. There’s violence, mentions of blood, reader gets in a pretty sticky situation with a guy who won’t take no for an answer and gets injured but nothing more. Also, mentions of a gun. Next part will be E for Explicit for NSFW stuff 😘

Working at Lennox House as a bartender was no easy task. The men couldn't keep their hands to themselves and catcalled often, every night was busy, and just the sheer nature of the business turned your stomach. But a job was a job and at least you weren't one of the call girls. You had to give a portion of your tips to the club, but you still always made out with plenty of money. A smart move would be to set aside as much as you could and find a new job when you had a good savings, but there was something about Lennox House… something that called to the darker part of you. 

You knew what, or rather who, it was that kept you there, but you buried that knowledge deep within you. 

Late one evening, or really, very early one morning, you were cleaning up the bar following the show. The club was empty, all patrons long gone for the night and the other workers off to bed. Thinking yourself alone, you sang aloud to make the time pass faster. Little did you know, someone was awake and upon hearing you, mosied his way into the theatre to listen. Blue leaned against the wall in the shadows, watching as you wiped down the bar.

All wrapped in one he was so many sins

Would have done anything, everything for him

And if you ask me I would do it again

You sang well, your voice projecting through the open area of the house. It surprised Blue. You were a spitfire, always had been, and it was one of the reasons he hired you as a bartender. You could keep the patrons in check without involving the guards most of the time and were a damn good bartender. But hearing you sing so sweetly made him want you. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth to interject but stopped at the next lyrics that tumbled out of your mouth.

They say, "All good boys go to heaven"

But bad boys bring heaven to you

"Do you want heaven brought to you, Scotch?" He took pleasure in the way you jumped, looking around wildly before your eyes settled on him as he walked towards you. Still in his silk suit, hands in his pockets, he looked exquisite in the darkness of the empty club. You found yourself looking him over appreciatively before you remembered he had asked you a question.

"I'm sorry, sir. What did you ask me?" You watched as Blue smirked, finally reaching the bar. He leaned easily on it and let his eyes roam over you with no shame. 

"I asked… if you wanted heaven brought to you, Scotch?" He purred and you felt your breath catch. 

Blue was gorgeous. There was no doubt about that. You would also bet all of your tips from that night that he would give it to you good. But the real question was could you lay with a man like him? One who only cared for his money? Who beat and even killed people? Your body might be okay with it, but your mind was still very much in control. With a soft sigh, you pulled yourself away from him and grabbed your bag from under the bar.

"Maybe I would but my mama raised me to know better than to deal with bad men, Mr. Jones." The man merely chuckled, watching you.

"If that were the case, you wouldn't be workin for one, sugar." The pet name rolled off his tongue and you had to suppress a shiver.

"Ah, but here's the difference, Mr. Jones. It's one thing to work for a bad man… and another thing entirely to trust him." Blue feigned a hurt look at your words but before he could say anything, you were moving towards the exit. "Have a good rest of your night, Mr. Jones." 

You left Lennox House that night with your shoulders squared and head held high. You wouldn't show Blue the effect he had on you. 

But oh, did he have an effect on you.

~

Over the next week, you barely see Blue. Not unusual but a part of you wishes to see him more. Ever since the night he propositioned you, you can’t help but to wonder what it would be like. To touch him, kiss him, taste him… You shake your head hard to clear your thoughts and get a few strange looks from the patrons at the bar. You just flash them a flirty smile and they let it go, already uncaring that you might be a little crazy. The club was extra busy that night and the men cared more about being served than they did about you. Or so you had assumed until the end of the night when a man approached you, a creepy and salacious grin as his face. Your skin immediately crawled at the sight, and you made sure to stay behind the bar. 

“Hey, sweet thing. Blue says you’re s‘posed to come with me tonight.” He slurred his words hard and was clearly drunk off his ass, but his words had you narrowing your eyes angrily. Blue and you had made an agreement when you took this job. You were not to be bartered to the men.

“Yeah, that’s bullshit. If you’d kindly leave, I’d appreciate it. Don’t make me call the guards.” This seemed to only anger the man who rounded the bar before you could get out and backed you against the back counter. You tried not to gag at the alcohol on his breath and made a mental note to pay more attention to how much customers were drinking.

“You think you’re sooo fucking special, don’t you?” He reached for you, grabbing your arms painfully tight. You fought against him, bringing your knee up into his crotch and punching him hard when he released you. You shoved past him and made a break for it.

“HEL-” Your call gets cut off by a cry of pain as the man caught up to you and yanked you by your hair.

“You BITCH!” He yelled before turning and throwing you back to the bar. You stumbled hard, trying to catch yourself on the shelving only for it to come tumbling down on you and sending you and the bottles to the floor. Glass shatters everywhere and you cry out again as several pieces slice open your skin. 

“What the FUCK is goin’ on here?!” You gasp at Blue’s voice and hear the man start to stutter out some kind of explanation. You manage to shakily stand, looking at Blue with wide, wet eyes.

“This asshole… said you told him I was supposed to go with him and I told him no.” Blue’s eyes darken even more in anger and he growls. 

“Scotch, come here.” You step around the glass as best as possible and over to Blue. You’re immediately shocked as he pulls you to stand behind him and reaches into his jacket, pulling out his gun. 

“Get. Out.” Blue growls. “Get out before I blow your brains out over the fucking floor. And don’t think for a fucking second that you aren’t gonna pay for all of this.”

The man watched Blue with wide eyes before scurrying off, disappearing out of the main area. As soon as he was gone, Blue turned to look at you. You were staring off after the guy with terrified eyes and you didn’t realize you were shaking until Blue carefully set a hand on your shoulder.

“Scotch. Look at me.” Your eyes snapped up to his and you blinked up at him. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore, okay? Let’s go get you cleaned up, sugar.”

You let him lead you out of the auditorium, passed all of the rooms, even his office. When he finally stopped in front of a door, it was one you didn’t recognize. He pulled a key from his jacket pocket and opened it, leading the two of you into a bedroom. Blue carefully leads you into the ensuite bathroom and helps you to sit on the counter. He kneels down and roots through the cabinet, pulling out a first aid kit. You can’t help but to raise an eyebrow before laughing. It’s a little hysterical but Blue looks at you in amusement.

“What? Can’t I keep a first aid kit in my bathroom?” He asks, smirking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I think I’m just finally losing it.” You giggle and he chuckles softly, setting the kit on the counter beside you. He opens it and begins looking through it, pulling out some gauze pads and alcohol. Your laughter dies down as you realize he’s fixing to use those on you.

“Since the glass was technically already in alcohol, can we just forego that step?” You try. The look Blue shoots you is thoroughly unamused and you sigh, accepting your fate. Blue is surprisingly thorough and cleans each of your cuts. Some of them require bandages but none of them are deep enough to need stitches. When he finally finishes, you’re exhausted and all you want to do is sleep. As Blue works on cleaning up the mess you two made, you lean against the wall and close your eyes. You don’t even realize you’ve dozed off until Blue sets a hand on your leg and you startle awake.

“Sorry. I should get out of your hair. Thank you for helping me, Blue. I mean it.” You look up at him from where he’s moved in front of you. He’s biting his lip and seems to be thinking something over. He seems to come to a conclusion when he steps closer to you, placing his hands down on either side of you.

“Stay here tonight.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him in shock.

“What?”

“Stay here. I’d feel better if you didn’t walk home tonight. You can have my bed, I can sleep in my office.”

“I- Blue, I can’t do that. I can’t kick you out of your bed. I can walk hom-

“Scotch, please.” Now you’re really shocked, mouth dropping open as you look at him. He hesitates for a moment before leaning forward and letting his forehead drop onto your shoulder.

“Please stay. Nothing has to happen. Like I said, I’ll even sleep in my office-”

“Okay. But I’m not kicking you out of your bed. I saw it on the way in, it’s big enough for us to share.” You bite your lip, gently squeezing his upper arm. “If that’s okay with you, that is.”

Blue stays where he is for a couple more moments before straightening up and nodding to you. He helps you down from the counter and leads you back into his room. 

“Do you wanna borrow something to sleep in?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Uh, yeah. Please” You scrunch your nose up, suddenly realizing your clothes have blood on them. “I don’t want to get blood in your bed.”

“Thanks for that.” Blue chuckles, digging through a couple drawers before handing you a shirt and some sweatpants. You duck back into the bathroom and change, the clothes not quite fitting right but well enough to sleep in. You pad back into the room to find Blue already laying in bed and walk over to turn the light off. You take a deep breath before laying down next to him. The both of you are as close to your respective edges of the bed as possible, trying to give the other the space you think they need.

“Thank you. Again. For everything.” You murmur. You hear Blue shift and something about it helps you settle down yourself.

“You don’t have to keep thankin’ me, Scotch. But you’re welcome. Goodnight, sugar.” 

“Goodnight, Blue.”

The two of you manage to slowly drift off, shifting throughout the night until Blue is curled around you, holding you close to him.

Tag List: @tinygaydemonbby @damerondjarin @pascalz @anetteaneta​ @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @spider-starry​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​ @aellynera​ @revolution-starter​

[kaitycole]

dopamine and epinephrine, just don’t mix

Summary: Kuroo thinks back on his relationship with Y/N. How will those memories hold up to reality? 

Pairing: Kuroo x fem!reader, Bokuto x fem!reader (platonic)

Word Count: 5351

Warnings: Angst. Toxic behaviors. Cheating allegations. Adult language.

A/N: A special thank you to @twilightwrites​ for this prompt.

Side note: I know the drinking age in Japan is 20, I realized as I was writing the last paragraph of this that I messed up, so we are just gonna let it slide because my head hurts lol

September – 2013

“Kuroo-san, do you understand what I’ve just explained?” He just nods, the meaning of the words is known, it’s just the weight of them that just hasn’t hit him yet. It not until he’s walking across campus, his feet dragging against the sidewalk, that the weight of his advisor’s words land on his shoulders.

You failed to maintain proper grades to continue not just in this department, but in this university. Your enrollment has been terminated.

Kuroo shakes his head, how exactly would he explain this to his grandmother? She was so proud of him for getting into university in the first place. He really was great at disappointing those he cared for lately.

*                      * The sidewalks are busier than he’s used to, he was always in class at this time and he ends up brushing against a few people as he maneuvers his way to the nearest convenience store. The dinging of the welcome bell draws him from the jumble of thoughts he was having. The cool air from the refrigerated unit, grabbing several cans of lemon flavored chūhai. It was cheap, didn’t taste all that great, but he didn’t care.

There are three empty cans piled next to his foot, his hand tightens around the fourth one, it caves under his fingertips. The blend of alcohol on an empty stomach has Kuroo on the verge of tipsiness.

He hears a soft laugh and feels himself stiffen when he sees (h/c) hair as his mind blanks. It’s been almost a year since he’s seen her, a flash of the malice words exchanged and the sound the door made as it was slammed crosses his mind.

Suddenly he’s self-conscious of how he looks, quickly running his fingers through his unruly hair (not that that would help) and scrabbles to pick the cans up and cram them into his bag. He doesn’t fully hear the name, but enough to know it wasn’t her, making him feel a bit ridiculous.

Dopamine: hormone and neurotransmitter that's an important part of your brain's reward system; associated with happiness and pleasure.

June – 2010

“Can you tell me where Ko-chan is?”

Kuroo turned to see an unfamiliar face staring back up at him. She tucked a stray piece of her (h/c) hair behind her ear, nervously biting her bottom lip, and Kuroo instantly thought she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. So much, that instead of answering her, he just stood there, staring.

“Bokuto-san is this way, L/N-san.” Akaashi said as he walked up behind her.

She smiled at Kuroo, apologizing for bothering him before following Akaashi over to where the rowdy ace of Fukurōdani was. Once Bokuto’s eyes fell onto the girl, he ran towards her, wrapping her into a tight hug, thanking her repeatedly for bringing his extra gym bag all the way to the training camp.

Kuroo waited until Bokuto was alone before he made his way over, trying to figure out how to work in his question. “Bokuto, who is that?” Bo looked over to Akaashi who was talking to this mystery girl before looking back at Kuroo with a sloppy grin on his face. “Why? Interested?”

Kuroo felt his head getting fuzzy, like when he held it over the edge of his bed for too long, “I was…uhm…just wondering.”

“That’s Y/N. We grew up together, but in fifth grade she moved away, just recently moved back.”

That explained why Kuroo didn’t know her even though her and Bo came off extremely close.

“She’s single.”

Kuroo felt his face start to burn, embarrassment covering it as he tried to speak, but all that came out were broken parts of a sentence. “Oh, well…I don’t…bother…just…yeah.”

** Y/N was standing in the doorway of the gym, watching as Bokuto hit down each practice set Akaashi sent his way, he truly had gotten even more powerful since they were children. She rubbed her hands against her arms, trying to warm up, she tensed when she felt a slight bit of weight on her shoulders.

She turned around to see a messy raven-haired boy standing behind her, his oversized red jacket draped over her shoulders. “Rooster boy!”

“Huh?” Kuroo raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to really respond.

“Ko-chan told me to call you that.” She smiled up innocently at Kuroo and he felt himself get weak in the knees.

He mumbled something to the effect of ‘horned owl bastard’ underneath his breath which seemed to make her laugh just a little bit. He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about the state of his hair.

She turned back around, eyes wide in awe as Bokuto slammed another ball onto the other side of the court, Kuroo couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like if she looked at him like that, but blocking wasn’t as flashy as spikes were and he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He turned around on his heel, getting ready to head back to where the rest of his team is.

“Are you trying to play hard to get?” “Huh?” He looked back at her, she had spun around, a devilish smirk on her smirk.

“You gave me your jacket even though you only have a t-shirt on, but you don’t tell me your name or ask if I want go somewhere to talk.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted to watch Bo play, I…uh…didn’t want to bother you.”

She slipped her arms into his jacket, zipping it up, “nah, I can see Bo play at school.”

“Did you want to go talk somewhere?” “I don’t go places with strangers.” She tilted her head, giving him a knowing look.

He shook his head, “I’m Kuroo Tetsurō, nice to meet you…?” “L/N F/N. Likewise Tetsu-chan!” She grabbed his hand, “c’mon, let’s go!”

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as his feet moved on their own, following this mystery girl and he already knew that he was gonna have his hands full, not that he really cared.

*                      * December – 2010

“Y/N?”

The two of them were in Kuroo’s room, something they did often on the weekends, sometimes working on school work, other times just enjoying each other’s company. She’s flipping through a magazine, her chin rested on her palms as she looked over her shoulder at the middle blocker, a smile on her face. Kuroo was leaning against his headboard and couldn’t help but forget what he was about to say.

“Tetsu-chan?”

“Are you a carbon sample?” He smirked when she gave him a puzzled look, “because I want to date you.” Her face lit up as she pushed herself up, sitting up while crossing her legs as she faced Kuroo. “Oh! Oh! Oh! I have one too!” She clapped her hands in excitement, “you look sweeter than 3.14!”

He laughed before he shook his head, “no, Y/N, I’m asking you out.”

“You’re asking me out using a science pun?” His face went completely red, cheek burned as he rubbed the back of his head. “…yeah.”

“You’re such a dork!” She started laughing, falling over to the side as her giggles filled the now empty room. When she finally composed her, wiping the tears that had fallen down her cheeks, she smiled up at him, “but I guess that means you’re my dork.” “That a yes?” Kuroo held his breath, worried that she was about to reject him because looking back on it, it was kinda lame, even for him.

She crawled up to Kuroo side, leaning into it as he wrapped his arm around her waist, “it’s a proton positive?”

*                      * September – 2013

Kuroo staggers up the stairs, thankful that he only lives on the second floor of his apartment building. He drops his bag near the door while he kicks off his shoes as he makes his way to the closet in his room.

The apartment is pretty bare for someone to be living there. The furniture that’s there is just what’s needed, the bare minimum through the apartment. A bed and night stand in the bedroom, couch and TV in the living room area and the only reason he had a TV stand was because Kenma almost had a heart attack when he saw Kuroo had it sitting on the floor.

Y/N was supposed to decorate it, that had been their deal when the subject of moving in together came up. The plan was to get an apartment between the universities they had planned to attend and she could decorate it however she wanted, all Kuroo cared about was getting to come home to her. But it was obvious that day never happened, they didn’t even make it searching for apartments together before things fell apart and Kuroo picked an apartment closest to his school.

He’s rummaging through the bedroom closet before pulling out an old tin box, the kind that trading cards come in. Wiping off the thin layer of dust that has accumulated on the top, he slowly opens it, a flood of emotions washes over him.

*                      * March – 2011

“Y/N seems really happy.” Bo said, the three of them had all met up to see a movie that recently released.

Kuroo was happy that his girlfriend and best friend were also close, it made things a lot easier and he didn’t have to worry about them getting along, even if they had technically known each other longer. “I hope she is, I’d do anything for her.”

“What are you two whispering about?” She snuck up behind them, popcorn in hand, placing her chin on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Guy stuff.”

“Laaame!” She shook her head, walking towards the theatre where their movie was playing, “we’re gonna miss the trailers!”

** “Where to next?” She looked between the boys, eager to keep their night going. 

“I should probably head back, I don’t want to worry my grandparents.” Kuroo glanced at the time on his phone, he knew the movie might run late but he didn’t think they’d be out this late. He felt bad as he watched her face drop, clearly not the answer she was expecting.

“Yeah, it is getting a bit late.” Bokuto agreed with a slight shrug.

Y/N dragged her feet along the sidewalk, her shoulder dropped which caused both boys to share a look.

“Is this about what we talked about earlier?” Bokuto asked, pulling her into a side hug.

Kuroo looked between them, curiosity filling him as he tries to think if she told him anything that was bothering her, but he can’t. “What did you two talk about?” She shook her head, “it’s nothing.” She looked up at him, giving him a small straight smile.

Part of him wanted to ask her again, to get her to open up and talk to him about it because it was bothering her then it bothers him, but he didn’t. He tried to find comfort in the fact that at least she could tell Bo about it, at least she had someone, but it still hurt that that someone wasn’t him.

*                      * May – 2011

It had bothered Kuroo for weeks now that it seemed Y/N was confiding more and more into Bokuto that she was him. He was her boyfriend, he was the one she should be going to, right? Then why was she continuously going to their friend?

His irritation started to splinter into other aspects of his life, tests that he should’ve passed he didn’t, blocks he should’ve made he missed, but the boiling point came when Fukurōdani played Nekoma and she came decked out in Fukurōdani colors, cheerfully talking to Bo and his team. He knew it shouldn’t bug him like it was, she attended that school, but what still pissed him off were the comments he heard as they walked by the team.

Comments from other team members and what seemed like potential classmates of theirs repeatedly saying different variations of how cute her and Bo looked together, what a great couple they’d make and the way that she would hang onto Bo’s side.

The game was long, Kuroo spend half the game lost in his anger and the other half moving on auto-pilot as his body seemed to move on its own. Somehow Nekoma ended up winning, but that didn’t change the way he felt as he practically stormed off the court towards the locker room. He understood how important Bo was to her, that they were best friends and had been for longer than he knew either of them, but that didn’t alleviate the anger that radiated off of his shoulders nor did it stop him from slamming the doors he walked through.

“Tetsu-chan!”

He didn’t stop, just continued to walk down the hallway and toward the main entrance, acting as though he’s the only one there.

“Tetsu-chan!” She reached out, pulling his duffle bag’s strap back towards her.

He refused to turn around, having a feeling that he’d lash out and he didn’t want to do that. He needed space, time to cool down, he didn’t want to give her the ultimatum of him or Bo and he had a feeling if he opened his mouth, that’s what he’d say.

She looked at his back, unsure of why he was so upset, his team had just won, shouldn’t he be more excited? “For someone who just won, you’re acting like emo Bo.”

Kuroo’s eye twitched, just hearing her compare him to Bo so effortlessly was painful and caused his thoughts to spiral. Did she want to be with him? Would she rather be with Bo? He clenched his fist, hating the way he felt and hating himself more for feeling that way. He hated the ugly jealousy that wrapped around his chest, weaving around his lung, making it harder to breathe as it tightened. He yanked his bag strap away from her, leaving her standing there as he stormed out.

** A few weeks went by and communication between Kuroo and Y/N was awkward and basic, simple “hello’s” and “yeah, you?” filled most of their exchanges. It all came down to Bo inviting both of them over to his place and essentially locking them in his room, forcing them to talk to each other.

“Tetsu-chan.” She bit down on her lip, tears filled her eyes, the reality of how distant they had grown weighed down the atmosphere, “are we breaking up?” “What?” His head snapped up, finally looking her. He didn’t want to break-up, he wasn’t even mad anymore, he just didn’t know how to get back to where they were. It felt weird to just try to just back in as if nothing had ever happened.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if creating a wall between them, an attempt to brace herself from the pain that seemed to be coming. She tried her hardest to keep her lip from quivering. “’Cause this is a very shitty way of doing that. You could’ve just called.”

He wasn’t sure what was going on, she didn’t look like she wanted to break up, but she sounded like she was ready for one. What sense did that make? The room almost felt hostile, “so I look like the guy that’d break up over the phone, is that what you think of me?” “Did I say that? No. But it’d be better than dumping me in Bo’s room!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to break up!”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“You hurt my feelings!” Kuroo voice raised a bit louder than it had been, both of them pausing in their spot. The tension immediately disappeared and she slowly walked up to him, an adorable pout on her face.

She threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest, “I’m so sorry!” “It’s fine, it’s stupid anyways.” He rubbed circles on her back, pulling her in closer to him.

She protested, claiming anything that bothered him couldn’t be stupid and demanded that he tell her and he did. That he knew it was rather silly to be jealous of her supporting her school, but it made him wonder if she was embarrassed to say she was with him. That he knew it was important for her to have friends and he was glad Bo was one, but she wanted her to see him as someone she could go to in the same she could to Bo because as lame as it sounded, he didn’t like feeling like the odd man out.

She reassured him that it was nothing like that and told him that she saw where he was coming from. She told him that if the roles had been reversed, she would’ve definitely felt the same way that he had and that they both needed to work on their communication skills because they both agreed neither of them wanted what they had to end.

They walked out of the room together, holding hands and Bo looked excited to see they worked things out, wrapping them both in a huge hug. Kuroo thought he felt confident in what she said to him, but then he saw how she seemed to just naturally gravitate towards Bo even when he was there and that sinking feeling he had weeks ago at their game came back, this time plowing into him like a wrecking ball.

*                      * September – 2013

Kuroo accidentally kicks the box as he staggers to stand up, the memories proving to be a bit too much for him. But something in him made him want to see the task through, to see everything that he was holding on to, but to do that he needed alcohol.

His phone starts to vibrate in his pocket, he takes it out immediately pressing the button on the side to silence it then presses it again to send it to voice mail. Kuroo knows who it is, it’s the only person who would be calling him: Kenma.

He opens the fridge, pulling out what few cans of beer he has before shuffling back to his room, flopping down in the stop that’s still warm from him sitting there just moments ago. He puts his phone on floor near him, glancing at the screen as it lights up from a text notification.

Kenma: Missed Call (4) Text Message (15)

Technically he had no reason to avoid his best friend, but he didn’t feel like he deserved Kenma’s kindness because all he had done lately was mess things up. He didn’t want Kenma to tell him everyone messes up and he can fix things since he knew that it was too late to do any of that now.

He pulls out a small pile of printed photographs, some printed out on the mini polaroid paper from the camera she wanted for her birthday. She was his first serious relationship, between school and volleyball he never really gave dating much thought, but it was different with her. She kept him on his toes, made him want to be better, he really could see a future with her, but he screwed it up and now all he had were these pictures.

Pictures that ranged from dates to study sessions, from volleyball games to random adventures through Tokyo. Looking at them made him wonder if she kept the matching ones? Did she have a box too?

A bit of beer splatters when he cracks open the tab and he frantically wiped the picture across his thigh, drying it but smearing the liquid across the photo. He wanted to believe that he tried hard enough to make things work, that he gave it his all, but when he thought back to that night, her words told him differently.

Epinephrine: surges at panic/emergency; provokes stress response— brings out arousal of extreme emotions like fear and anger.

January— 2012

“It’s really not that big of a deal!” She said for the fourth time within the last five minutes, but Kuroo wasn’t listening.

“It is!” He shook his head, pacing her bedroom, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to control what he said if he sat down, he needed to walk this anger out of him.

“He was the first person I saw, Tetsu.” She really didn’t mean anything by telling Bokuto she had been accepted into her top two choices for college, he literally happened to be the first person she saw after getting the news. They’d been dating for two years and he still got jealous when it came to Bo and she wasn’t sure why.

“You just don’t get it.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to even out his breathing, he really didn’t want to fight with her.

“You’re right, I don’t. I don’t get why my boyfriend gets so upset when I tell my best friend things.”

“Because you told him first! I should know first!”

She snorted, “this is stupid. I mean honestly you sound like a child.”

“A child, nice.” He grabbed his jacket from her desk chair, shoving passed her as he walked down the hall before slipping on his shoes and going right out the front door.

She followed him, yelling at him to stop, yanking on his arm when she finally catches up. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there as she repeatedly apologized, tightly wrapping her arms around his torso.

“I don’t know why I get so jealous.” He sounded defeated and he was, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place why he felt so threatened by Bo. Maybe it was because he knew her longer, knew parts of her that he didn’t or maybe it’s because deep down he just didn’t feel like he deserved her.

“I know.” She buried her face into his chest, still hugging him. She believed that he didn’t know why he felt that way, but she was still tired of dealing with it, regardless of how much she loved him.

*                      * April – 2012

It was the weird time between graduation and university getting ready to start, Y/N was over at Kuroo’s, his room now filled with boxes. Things didn’t bounce back to normal the way it did before when she thought they were breaking up, after their latest fight things were kinda awkward. They still hung out, but it was mostly just them sitting in the same room both engaged in something alone.

Kuroo looked over when he heard her giggle, raising an eyebrow before humming.

“Yukie sent the group chat some pictures from graduation.” She handed her phone to him, scooting a bit closer so they could look together.

Most of them were harmless, to be fair they were all harmless, but Kuroo started to question them as they went through them. There were ones of Y/N with Yukie and Kaori and some with various team members. Then they got to ones with Bo and both of them stiffened, neither had mentioned him unless they had to since their last fight. There were ones with Bo hanging on an unamused looking Akaashi, but the one that Kuroo hated was one of Bo next to Y/N, his hand “too low” on her hip for his liking.

He pushed himself off his bed, trying to calm down, but he knew this time he wouldn’t be able to.

“Tetsu, it was just a picture.”

He made an annoyed sound, something between a scoff and a laugh, as he shook his head. “He didn’t have to put his hand on your hip like that.”

She rolled her eyes, “it’s just a stupid pose. Everyone does it!” She flipped through the pictures, zooming in on Yukie’s arm that was wrapped around her waist, “see! Look! Her arm is around me, that make you mad too?” “It’d be different if you weren’t practically begging Bo to fuck you!”

The words hung heavy between them, for Kuroo it was a weight of his shoulders to get the words out but for Y/N, it knocked the wind out of her lungs. They were supposed to look at apartments today, find one to live in together while going to college, but a fight like this wasn’t in the plans. At least not for her, she was hoping that they could mend things and start over since they’d be moving away from Bo.

“W-w-what?” Her face was scrunched up in disbelief, the words still not being fully processed.

“I mean the way you flaunt yourself in front of him in that skirt!”

“Skirt?” Her face went deadpan, “you mean my fucking school uniform?”

28 months, they’d been together for over two years and she couldn’t he said that to her, couldn’t believe that he felt that way. Tears started to fill her eyes, for months she walked on pins and needles, carefully edited her words around him and now she had to hear the person she loved the most say the worse kind of words to her.

“You know what I mean! Don’t twist my words!”

“I’m not and I can’t believe you!” She wiped the tears from her face aggressively, “I have done nothing to cause you to feel this way!”

“I’m just making it up? It’s just in my head?” “YES! Bo is our best friend. Friends, that’s all we have ever been!” She started to look around the room, trying to find the sweatshirt she brought with her, she couldn’t have this fight again.

“Friends don’t act like you two do.”

“Boyfriends don’t act like you do!” She took three steps towards Kuroo to grab her sweatshirt before she turned and walked towards his door. She hesitated, thinking Kuroo would call out to her, but he doesn’t, instead he just let her leave.

*                      * July – 2012

They didn’t get a shared apartment like they had planned to. Kuroo stayed in Tokyo while YN moved to Kyoto, choosing a completely different university than she originally intended. For most of their first semester in university they barely spoke at all, neither really making it a point to reach out. Ironically, if it wasn’t Bokuto they wouldn’t have known how the other was doing, how the other was dealing with the upgrade from high school to college.

Then Bokuto mentioned a Fukurōdani vs Nekoma game, invited both of them and both eagerly accepted. Which lead to a very awkward game, each sitting on the opposite side of Bokuto, who was far too busy cheering on his old team to notice. Bokuto ran off after the game, Akaashi had called, leaving the two to awkwardly walk home.

They get close to her house, both lingering on the sidewalk, kicking imaginary rocks to act as if they had something keeping them outside.

“Y/N, I’m –“

“I think we should break up.”

“Y/N, I –”

“No. I don’t want to hear any excuses anymore. I tried so hard to make this work, but what you said to me hurt Kuroo, it really hurt.”

Kuroo. When was the last time she called him that?

“I never did anything to make you think those things, I wouldn’t do that. I really did love you, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s not healthy.”

*                      * September – 2013

It had been over a year and he stilled kicked himself for not saying anything to her that night, for letting her walk away without even trying to hold onto their relationship. But that night he discovered that everything he thought about them was a lie. He thought that he had been trying to keep them together, that he had been trying his hardest to be a good boyfriend, but he was the one who tore them apart. He was the one who got it in his head that she was acting a way that he knew she wasn’t, he knew that Bo was just her friend and what made it even worse was after their break-up, Bo and Akaashi announced their relationship.

Not only did he lose his girlfriend, the only girl he’d ever loved, but she eventually told Akaashi what happened and when Bo found out, he was livid. Even Akaashi hadn’t seem Bo as mad as he was when he called and told off Kuroo for ever thinking that about him and Y/N. Maybe all of this was what he deserved, he had been truly awful as a boyfriend and a friend, but even with that awareness, he still missed her. Still wanted her back, wanted to truly be able to fix things with her because he knew he could be better given one more chance.

*                      * October – 2013

Being back at home isn’t as bad as Kuroo built it up in his head to be. His grandparents weren’t thrilled that he wasn’t going to finish up this semester, but he promised them after some time, after he could clear his head, he would go back.

He picked up a part-time job at a convenient shop, just needing something to force him out of his thoughts because somehow being back at home was even worse than being alone in his apartment. Even though he knew she was hours away, it didn’t stop him from almost breaking his neck to see if every girl passing with (h/c) was her. He hadn’t seen her up close since their breakup, so he didn’t know if she had long, short, buzzed hair, hell he didn’t even know if she had colored it differently.

“You didn’t forget my (favorite flavor) tea, did you?”

Kuroo stops in the middle of ringing up a customer at the sound of a familiar voice. Over the last year and a half, he swore he had heard it several times, but this time he is positive that it’s her. He looks up just in time to see her smiling at someone that the aisle is preventing him from seeing and he feels his heart thump into his chest.

He wants to step away from the register, to tell them to just give him a moment, that’s all he needs with her to try to get her to just hear him out, but there’s a pretty long line and she disappears deeper into the store.

“Kuroo?”

He looks up from ringing up the few items that were placed on the counter and it was her. Her in person, not in his dreams or random memories that flooded his mind when was alone. He wanted to ask her to wait for him, to give him just a few minutes to talk to him, but the person next to her wrapped his arm around her and his heart sank.

“Are you on break from school?” She tilts her head to the side.

“Just thought I’d take some time off, clear my head.” He told them the total price, the mystery man handing him the amount. “What about you?” She clears her throat, shifting a bit awkwardly which isn’t missed on either man. “Bo invited us to celebrate him signing to a pro team.” “Ah. So this is…” The man quickly introduces himself, Kuroo doesn’t bother to catch his name, but the title he gives himself sticks in his mind: boyfriend. He wants to be mad, how could she just move on like that? How could she just forget everything they had and start over with this…guy?

“We should get going, Y/N.”

“It was nice seeing you.” She gives him a small polite smile, taking the man’s hand as they walked out of the store. But she pauses before going through the door and for a brief moment Kuroo holds his breath, hoping she’ll tell him she wants to talk. She doesn’t, instead she shakes her head with a small laugh and follows her boyfriend outside.

That’s the moment Kuroo realizes that he no longer has a place in her life to go back to, that no matter how hard and tightly he holds onto the memories they made, he would never get her back. And that realization shook Kuroo to his core.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

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[batfamscreaming]

The Last Night [highschool au]

warnings: long post. Canon-compliant body horror/mutilation, threats of suicide, threats to make it look like a suicide, things that don't die when they should, young Bruce enacting a stupid plan.

masterpost

000

Bruce didn’t come back from the library.

Despite how aware of his surroundings he might have been, he couldn't stop a hand going over his mouth.

A blindfold over his eyes.

Something that made him feel sleepy.

And he was pulled away.

--

Bruce woke disoriented.

Cold.

He groaned before he thought he should've hidden it, but the thought was far away in the back of his mind as he slowly regained consciousness.

--

“The prodigal son awakens.” Someone said above him. In front. Their voice echoed.

Bruce was on a slab in the middle of a large room. A circular theatre.

It was filled with people. Staring at him.

… And all of them wore the same white mask off an owl.

--

...ah.

Here it was.

A cold fog of clarity, instead of a haze to get lost in.

Once he was awake enough to see, he was awake enough to glare, and he set his icy blue eyes on them as he pushed himself up to sit.

“...you guys just sit around and stare at unconscious kids all day?” he asked.

--

“Only the special ones, Bruce. And you're very special.” The man said, one stood out from the rest in a white suit and black cape.

Bruce could probably feel someone behind him too. Closer than the rest.

Behind him was a man in black and gold, spectacles over his eyes and mask designed like an owl, but different from the rest.

--

He did feel him, once he'd sat up-- he jerked away, unable to stop himself from showing that weakness once he realized how close that one was standing. Different from the rest. Gloves like claws.

(Talon, his mind told him, with a trickle of ice down his spine, remembering how months ago, the business mongle had been found in his apartment, cut to ribbons.)

...but still, he forced his voice to not shake as he dragged his gaze back to the vacant masks and faces of the Court, and looked up at what he could only assume was the ‘judge’--

And he must've been standing trial.

“So, what?” Bruce asked, wetting his lips. “You going to kill me?”

--

“Oh no, no, Bruce Wayne. We’re going to recruit you.” The Judge said, his voice as jovial as it had been since the beginning.

The crowd around him was near motionless save for the occasional lean from one to whisper to the other. They were all clearly real people, and all of them well dressed.

Gotham’s Elite.

Just like him.

--

His throat tightened.

They were nothing like him. Nothing like him, or Tommy, who had suffered, and--

He found his voice loud, even in his own ears, shoving himself off the slab and ready to fight the entire room if he fucking had to. Assassin, no assassin, if it killed him, he didn’t care. He had no friends, and no future, and-- “You killed my parents,” he howled. “As if I would ever let you recruit me!”

--

As soon as he lunged forward, even if he was nowhere near the Judge, a taloned hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder with enough force to hold him in place, to keep him from running.

“Now who told you that?” The Judge asked. “Why would we ever kill one of our own?”

--

That stopped him almost as sharply as the hand on his shoulder did. His breath hitched.

He was normally so good at spotting liars, but he couldn’t see their faces. Couldn’t see their eyes. Didn’t even know what their regular voices were like to compare.

But they would have to be lying.

His parents would never work with them.

“You’re lying.”

He grabbed the Talon’s arm, and tried not to think of the knives on their fingers, and tried to throw him over his shoulder in a judo flip.

--

The Talon hadn’t been ready for the flip initially, but still had more training than Bruce.

Their feet landed before they pulled Bruce with them into a bear hug to keep him still.

“Surely you don’t think even your parents passed up this opportunity?” The Judge asked. “We are Gotham’s richest, just as you are. We decide what happens to our city, not the common riff raff crawling the streets. Your parents worked with us to make Gotham what it is today.”

--

It wasn’t like being held tight by Clark. The armored body around him moved when he struggled, but still-- still, he couldn’t do anything more than twist in the hold, but not break it, as he started to shake.

“Then how come it all fell apart when they died!?” he said, voice cracking.

His eyes felt hot.

“Even the Court couldn’t hold it together without them!?”

--

“I’m afraid that’s just another case of correlation not equalling causation.” The Judge said. “Perhaps with your help, you could bring Gotham back to something your parents would be proud of? We can help you. That’s what we do; offer a network of aid to bring Gotham to her full potential.”

“Talon,” the Judge turned his head to address the man bear-hugging Bruce into submission. “Take our guest to his lodgings. Give him time to think.”

The man said nothing as he set Bruce on his feet and shoved him forward.

--

…

Bruce stopped struggling, watching the Judge with barely-restrained tears. Shaking.

He wobbled on his feet when he was set down and stumbled with the shove.

...but he walked. He walked like he’d gone and drunk a bar dry, but he did it, still feeling the Talon’s arms around him through his clothes and suddenly feeling even colder and more exposed now that his arms were free.

“...you kill people,” he said to the Talon. “Why…”

--

“To maintain order.” The Talon said, leading Bruce down a series of corridors that became increasingly less lavish as they went.

They came to a steel door and the Talon opened it, but didn’t shove Bruce inside, expecting him to go in willingly.

The interior was nice for what it was. A comfortable bed. A desk with a light.

He was still one of Gotham’s Elite, after all.

--

“What about their families?” he asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

He was lightheaded.

Dizzy.

He went in, and stood just on the inside, feeling cold and empty.

--

If he was waiting on an answer he wouldn’t get one.

The Talon closed the door and it clicked heavily as it locked, and then he walked away.

--

…

Bruce couldn’t even hear his footsteps leaving.

...he wanted to throw up. But he just stood there. Dazed and shaking, and throat dry. No one knew where he was. He didn’t know where he was. No one knew the court, or would give Alfred closure, or be able to do anything if he disappeared down here.

No one would find his body if they wanted to get rid of him. A hole in his neck, just like mom’s.

“...Clark,” he croaked.

“Clark. Clark. Clark…”

--

… Clark would hear him.

Clark would hear him walking back to their dorm and stop dead in his tracks.

He knew the voice and it sounded so desperate, and suddenly he had forgotten the stabbing in his heart and was turning to run in the direction of it.

Ignoring whoever it was that just yelled at him for running.

He ran to where he thought it was coming from, but-- but that couldn’t be it. It was a dead end. So he circled back.

Another dead end.

It didn’t make sense.

How the fu-...

He started to look harder.

--

At some point, Bruce found himself on the floor, curled over his knees and pressing his palms into his eyes.

Were there cameras in here? Were there microphones? Would it matter right now?

“Clark, please, I don’t know where I am… I need help, please don’t have your hearing aids in right now, oh, fuck…”

--

Clark might have looked a little insane staring at the floor and seeing his friend miles down and sort of… throwing up his hands.

Okay.

Okay.

Uh.

…

Clark snuck out of the school and found his way into the sewers.

Ew.

It was as far down as he could get.

And then his eyes glowed red.

--

...at some point, Bruce stopped calling for help.

At some point, he just started talking.

Talking into his hands.

“I’m sorry about the bathroom. I was trying to scare you. I don’t know if you can hear but if you can I’m so sorry if you don’t hear from me again--”

He was going to do something stupid.

“--I might join them.”

--

Clark had no idea what Bruce was talking about. The Court of Owls was so far from his mind right now, he assumed maybe Bruce had been snooping around somewhere and got stuck or something and--

And soon the walls around him shook.

Clark didn’t drill down right over Bruce. He didn’t want to hurt him or have anything collapse around him, but that meant he didn’t really know what he was getting into. He couldn’t use heat vision and x-ray at the same time. So he just… guessed and then blew downward.

He landed somewhere with carpet and a loud thud, breathing heavily.

He had taken off his uniform and wrapped a bandana around his face to help with the smell and dust.

And he knew he had seen other skeletons down here before digging downward, but he didn’t know what that meant.

--

...Bruce felt it.

Felt the slight tremor in the walls. In the floor.

His head jerked upwards.

Oh no.

Clark had heard him.

“Shit-- shit, Clark!” he said, a little louder, still scared of being heard outside the door, now actually looking for cameras, he’d said the name too many times, though-- “Clark, don’t let them see you! They can take you away!”

--

There was really no way he hadn’t been heard, but--

He still tripped and stumbled over the rubble before giving up and just flying over it.

(Hide your face when you do it. Be so alien they can’t guess it’s you.)

Clark made sure the bandana over his face was still there and flew to where he could hear Bruce’s voice.

--

Fuck. Shit. Bruce didn’t know what to do, but the daze in his head had been replaced by the knowledge that Clark was coming, and he needed to find some way to help keep him safe.

He started trying the door, trying to shove it open or tug it that way, and when it didn’t budge, he banged on it. “Hey. Talon! Where the fuck are you!”

Talon is here, Clark, Talon is here, you heard the name, you know, okay--

--

Talon?? What??

Clark was just starting to wrap his head around what this place was, red carpets and tall pillars, when he saw Talon.

And Talon saw him. Floating.

They were both pretty unprepared.

But Talon was trained.

Bruce wouldn't see it, but he would hear it.

Clark yelling, startled. A scuffle. Something big and heavy being thrown into a wall.

…

And then Clark's face in front of the window of the door, his hair full of dust and face covered.

“Bruce! What the crap!”

--

Bruce stared back at him, eyes wide and afraid.

“Clark! Open the door!”

--

Clark tried the handle and pulled.

But the handle just ripped off.

… Okay.

Clark took a breath and shoved his hands through the sides where the door connected to the wall and pulled the whole thing off.

--

Good.

Bruce was already shoving himself against the floating alien, hugging him tight.

“Oh, God, oh, shit. Are you okay?!” he hissed, eyes flicking over Clark’s shoulder, looking for Talon--

--

Clark's shirt was torn up, but he looked fine as his arms wrapped around Bruce.

“Y-yeah, I'm--”

His head snapped back as he heard Talon get up with a groan behind him, body slumped in front of a massive dent in the wall.

--

At the groan, Bruce shoved out of Clark’s arms, and--

And shoved Clark behind him.

“Stay down,” he hissed, voice sharp and strong again, now that-- now that his friend was here. “If you try to touch him again I’ll bite through my tongue and you’ll lose a recruit just like that.”

--

“What?” Clark breathed, because-- because there was so much going on right now.

“We're leaving!” He yelled, grabbing Bruce again and pulling him close with a grip that said he didn't have a choice.

Talon was getting to his feet.

--

Bruce sucked in a breath as he was grabbed.

“No-- no! I need to know who..”

But he wouldn’t have a choice. Not with Clark’s iron grip on him. And not with his life not even enough to dissuade Talon.

--

Clark grabbed him tight and they were flying. Flying past startled court members with masks, away from Talon. Away from all of it.

When they got to the hole Clark made he said “take a breath!”

And they shot up.

It was like a rollercoaster in reverse, enough to take his breath away.

--

Bruce clung tight, sucking in a breath when Clark told him to and squeezing his eyes shut.

He pressed himself as hard as he could against the only solid thing he knew, and hid his face in Clark’s torn collar as they went.

“North,” Bruce told him, croaking. “Not school. School’s not safe--”

--

Clark heard him.

They shot out of the hole in the sewer and then up and out the manhole before anyone would tell who, or what, it was.

And then he leveled out and slowed down. They were too high for prying eyes to be able to tell what they were.

Headed North.

“Bruce, what the hell was that?” Clark asked, his bandanna long fallen off his face to hang around his neck.

--

Bruce still clung around Clark, shivering in the high altitude.

“The Owls,” he finally croaked. “Someone drugged me.”

--

His expression softened.

“... It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”

Clark hoped that was comforting.

--

Bruce nodded against Clark.

“...I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

--

…

“I know. I heard you.”

…

“You were right though. I was jealous of Tommy. So I’m sorry too.”

--

A shudder he couldn’t control ran through Bruce’s body.

“...don’t be. It’s fine. I didn’t…”

Everything was so wound up inside him. Or maybe that was lightheadedness.

“You don’t have to be jealous of people I don’t like like that.”

--

“I know. Just--”

…

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

(I know you don’t feel that way about me.)

“I understand.”

--

Bruce nodded against Clark again, and tried to hold in a sniff.

Arms still wrapped around Clark and suspended so far up they would barely be specks from the ground, Bruce pulled himself up a little in Clark’s grip. And kissed him.

(Everyone wanted something from him. His money, or status, or looks, or… or for Tommy, all three. All three and his dead parents.

And Clark had still come for him, even when Bruce had ripped all of those away and chased him far away.

And he was alive.)

--

Just like before Clark was a deer in headlights, eyes wide as Bruce put his lips on his. His grip stayed true, growing a little tighter around him, holding him close.

And like last time he closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss as they slowed down in the sky.

--

Bruce didn’t pull back this time.

...not that there was anywhere to pull back to, and he was very keenly aware of this, his legs dangling down with nothing to support him but the arms tight around his waist and his own grip around Clark’s shoulders.

….this kiss was gentler than the last one Bruce had given Clark. Slower. Like an apology. It was sweet.

When Clark pressed in he opened his mouth a little and tried to guide him through it.

--

Clark had never kissed someone like this before. It was nothing like sneaking a kiss from a girl break home when he was younger, hoping you did it right and having to take the lead.

… It was nice following for once.

He opened his mouth and followed along, slowly coming to a stop and bringing his legs down so Bruce could use him to lay on rather than hang over the city. And with Bruce's body supported by him underneath he could allow one hand to wander a little.

To feel his black hair.

--

Bruce could lead. He'd--

...he'd done a lot of kissing, the last two months, trying to forget the softness of Clark’s mouth.

He was still very, very aware of the fall below him, and the fact that even though his weight now fell a little more on Clark's waist, one of the arms holding him had still moved away.

His breathing grew a little deeper as he felt the hand reemerge in his hair, and pulled away just to get a deeper breath from the thin air.

--

Clark pulled away when Bruce did still looking a little dazed. Happy, but dazed. His hand slipped down, feeling the back of Bruce's neck.

Gentle.

“Okay,” he breathed, “Guess I don't understand.” He smirked.

--

Bruce frowned at him, though it wasn't an angry one. He swallowed. Clark would feel it under his hand.

“What don't you understand?”

--

“Thought you didn't like me like that.” He said quietly.

--

...Bruce finally grimaces, and tries to look away, but there's nowhere to look to but sky.

“...said you didn't have to be jealous of people I didn't like like that.”

--

“I know, but-- I didn't know that meant-- that meant I meant anything.” He looked down at the world below.

--

“That's ‘cause you're an idiot,” Bruce said, and leaned up to give him a tentative kiss again

--

Clark laughed into the second kiss, taking the jab in stride.

--

...as nice as it was, it would all have to end soon.

He was slowly growing colder in the sky, even when they weren't moving, and even with Clark under him. He was starting to shiver more, even though he refused to complain.

And they… they needed to get down, somehow, and find somewhere safe.

They couldn't go back to school. Not when Bruce had been kidnapped right in the library, in a bastion of the Gotham Elite.

The manor was nearby, but…

...but he didn't know if he could trust Alfred, after this.

But… for right now…

“Come on,” he whispered. “I think I know somewhere we can hide.”

--

He could feel Bruce shivering even if he didn't complain.

“Okay,” Clark said, grabbing Bruce with both arms again and starting to fly.

“Just tell me where.”

--

Bruce nodded and sniffed a bit, and told him.

...he told him how to find the little cave entrance, on the side of a hill, with a brick ring built around it to try and stop wandering children from falling in anymore.

It was too small to fly in together, so Bruce slid down first, into the cool, dark cave.

“No one else knows about it down here. Alfred only saw it once. He doesn't know I come back. It should be safe…”

He hoped it was.

--

Clark flew in behind him.

“... So what happened? I just heard you calling me and you were way down under even the sewers.”

--

Under the sewers? They must've been underwater almost, at that depth so near the shore.

“...” the cave was dark, despite the stream of sunlight coming down the hole. Bruce had left a box of things down here, though; an oil lantern among them.

He lit it, and relaxed when the wick wasn't too wet to work.

“...I was drugged,” he said again. “...I woke up in the court. And we talked.”

--

“... What did they say?”

--

...Bruce remembered the familiar tailor of the suits. The expense of the hideout.

He swallowed.

“...they said my family was one of them. They didn't kill them.”

--

“... What?” Clark breathed. “Wh-why?”

--

“...” Bruce knew very well why. But he also was very aware that it was something Kent had previously been defensive about. “...because the rich control the city. Not the ‘riff-raff’. And they want to keep it that way.”

“...and my family's one of the oldest in Gotham.”

--

(I might join them.)

Clark found himself flying around to hover beside Bruce, eyes catching the light of the lantern in the dark.

“You’re not going to join them, right? They kill people.”

--

“I know,” Bruce said right away, trying to look up at Clark, but not able to really meet his eyes. “...but if I'm in charge, maybe I can control them.”

The way he'd controlled Tommy. The way he'd held him back.

--

“Yeah? And how long will that take? To get to the top? Bruce that’d take years. Years of killing people just because they aren’t building things where you want or putting their money where you don’t agree with!”

--

He bit his cheek. “And what's my other option, Kent?”

“Even if I don't join, people are still going to die-- and I won't be a step closer to stopping it.”

--

“You’ve got so much you could use to help people, to keep them from dying.” Clark said. “Maybe you can’t fly or shoot fire from your eyes, but you have a name. You have money. Don’t be like every other rich person and throw that money towards your friends. You know that’s what they’re doing. They just pat each other on the back and kill anyone trying to make a difference!”

“You can make a bigger difference then even someone like me can, Bruce.”

--

“You think I don't know?”

God. He didn't mean for his voice to get so angry it cracked.

“That's what my mother was doing when she died.”

He flung his arm out, out towards the ceiling. “Why do you think we’re in this cave? Because they have names, they have money, and if they don't see me as a threat, maybe I can use what they throw away to fix this stupid city.”

His face was wet.

--

“You don’t know if they were even telling the truth, Bruce!” Clark said, still floating in front of him. “You know they’re the type of people to say anything that will make you want to join them. And then what? You join them and wade in the blood they spill right along beside them trying to soak it up with a paper towel?”

“You would still be responsible!”

--

Bruce flinched.

“...I know…” he said softly, head falling down again. “...I'm prepared for that. I just…”

His voice cracked again.

“I knew some of them, Clark. They're my neighbors. They can't… they won't go to jail, even if I find proof, I can't…”

“...I can't think of how to get rid of them..”

--

… Clark finally landed in front of him.

He started to grasp at straws.

“Can’t you just tell them you’ll stay out of their way? Even though you won’t join them?”

--

Bruce looked up at him, exhausted. “...if I can't trust them to tell the truth about my parents, why should I trust them with my life when I know I'll be getting in their way?”

“I won't stop getting in their way.”

Control.

--

Clark was rubbing his hands together.

Nervous.

“I’ll protect you. I’ll be your bodyguard. Not even that Talon guy could scratch me, see?” He smiled, forced, and held out his arms.

Torn shirt and not a scratch underneath.

--

Bruce reached up and pulled Clark’s hand away from his stomach. Furious.

“He could've disemboweled you!”

--

“He didn’t!” Clark said. “I felt his claws and they were a little sharp but-- look!”

He tugged off his shirt and pointed at the barely visible red lines.

“It was nothing! I’ve been shot and it’s hurt more! I’ll be fine!”

He was getting desperate.

Begging his friend and pulling at straws to keep Bruce from joining them.

--

Bruce was staring at the lines, shaking.

“Clark,” he whispered. “I don't even know if I can trust Alfred’s not one of them right now, okay?”

--

… Clark gripped his shirt, holding it against his chest as he looked down at Bruce.

He had no other excuses.

“Don’t.” Is all he could manage, barely a whisper.

--

...Bruce felt like the bathroom all over again. Staring up at Clark. Doing something dumb and heart-pounding to try and feel like it made a difference.

“...are you worried about their victims?” he asked, voice soft. “Or about me?”

--

“Both.” Clark said, then quieter; “You.”

--

...Bruce lifted his hands and ran his shaking fingers across Clark’s cheek.

“...save the bias for journalism,” he murmured, leaning in for another kiss. “I'm not going right now.”

--

Clark leaned into Bruce’s hand, reaching up to cup it under his own against his face while leaning down into the kiss.

“I don’t want you to go at all.” He whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “Don’t do it.”

… But he had no alternatives to suggest.

--

...Bruce didn't, either. Not if he wanted to stay in Gotham.

He could run, but he was under aged, without access to his parents’ fortune. Underage and famous. He wouldn't get far like that.

He could stay and make Clark be his bodyguard, but he didn't want to be responsible for the pain when one day Clark failed.

And god, he couldn't believe the Owls would let them walk away after that exit. That Bruce could lie and say he wouldn't get in the way would ultimately just buy temporary time.

If he wanted to stay in Gotham right now with Clark, he had to try to appease them somehow.

And they'd only wanted one thing.

(Always. Always, someone wanted something from him.)

So Bruce kissed back. Harder. Hands betraying his nerves as he gripped onto Clark’s unyielding arms.

“They could lock you up,” Bruce said, shaky. “I won't let them…”

--

Clark breathed heavier into the kiss, trying not to cry as his hands found Bruce's hips and gripped them with a gentleness that betrayed his strength.

“They don't have to know it's me. You said I could hide my face. They-- they don't need to know--”

Begging.

--

“I was calling your name….” Bruce whispered. “Please, Clark, I can’t lose someone again…”

--

Clark finally choked out a sob and wrapped his arms around Bruce, pulling him closer and shoving his face into Bruce's neck.

“I can deal with them, I--”

He had nothing left to offer.

--

…

Bruce just held him. Tight.

...he felt cold and empty inside. But he didn’t let go.

“...I found them. I have to try and control them…”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

--

Clark cried. He cried into Bruce's neck and held him tight and didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to do.

So while he had him, he just held onto Bruce and didn't let go.

--

…

Bruce didn’t know how long they were down there. Or how long Clark cried.

He was numb again. And all he knew was the arms were around him, and he was holding Clark tight as the sun went down, and soon, the only light was his lamplight, without even the flicker of stars.

“...it’s late…” he said, quiet. Tired and getting hungry and sore.

--

Clark had barely stopped holding him since they got down in the cave.

“... What do you wanna do?” He asked quietly.

Where were they supposed to go?

--

…

He didn’t know.

“...let’s get food,” he said, “and something to hide your face with. ...And then we should go.”

--

… Clark sniffed and nodded, finally peeling himself from Bruce as he tugged his tattered shirt back on.

“I'm not leaving you tonight.” He said, wanting to be sure Bruce knew that.

--

… “Thanks,” Bruce said, voice a little hoarse.

“...I’m going to need your help getting back up the well…”

...he stepped in close again, for a different sort of hug as they got up.

--

Clark nodded again and put his arms around Bruce, flying him up out of the well and setting him on his feet in the dying grass around it.

--

...it was still dark out, but not as dark as the cave.

In the far distance, there was a silhouette. Taller than the trees or fields around them. A house: massive and spired.

In front of it were flashing lights. Police cars.

...Bruce watched on with trepidation.

“...they reported me missing,” he said.

--

“... If Alfred were part of the Owls do you think he would’ve reported you?” Clark asked.

--

“Why wouldn't he?” Bruce asked, not sure. “There's not a clean cop in Gotham.”

--

Clark just sighed and took Bruce’s word for it. “... Whaddya wanna do?”

--

“...interstate gas station?” he suggested.

Food. Something to hide Clark’s face. New shirt.

They didn't need much.

--

“Okay,” he said. “Want me to fly us there or…?”

--

He nodded.

“....can't get out of the manor grounds, otherwise…”

Fenced in. Worse than school.

Fenced in everywhere but Kansas.

--

Clark offered his arms. “Just tell me what direction to go in.”

--

He would.

It was easy to spot the interstate at night, and the little clusters of buildings that sprung up along it. And--

And it was so different from the daytime flight. Bruce found his breath catching as they flew over the lights of outskirts and the rivers below.

--

Even Clark looked around as they flew.

“... Never been over a city before.”

But he didn’t linger, not like he had on their way there when Bruce kissed him.

He landed somewhere they wouldn’t be seen by the gas station.

--

Bruce stripped off his coat once they landed and handed it to Clark, to help cover his torn shirt.

“Can you see okay without your glasses?” he asked.

--

“I’m a little far-sighted.” Clark said, tugging on the jacket.

It was kinda tight.

He pulled off his glasses and held them out to Bruce, assuming he wanted them for a disguise.

--

Yeah, he did.

He put on the glasses and relaxed a little.

… “It’ll do, hopefully.”

They looked at least sort of different, and he didn’t think the Court would look at this one random gas station, of all places, right?

Right.

--

Hopefully.

Clark followed him into the gas station.

The attendant didn’t even look up.

--

Good.

Bruce grabbed some food and a shirt, and a ski mask (bad winters) and gestured for Clark to pick something to eat out, too.

--

Clark grabbed a gross gas station hotdog and a soda for himself.

He would pay too with the money Bruce gave him, just in case the guy behind the counter did recognize Bruce.

--

That was fine.

Routine. Habit.

Bruce just stood behind people while they operated for him.

He wondered if owls did that.

“...wanna eat on the curb?” he asked as they left.

--

“Sure,” Clark said, walking out with him.

He found a spot that didn’t look as dirty and sat down. Pulled out his hotdog to start eating.

…

“You feelin’ okay?”

--

…

Bruce opened the sandwich he’d taken from the freezer section and took a bite.

“...I dunno if I’m feeling anything really right now.”

--

… Clark nodded and took a bite from his hotdog.

“Yeah. I dunno what I’m feelin’ either right now.”

--

…

Bruce reached over and tried to find Clark's hand. To squeeze it.

“...I'm sorry. Please don't hate me for this.”

--

Clark looked down at their hands and gave Bruce’s a squeeze back. “I won’t-- I--”

He felt his eyes get hot again and tried not to cry.

“... Just promise me you’ll get out. If you find a chance. Just get out.”

--

...Bruce nodded.

“...I will. I just…”

…

He curled up a bit again, like he'd done on the bus.

“...All I can think of is leaving Gotham. And I don't want to.”

He'd told Clark he did.

That he was going to run.

But he wasn't going to be chased.

--

“You can’t do that until you’re 18 anyway, right?” Clark said, still holding his hand.

--

… “not without permission,” Bruce said, swallowing hard, and glancing back at the way they'd come.

--

Clark sighed and looked down at his hotdog.

He wasn’t hungry despite everything.

…

“What’d we do after this? Are you going back to them?”

--

...Bruce nodded.

“...see if I have something they want,” he said.

Just think of it like economics.

--

“... Do you want me to be there with you? Or do you not think…”

Would they not accept him if the guy who plowed into their court was beside him?

--

Bruce tried to smile reassuringly, but it fell flat, and he let it wilt.

“...I want you there, yeah, but… I don't think it'll be a good idea.”

--

… “I’ll be close.” Clark said, face turning serious.

“I’ll be close and if they do anything I’ll see it and come.” His eyes looked over to meet Bruce’s.

--

…he'd see it, there.

The fear that never left Bruce, dragged to the surface.

The relief that he wouldn't be alone.

He nodded.

“...okay. I trust you.”

--

Clark smiled, even if it didn't last very long.

He held Bruce's hand while they ate and wondered if his friend would be able to stay himself even after joining the Owls.

--

(It wouldn't be so bad to stay someone else, as long as no one else died.)

Bruce finished his sandwich. Threw the wrapper away from where they sat.

And he waited, quietly, for Clark to finish, too, watching the stars out here that came out more than in middle Gotham.

...why did it feel like his last night?

He wasn't going to get himself locked in that little holding room forever--

--

It really did feel like Bruce’s last night, even if in theory they would accept him and… little would change in their day-to-day lives.

When they were both done eating it would take a lot of strength to stand up.

But they both had to. If this was going to have an end. They had to both stand up.

And Clark would have to watch Bruce walk into the fire.

--

It wasn't Aristotle who said it, but Bruce couldn't remember anyone else right now.

Bravery isn't the lack of fear, but the confrontation of it.

...but all the same, he wished he'd been a little bolder-feeling as Clark brought him back to the entrance of the shaft, and he made his slow descent down, leaving the upperworld behind.

He dusted himself off without much thought once he slid from the broken wall into the spacious chamber of red carpet and pillars, and looked around slowly.

“...hello? Is anyone still here?”

--

There was no one there when he arrived. The hole hadn’t been cleaned up from Clark’s entrance, but Bruce would know he was being watched.

--

Bruce could feel it. Prickles on his skin.

Familiar. Being watched.

Bluff. Hands on his sides. Impatient.

“I can hear you breathing. You may as well come out.”

--

… His bluff went unanswered.

It would be another minute before he would hear footsteps.

Talon walked around the corner to face him.

“Follow me.”

--

...at least it got him in the light.

...he didn't let himself look back at the hole he'd crawled down through.

He followed Talon.

--

Talon lead him to a smaller room. Opened the door to a lavish office with wood and soft red carpet that matched the rest of their underground facility. The Judge was sat behind a large desk.

“Ah, he returns.” He said, standing up.

--

“What, can't use the prodigal son line twice?” Bruce asked, strolling in with his head held higher than before. Eyes sharp again.

He was so fucking aware of the Talon at his back.

“...what you said about my parents. Was it true?”

--

“Oh I think the prodigal son title is only saved for those who are… eligible in joining our little organization.” The Judge said, and as soon as he was finished the Talon was grabbing Bruce’s neck.

--

Bruce lunged forward for the Judge’s mask as the word ‘eligible’ died, but was caught mid-air, choking.

One hand tried to pry the fingers off his windpipe in animal desperation.

The other grabbed for the Talon’s mask instead.

--

The Talon’s mask was cloth, attached to the rest of his suit. Bruce could feel it ripping a little at the clasps by his neck. He pushed Bruce down on the floor and grabbed for one of the sharp throwing knives strapped to his sides.

“I don’t know what it was you had come grab you the first time, but you’re really a fool for coming here again. I’m afraid our offer has expired.” The Judge said, rounding the desk so he could get closer.

But not too close.

--

Bruce didn't let go.

He needed at least one face.

One way for it to not be everyone he knew--

But he still glared up at the Judge, choking and struggling on the floor.

“Can't negotiate-- if it's fair--huh?” he choked out.

Clark was watching for him.

“You'll wish you had me--”

--

He’d get one face, the fabric eventually tearing off to reveal… no one he knew.

A nobody, their face generic and plain save for a scar across their lip. They weren’t a part of The Elite.

“Won’t it be a shame when your butler finds you tomorrow morning, bled out in your bathtub from slit wrists?” The Judge said, and Talon pinned down one of Bruce’s arms with his leg.

--

His heart started to pound a little faster.

The pinned arm was shaking. He'd given his jacket over at the gas station, and though he'd returned the glasses he hadn't taken the jacket back--

The Judge could see the scars on his arm.

Where was Clark?

“That doesn't even make sense for him to find me in the manor--” he said, not sure why. Adrenaline? Fear?

Clark said he'd be watching--

--

“No? It doesn’t make sense that Bruce Wayne, overwhelmed with all that has happened to him, would run home and--”

The Judge never finished his sentence.

The wall exploded in pieces of wood and drywall and the weight on Bruce was yanked off him.

--

Oh god. Oh god.

Bruce was up on his feet and running, tackling into the Judge with every one of his 150 pounds, ripping the mask off his face.

--

The Judge was trying to fight him off, but it was clear he was no fighter, and soon enough Bruce had the mask ripped off.

He would recognize the face behind it. A Galavan, teeth grit and hands reaching to grab Bruce by the throat and get him off or choke him to death himself.

Behind him, through yet another wall Clark had crashed through, there was heat.

And screaming.

--

He had a face.

He had a face.

And he reeled back and hit Galavan as hard as he could across the face, until his knuckles hurt.

But the screaming stopped him from--

From keeping it up.

He shoved away, still gripping the mask, suddenly thinking of he burnt off their arms.

--

The Judge wasn’t moving. Alive, but unconscious from Bruce’s onslaught.

But behind him, through another wall into a whole separate room, Clark stood heaving with his hands over his eyes, and a smoking Talon at his feet, unmoving.

--

Bruce ran towards him. Shaking.

“Clark..?” he whispered, too quiet to even hear himself, scared that there might still be someone around.

He knelt beside Clark, rubbing his back, trying to wrap an arm around him.

Trying to pull his eyes from the Talon’s body.

He suddenly wished he hadn't removed the mask.

Maybe he wouldn't have to see the dead eyes. The same glassy gaze.

The--

The…

Oh god.

“Get up,” Bruce said, voice speaking into a break. “Get up, there's something wrong--”

--

Clark wore the ski mask Bruce had gotten him. The ski mask and the bandana around his mouth. Around the eyes was burning and still red with cinders as he tried to breathe and get to his feet.

“He won’t-- he won’t hurt you again--” Clark mumbled out.

Rationalizing it in his brain.

--

Bruce knew what dead bodies looked like.

He grabbed Clark by the shoulder, trying to haul him upright faster. “Shut up, get up, shh--”

The hand was moving.

“He's not dead!”

--

Clark’s eyes went down to the body.

Moving.

When it looked like that.

His eyes went wide and he felt himself stop breathing.

Before he knew it he was grabbing Bruce again to fly them out.

--

Bruce didn't protest.

Not at all.

He was already clinging tight to Clark, shaking, with the mask still clutched in one hand against his chest.

“M-manor,” Bruce said. “K-keep your hat on.”

He had to know now, now that plan A was spent.

If Alfred was with them, he needed to know, before Alfred got word of what had happened.

--

Clark flew.

He flew out of the hole he had made into the room and towards the massive hole he had made from the sewers.

But then he paused.

“I- I should destroy this place…”

Even if he didn’t know how.

--

Bruce turned, shaking, though not with cold.

“We don't kill,” he breathed, gripping Clark tighter. “We’re not killers.”

--

Clark looked at him, mouth tight, and nodded.

He flew them out of the hole.

Out of the sewer.

They went to the Manor.

--

...Bruce had stopped shaking by the time they touched down.

The police cars were gone, now.

It was late in the night.

Everything inside him had gotten carved out and scooped from him, leaving a bare shell that didn't even feel scared anymore as he rang the manor doorbell.

“Don't let him see you right away. Not until we know,” he said numbly, still holding the smooth mask between his fingers.

--

“Okay.” Clark said quietly, dropping Bruce on his feet and then flying away and off to the side.

Bruce would tell him if it was fine to come down. And if things started going south… he would be there.

--

Bruce took a deep breath and waited.

...a few moments later, the door opened.

An older man with a thin layer of hair on the top of his head and a thinning mustache opened the door--

--and nearly fell to his knees, pulling Bruce into a hug, to complete shock on Bruce's face.

“Master Bruce! You've had me worried sick!”

--

Clark waited where he was, hovering up and to the right out of immediate sight.

(No one ever looked up.)

He wanted to believe Alfred was genuine, if not because that sounded very sincere but also… he didn’t want Bruce to lose his guardian too.

--

Bruce didn't think he could handle losing another person.

He held stiff in the hug until Alfred pulled away, asking, “where have you been?”

“...I needed to get out,” Bruce says, exhaustion in his voice despite everything. “...and I found something. Do you know what it is…?”

Alfred seemed a little taken aback by the question, but was listening. “That isn't… an explanation, Master Bruce, for what caused this wild goose chase…”

But Bruce ignored him and stretched his arm out first.

Letting Alfred see the cracked mask.

--

… Clark wasn’t sure if this was a safe way to tell. Alfred could lie. He could lie and say he didn’t have any idea what it was.

Even so Clark paid attention to Alfred heartbeat.

It sometimes sounded different when people lied, and sometimes he could tell.

Only sometimes.

--

Maybe it wasn't. But at least Bruce could see Alfred’s face. Could watch his pupils dilate and the sternness of his mouth.

(And Alfred’s heart rate would not change.

It was already beating like Bruce’s. Like it was already in a waking nightmare.)

“It-- it appears to be a replica of one of your father’s artifacts, Master Bruce, but what does that have to do with--”

(Bruce lost his grip on the mask.)

--

Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Despite being told to stay out of sight Clark found himself starting to lower down whether he caught Alfred’s attention or not.

“Bruce…”

--

He did catch Alfred’s attention.

And Alfred caugh Bruce’s arm, tugging him behind himself defensively and his other arm reaching for something in his suit.

“Who’s there?!”

Bruce grabbed the elbow of the arm in Alfred’s suit, trying to not let him pull it out.

“It's fine! He's a friend!”

--

Clark stopped where he was, putting his hands up in a show of surrender.

Not that flying eight feet off the ground really helped him appear harmless.

Or the ski mask.

--

...Alfred was indeed staring right at him, floating eight feet off the ground in a ski mask.

...but somehow, his heartbeat slowed a little at Bruce’s insistence, and he released whatever he'd been trying to take from inside his suit.

“...you always did have the most interesting taste in friends,” Alfred said, straight-faced.

“...” he looked back at the sixteen year old still grabbing onto his arm.

Even with something like this, it seemed like a long time since Bruce let himself be touched.

“...very well. Both of you. Inside. I want some kind of explanation before bed tonight, but we can't very well do it out here.”

--

… Clark hovered a little lower.

“Is-- is this okay?” He asked uneasily.

Did he trust Alfred?

--

Bruce still looked like he might shake apart.

But he nodded.

He hadn't seen anything but confusion in Alfred’s eyes at the mask.

The only other way to tell would be hard evidence that was surely hidden away or-- or mind reading, maybe.

But right now he just wanted to fall over.

--

“... Okay.”

Clark reached up to pull off the ski mask and bandana.

“Sorry for the startle, sir.”

--

Alfred’s eyes softened a little when he saw the youth under the mask.

“...nothing worse than what I've already been through tonight, young man. Now get inside, the both of you.”

He ushered them in, and locked the door behind them.

--

Clark finally touched down beside Bruce as they walked inside and looked around.

Even the entrance was huge and ridiculous and nothing he had ever seen before.

“Wow.”

--

There was a chandelier in the entryway, flanked by two large split-section marble staircases. There were bright, long carpets and healthy plants on podiums, growing long and beginning to blossom for spring.

This was where Bruce lived, whenever he went home for a long, lonely break.

But Alfred ushered them off to the side, rather than up the split staircase, into a little wooden side door that led to a modest kitchen. It was more modern than the entryway, with industrial sinks and stoves, but Alfred simply used one small burner to put a kettle of water on it, and gestured for Clark and Bruce to take a seat at a small wooden table in the side of the room, where Alfred usually ate.

There were only two chairs. Never any guests to fill them.

“Now,” Alfred said, starting to prepare two mugs for tea. “What is going on? Why aren't you at school?”

--

Clark glanced over at Bruce, then to Alfred.

They were trusting him, right?

“He-- I don’t think he can go back to school, sir.”

--

Alfred’s face grew a little more grave, and Bruce knew what he was thinking, and it curled inside him.

“I didn't fight anyone,” he mumbled, indignant. Hands clenched. “I found the Court of Owls.”

The graveness left Alfred’s face for the concern of someone who thought an argument had been long, long over, and who'd just had it opened up again at the worst possible moment. “Master Bruce, we’ve been over this, the court isn't real.”

--

Clark jumped to his friend's defense.

“They are! We've been digging into it and then they popped out of nowhere and kidnapped him! They threatened him! Tried to kill him!”

--

Alfred watched him, on one hand accepting that this boy had been flying a few minutes ago. On the other hand…

“Master Bruce?”

…

Without making eye contact, Bruce started to tug up his shirt sleeves.

Tug down his collar.

He had freshly-formed bruises ringing around the outside of his arms from where Talon had grappled him and held him still-- and two distinct finger marks on his neck, from where he'd been grabbed and shoved down on the floor, when they'd wanted to cut his wrists.

“Gracious--” Alfred was already leaning in to hover and get a closer look.

--

“... He's not making it up.” Clark said, quieter this time. He watched as Alfred inspected the bruises on Bruce's body.

“I heard him calling for help. They have a huge thing--” he gestured with his hands, “--under Gotham. Like a big underground mansion, and they tried to recruit him, and, so, I busted him out but we knew they'd just come back for him so--” He was rambling now.

--

“Please,” Alfred said, looking away from Bruce, holding a gentle hand to Clark. “Calm yourself. You’ve both had a long night.”

...he slips up and away to fill the two mugs with hot water, and sets them before the two boys steep.

He has no chair to sit on, but so he leans forward on the table, frowning, and looks between them both.

“Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

...and so Bruce does.

How they'd picked up looking for the owls again after the murder in fall. How Bruce had been on his way to the library when he was knocked unconscious. How he woke in a room with people wearing those masks, inviting him to culminate his interest, that they'd locked him away to ‘think about it’ and he'd called for Clark, who came--

But that's where his ability to keep his voice steady stops.

“They said… they said my parents were one of them.”

And he looks at the mask, still lying on the kitchen table between him and Clark, where Alfred had set it after picking it up and ushering them in.

--

Clark fell quiet and let Bruce do all the talking. When his voice started to shake Clark moved a hand out and…

… and he wanted to take Bruce’s hand and squeeze it, but he didn’t want to do that in front of someone he didn’t know. Boys didn’t do that with one another.

So instead he put his hand gently on Bruce’s shoulder.

He didn’t think to ask if Alfred knew if Bruce’s parents were or not, he didn’t know how long he had been around, but he wished someone could tell Bruce they weren’t at least for his friend’s peace of mind.

--

Under Alfred’s gaze, Bruce--

Bruce tugged away from Clark’s hand. Like he'd been burnt.

Alfred didn't find anything strange about that, even though he wished he could.

But he didn't try to touch Bruce either as he knelt down in front of him, face stern.

“Your parents would have loathed any sort of group such as that.”

“You recognized the mask.”

“And I can think of a million reasons why it is a coincidence,” Alfred said. “And surely you could as well, if you weren't exhausted and strung-out right now. So we will forgive that, won't we?”

--

Ah. Okay. Even that was too much, he guessed.

Clark pulled his hand away and set it in his lap, his chest feeling tight and his stomach turning.

“They probably said it so you’d join.” Clark offered, hoping it helped some.

--

Alfred gave Clark a small, approving nod in thanks.

Bruce was just trying to keep the knot down in his chest.

“...right,” he said, as if it hurt to say anything. The doubt had still been put in his mind. “...We hid to find out what to do. And we went back after a while.”

“Why in the world would you do that?” Alfred asked, voice soft, but accepting the continuation of the story.

--

“... Didn’t… think they’d stop trying to recruit him.” Clark added, his hands folded and resting in his lap.

--

“And?” Alfred said.

“...they stopped,” Bruce said softly. “But they might be coming after us, now.”

...Alfred could be a target too, if he wasn't with the owls.

Even if all they really wanted was to make him find Bruce and I looked like a suicide.

--

“We might’ve made them kinda mad.” Clark admitted, then cleared his throat.

He had, really. Bruce had just called for him, it was his fault they had multiple huge holes in their hideout now. And… whatever it was that had happened to Talon.

He thought he had killed him, and he went into the situation being okay with that if it meant saving his friend, but after what he saw…

…

--

(Bruce wondered if it was the first time Clark saw a human body)

(If he knew what it smelled like)

Alfred watched them with a grim face, and said, “I see.”

He sighed stood again, placing his hands on their shoulders. One on Clark’s, and the other on Bruce's, who twitched but didn't pull away.

“I'll be making some phone calls,” Alfred said. “Master Kent, I can't thank you enough for saving Bruce, but you've also put yourself in danger, unfortunately, in the process--”

“They don't know it was him,” Bruce said softly, and Alfred stopped speaking to look at him again. “...Galavan called him a ‘thing.’ A thing I summoned. They don't know.”

--

It still hurt. Being called a ‘thing’.

“Flying ‘n smashing through walls will do that. Heh.” Clark said, and he could feel a piece of himself die.

“I covered my face up so they didn’t know it was me.”

--

Alfred still wore a bit of a frown. Concerned. “Are you certain you could not be identified?”

“...we haven't even talked for two months,” Bruce admitted quietly. “...they don't have a reason to think he'd suddenly help me.”

--

Ah. Yeah. There was that too.

“... Yeah,” he admitted too. “I haven’t been working on the Court of Owls research for a long time now. Haven’t been talkin’ or… anythin’. Don’t think they would think I’d help, maybe. ‘N I tried to be as weird as possible so they didn’t think it was--”

Ugh.

Shit.

He rubbed the back of his head.

“So they wouldn’t think a boring kid from Kansas could do any ‘a that.”

--

….

Alfred gave him a nod of approval.

“That was wise of you. Ignorance is often the best defense,” he said.

He removed his hand from Bruce and clapped Clark’s shoulders instead. “You've done more than could have ever been expected of you, tonight. Thank you for that. You can leave the rest to me.”

And there was something steely and familiar--like Bruce’s--in Alfred's eyes.

A butler, but still someone with a hard will, ready to defend his ward. And confident of doing it.

“For now, what may be best is if you continue to play on their ignorance, and make it seem as if nothing has changed. Do you understand?”

--

“It was Bruce’s idea…” Clark said with a little smile.

(Hide your face. Be so alien they don’t look for a human.)

“Um, yeah, but--”

He looked at Bruce.

“I said I’d stay with him.”

--

Bruce’s eyes fell down, and he couldn't meet Clark’s gaze again, like he knew what was coming.

“That's very noble,” Alfred said. “But it may place you at greater risk, which I'm sure is the last thing Master Bruce wants. Go back to school. Pretend you've just gotten locked out of your dorm and came back late. Bruce and I will spend the night in the safe room and be out of Gotham by morning.”

--

“O-Out of Gotham?”

Clark felt something hard in his throat.

Like he was just told he would never see Bruce again.

--

Bruce said nothing.

“There has just been an attempt on his life,” Alfred said, still calm. Like this was normal. Like it made sense. “It is only prudent we go lie low a while where another cannot be easily made.”

--

Clark’s bright blue eyes were bouncing between the two of them.

“But… you’ll be back?”

--

Alfred looked like he wanted to say no--

“Yes,” Bruce said. Not looking up. His voice was still firm. Hands clasped tightly together in his lap. “...if nothing else, I’ll come see you in Kansas. Okay?”

--

Clark looked at him like he was about to cry again.

“D-Do you know when?”

--

Alfred had stepped back, looking between the two of them, unsure.

“...sometime in summer?” Bruce asked.

...he looked up at Alfred.

Alfred looked back, eyes dark and sad again.

“I’m sure that can be made possible, Master Bruce,” he said softly.

--

Clark wiped at his eyes even though he hadn’t started crying yet.

“... Guess you can’t tell me where it is you’re plannin’ to go, huh?”

--

“We will be in contact with your parents at least, if it seems safe,” Alfred reassured him.

--

Clark took a deep breath.

“Okay.”

He sounded like he was trying to gear himself up for something, and he was.

Gearing himself up to leave.

He pushed off the counter to stand out of his chair.

Hovered there a moment before looking at Bruce.

“You’ll yell if something happens?”

--

Bruce snorted, head still hung.

“Yeah. I will.”

….he was still being protected.

“...take care of Harvey. He’s not going to be doing okay.”

--

“... What should I tell him?”

--

“...you don’t know what happened with me. You were taking a break from studying and fell asleep. Lost track of time,” Bruce said. “...the news will pick up the rest.”

Clark always got the news.

--

Another deep breath.

“Okay.”

…

He wanted to hug him, but judging how he reacted from just the touch with Alfred around he figured that wouldn’t work out well.

“G-... Good luck.” Was all he could manage before starting to walk out of the kitchen.

--

...Alfred glanced back at Bruce, still quiet and head-hung, and said, softly, “I’ll show you to the doorway.”

He followed Clark out of the kitchen.

--

Clark stopped a little so Bruce could catch up, but still didn’t touch him as they walked out of the kitchen and back towards the front door.

And even then he didn’t reach for him, even if he wanted to.

“... You’d better call.” He managed, voice shaking.

--

That was fine.

Clark wasn’t Bruce.

Alfred had seen the boy reach for physical comfort.

So he reached out, instead, placing a gentle hand on Clark’s back.

“We will,” he said. “And he will be fine. And he wouldn’t have gotten this far without your help. So please: take care of yourself a while, now.”

“What you can do is very impressive. But you can’t be older than Bruce. Be careful out there.”

--

Clark cleared his throat and nodded.

He would try.

…

He didn’t look at Alfred or the manor as he stepped forward and pushed off, a burst of air being the only thing that broke the silence as he flew back to school.

Clark listened to Bruce’s heartbeat get quieter and quieter.

--

...it would finally, fully fade as he returned to Gotham Academy, far out of the three-mile limit of his hearing.

…

Alfred would shuffle Bruce into the saferoom. Phone the police. Inform them that Bruce had been located. That there had, indeed, been another kidnapping and it seemed, this time, a threat on his life. That he was taking matters now on his own.

He gave a description of a man matching Galavan, but expected nothing to come out of it.

He called the school to berate them shortly of letting Bruce be kidnapped on their grounds. That Bruce would not be returning after such incompetence.

...he called the airport, and purchased two tickets, and packed their bags.

By morning, as promised, they would be gone, leaving behind everything in Bruce’s dorm room and a sweep of press activity come the breaking day.

--

The hardest part was trying to act like nothing had happened.

He had to lie to Harvey, spin the story he had fallen asleep and got locked out like Bruce had suggested, but had no idea what happened to him.

Lying to the press was somehow… harder.

Maybe it was because of peer pressure, or maybe because he wanted to be a journalist someday, but having to pretend he didn’t know and even telling them he hadn’t spoken much to Bruce in over two months was hard.

He was crying less about a broken heart and more through worry over what might have happened to his friend. Clark knew that if he yelled now, wherever he was, he wouldn’t be able to hear him.

But that didn’t stop him from listening anyway.

…

He helped Harvey as much as he could, tried to be some sort of support for him and at least help him academically. It was just them now. The room was empty. And quiet. And he hated it.

But he just had to breathe and get through it. Get to summer.

Look forward to that phone call or visit.

--

Harvey wasn’t doing great in the aftermath. Bruce hadn’t been wrong.

He’d been… happy, earlier in the year. Reserved as it was. He’d been doing okay with Bruce, and Tommy, and getting to know Clark-- and having three whole friends.

Now, the two he he’d had for almost three years were both stripped away in just a few months time, and summer was coming.

And he had no time to let himself break down.

Where Clark cried, Harvey grew distant and shut down anything that wasn’t the polite tour guide who showed new students their rooms and introduced families to a place that would beat their children for making noise after-hours.

…

It was a good two weeks before the media attention died down.

…

He’d go back to Kansas without hearing a word from either Bruce or Alfred, and start the summer alone.

[buffysummerslay]

Demons

My demons have me shackled to the bed.

Whenever they decide to stop by, they take over my body so that it feels more theirs than mine. They turn it into 

a playground

a circus

a theatre stage 

where they perform utterly grotesque plays.

They know which parts of me they have to latch on to for my body to become limp under theirs. They have no physical form yet they have the power to make me feel like every bone in my body has been crushed under the burden of their existence.

By now, I know them by their name, yet they constantly change. There are times when they are my size, when they stand up and look me in the eyes, and I am confronted by a wide and creepy smile on their face as they mimic all of my movements. And then there are times when they break themselves into million tiny pieces and crawl under my skin. Sometimes I carry them around like they are my favourite accessories, and sometimes I become them.

I entertain them more than I battle them. When they don’t break me, they accompany me. There are days when I feel like they are on the other side of all of my favourite conversations. Sometimes, when I feel that they are about to slip away, I feed them deliciously horrid ideas to make them stay – I would rather be in pain than alone.

However, I never know when they are here to play and when they are here to do serious harm until it is too late.

Today, I am in my bed, my face buried into my pillow. I have one of the demons wrapped around my ankles. I could shake that one off – it is tiny and does the job lazily, like it decided to possess me only because others dared him to. I can feel sharp claws on my skin and they feel equally right and wrong, like sins usually do. The demon’s claws travel

up and down

nwnd dna pu

my skin in repetitive motion which soothes me. This one isn’t here to do me any harm, it is here to distract me.

One of them is sprawled across my back – I can’t tell if she is under my skin or if she is my skin because that one has been with me for years now. I found her on the street when I was 10; she was small and naked and barely alive. I rescued her and took her home and nurtured her back to health. I took her with me everywhere I went – to school, to the pool, to the birthday parties of my friends. She became my friend too and she would always warn me about the bad intentions of other people before they could cause me harm. So when she asked me if she could live inside me, I opened the doors and invited her in to repay her for her protection and kindness. And she has been here ever since. Over the years, she has warned me so many times... she has warned me never to speak up because I am not smart enough to be of any interest to anyone; she has warned me to stay home because I am not attractive enough to go to the party; she has warned me he will never like me as long as there is someone else to choose. And I believed her. She has saved me from pain and embarrassment and heartbreak more times than I can count. After a few years, her words started to taste like poison and yet I would thank her every time she would spew her poisonous words into my ears.

Her hands are on my shoulders and her legs are wrapped around my ribcage. When she speaks, her voice echoes in my bones and my body shakes from the inside. Lately, her words feel more like threats than warnings.

She wraps her toes around my ribs, like she wants to pry them open. I feel like I can’t breathe so I pull my knees towards my chest; I feel like my lungs have shrunk twice their normal size and I need to relieve this pressure before they push my heart into my throat and I throw it up the same way I threw so many chances because of her. All the words I didn’t say, all the kisses I didn’t have, all the experiences I didn’t say yes to and all the memories I am not a part of. Because she told me and I listened; and I listened because she always sounded so calm and warm and rational, like she was the only person in the world who wanted what’s best for me.

She may not have a physical form, yet her words have a physical manifestation - me. I have become all of her warnings, and all of her warnings have turned me into a memory of who I used to be and the unused potential of who I could have been. And maybe her intention was never to protect me, but to erase me. All she does is paralyse me when the moments that are written in the stars arrive. She never even lets me throw the dice when it is my turn to play. Yet, it is hard to blame someone who can’t be seen by the naked eye, so the blame always falls on me.

My head is heavy on my pillow. There are days when my head feels empty and, at the same time, that is when my head feels the heaviest – like I am burdened by the lack of thoughts. Because I know that, when they die down, they open room for far worse things to come. The third demon is wrapped around my skull. I can feel his breath on my neck and his slimy tongue in my ear.

I have once read that demons need to be invited into the body that they possess, but I am pretty certain I have never invited this one in. Maybe my body is the hell’s doormat and all the demons are free to step on me and wipe their feet before they move towards their real destination.

This one is nasty. It rarely speaks, it mainly stares at me and breathes heavily on my skin. I live in the state of constant fear, either because it is here or because I am afraid it will come back.  And that fear drains the energy out of me; I am constantly tired and exhausted and in no mood to be surrounded by people.

I have never been as intimate with someone as I am with him. When he asks me to come to bed, I slip under the covers. When he asks me to stay home, I lock the doors and swallow the key. When he asks me to pay no attention to my daily tasks, I stare at the dead point on the wall. I am his mistress and I behave the way he asks me to. I like to please people more than I like to be pleased.

And while he is the only one who has ever seen me truly and fully naked, maybe intimate isn’t the correct word for what’s going on between us. And maybe he doesn’t ask anything from me as much as he tells me. And maybe I don’t try to please as much as I try to obey.

I obey until a few days; weeks; months have passed and it is 3am and I am awake and I crumble because he knows me better than anyone else does, even better than I know myself.

And he is my master more than I am his mistress.

I am his toy. Sometimes he stays away long enough for me to think that he won’t come back again. And when a spark of that hope rekindles the flame that makes me feel alive and happy and in control, he pops back into my head and reminds me that he will never, ever truly be gone.

And the fear reappears. I am afraid of this demon, more than I am afraid of the other ones. Because unlike the others that take, this one prevents. I am afraid he won’t allow me to meet love, or go on cheesy dates, or feel soft kisses on my skin, or movie like mornings while I am lying in the bed with the one I love, or motherhood.

I muster enough strength and open the drawer of the night table next to my bed. I reach for the box I know how to find by memory, and take the little blue pill out of it. The demons start to screech as soon as they see the pill approach my mouth. I reach for the glass on the top of the table. The water in it is stale, but it helps me send the pill down my throat.

The pill is the seed. When the pill reaches the bottom of my stomach it releases roots and they climb up my body, all the way to my mind. They wrap themselves around my ribcage and gently encompass my organs, and eventually they grow beautiful, beautiful flowers.

I open my eyes and the new day starts, like lifetimes haven’t already been lost.

[itstittycitybaby]

From the Ashes We are Born (Part two)

A/N: Just wanna say thank you so much for the notes and follows! I appreciate it a lot. I forget how broken tumblr is until i have to post something with 1000+ words. Anyways enjoy lmao.

.

The cool and crisp sheets welcomed you in its arms once you woke up. They smelt of pine trees and lemon with a tinge of muskiness to it. A dull ache coursed through your head, causing you to curse. The light did no favours for your head either. You groaned; there was a bedside table with a few candles. A hint of vanilla wafted through the air as the flame flickered and danced. “Where the fuck am I?” You rubbed your eyes to wake yourself up even more before trying to escape wherever the fuck you had been taken to. A bandage was placed on the side of your head where that cop had struck you. Slinging one leg out you raised yourself out of bed, or tried to anyway. The sheets had wrapped itself around your legs and waist. Your left leg felt tingly and weak once you put your weight on it. “Oh fuck,” you yelped as you toppled onto the floor, smacking your nose in the process. A nice thudding sound followed at the impact. Great, now my kidnapper knows I'm definitely awake. It was nice living while it lasted, I guess. As if on cue hurried footsteps caught your attention. The sound traveled throughout the mysterious place and into the room you were currently in. As you tried to untangling your legs out of the cursed sheet, you noticed the mountains and mountains of books piled in the room. Several stacks were behind the bed and there were cases of them piled on the cold floor. 

Shaking your head out of your thoughts, you tried getting up again. However, your legs still refused to cooperate with you. The floor seemed to stare back at you mockingly as you caught yourself from kissing it. Huffing, you resorted to a military like crawl to get around. One arm forward, one leg forward, pull. Now, other arm… “I see you have awakened,” an amused voice said. There, stood your captor. V. You almost laughed at the pink frilly apron tied around his waist. Almost. You sent him a glare as he stood there, amused in the predicament you were in. “I didn’t notice. Where am I?” “My home. The Shadow Gallery,” V said as he extended his arm. “May I?” Sighing, you wrapped your fingers around his arm and let him pull you up. You clutched onto his arm tightly for support. Your knees started to shake and you prepared for them to buckle beneath you for the third goddamn time. “Oh great,” you huffed as you started to fall. You screwed your eyes shut, bracing for impact. It never came. Your eyes flew open and you stood there, confused. That’s when you realized what was supporting your waist. Who was supporting your waist. V’s arm had snaked around your waist and he pulled your side into him. He rested his mask atop your head, warmth radiating off of him. You could smell the musky scent of pine from the sheets as you inhaled. Cheeks singing with heat, you mumbled a “thanks.” “Of course, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself anymore,” he chuckled. You wanted to ignore the way his voice traveled down your spine and caused your belly to flutter.

“How long was I out for? I can’t really..walk.” “Yes I can see that,” he teased. “Roughly I’d say two days.”  Two days? Two fucking days?!  “How is your head,” V asked as he led you through the gallery. “Hurts,” you quipped, leaning on him for support. His arm was still wrapped around your waist. Not that you noticed. Several Statues and paintings filled the hall as he led you to..somewhere. You gaped in shock; famous paintings and sculptures that had been locked up were sitting here, in the Shadow Gallery. “Holy shit, V. These are..,” you guestered towards the contraband in front of you. “From the vaults of the Ministry of Objectionable Materials,” he finished for you. “How did you manage to steal them?” V chuckled, “Stealing implies ownership, you can’t steal from the censor, I merely reclaimed them.” You laughed, clever as always.

V led you to a small kitchen. A small table sat in the middle of it with the appliances behind it. Knick knacks and books filled the barren beige tiled walls. The Shadow Gallery had a homey feeling to it. Just looking at it made your heart warm. You sank into the chair V had sat you in. A couple books were open on the table along with a few newspapers strewn about. “TERRORIST DEAD!”, was one of the headlines of the paper. A picture of V’s masked face was printed, lying on the floor. You snickered. How stupid people had to be to believe that shit. “I apologize, I was going to tidy up before you woke.” You looked away from the clipping and smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, V. Much cleaner than my apartment; there’s paint splattered everywhere and clothes around the floor.” “You enjoy painting?” His back was turned to you holding an egg. V cracked it somehow making cracking an egg elegant. It sizzled as it fell onto the pan. “Yea I do. I’m not the best but I love it. It helps me.” You watched V as he moved about the kitchen. 

His gracefulness never failed to astonish you. The spatula he was using caught the egg after he flipped it into the air. It made you smile as you watched him maneuver around the place. “Art is art. Whether or not the quality of it is excellent, it should speak what words cannot.” “Not sure you’d still say that once you looked at it,” you laughed. “I tend to make some weird things.” “I would like to see them one day, you have caught my interest,” V said, scooping the eggs on a plate. He placed a piece of toast on the plate and set it before you. That’s when you caught sight of his hands. They looked painful; they were an angry red and scars littered them. His hands looked incredibly rough and it looked like it hurt. Your heart hurt looking at them. “V,” you said softly, “are you okay?” His eyes caught the direction you were looking at. “Ah, excuse me.” He turned his back to you as he grabbed his gloves. The leather crinkled as he snapped them back on. “There, that’s better,” V said once he turned to you again, flexing his fingers as he held them in front of him. “Did you hurt your hands?” V didn’t say anything for a bit as he looked at his gloves. “Once, a long time ago. There was a fire. I’m fine now, thank you for your concern.”

The air felt tense between you two. V’s body language seemed uncomfortable at the mention of his hands, so you didn’t press any further. You dug into the egg in front of you;yolk poured out as you cut it. You hummed as you took a bite. “God, that’s good.” V chuckled, his shoulders relaxed once the topic of his skin was dropped. “Good,” he said, pouring tea into a cup. His hands were folded as he watched you munch on your toast. The taste of buttery goodness hit your tongue instantly. You looked at him shocked. “That’s...is that real butter?” “Yes, yes it is.” You stared at him, dumbfounded. “How did you..?” “A government supply train on its way to Chancellor Sutler.” Your brows shot up as you gaped at V. He said it so calmly like stealing from a dictator was a normal pastime. “You’re actually crazy. You stole..from Chancellor..Sutler..I..”

“I dare all that may become a man. Who dares more is none,” V quoted. Your brows furrowed  and your lips pulled into a frown at his words. What is he talking about? “I’m pretty sure I don’t understand that reference.” “Macbeth?” Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. You shook your head and looked down at your food. “Not interested in the fine art of theatre?” You scarfed down your last bite of toast and egg, setting your fork down gently. If you weren’t starving you would be embarrassed of swallowing your food. V didn’t seem to mind anyways. 

“I enjoy seeing plays and things like that. I just never got the chance to read them.” You grabbed your plate and started to rise from your seat, but V stopped you. “I’ve got it Mademoiselle,” he said, grabbing your plate from your hands. “Thanks,” you replied, sitting back in your seat awkwardly. You twirled your thumbs to try and calm the butterflies in your stomach. You felt sick as you stood there. Would he be offended or embarrassed that you hadn’t studied theatre?  “I have a few of his works around the gallery, you’re more than welcome to read them if you’d like.” The sink spat out water. You watched V scrub your plate vigorously. You had to stop yourself from laughing as you realized he’d change his gloves again to rubber yellow ones. “I would, but it’s hard for me to understand what's going on. I probably sound stupid,” you muttered. V shook his head; his hair bouncing along with it. “Nonsense my dear; just because something is difficult does not make you stupid.” You snorted. V turned to you after putting your plate away. The look in your eyes looked faraway, and empty. Underlying it was sadness and a flicker of anger. “My dad would say differently. He was religious and batshit insane.” “What about your mother,” V asked, folding the kitchen towel and hanging it back on the stove. “Cancer took her. I don’t remember her at all.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” You shrugged, “Life moves on. What can you do.” V didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t know what to say. He had many skills, but comfort was one he lacked. You looked so bitter as you sat there, sipping your tea. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to read one of Macbeth’s plays to you,” V said gently. Surely, that would help take your mind off of things right? You grinned, ignoring the fluttering in your heart. A distraction was what you needed and V gave you just that. “Sure!”

[chairismaticchair]

Star Crossed Enemies

Happy Holidays @yellowartistsunshine ! @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Summary:  When two rival theatre majors get cast as the leads in "Romeo and Juliet", something blossoms between them. Something beautiful.

This is Roceit, there are some swears. I had lots of fun writing this, especially since this was my first roceit fic!

If Roman despised a single person in the world with all his body and soul, that would be Janus Taylor. He hated how snagging lead roles in plays and musicals always became a fight between them. He hated how smug Janus constantly acted. He hated his stupidly posh accent that was only really obvious when he was on stage performing Shakespeare. He hated how he couldn't have any straight (not that it was possible with Roman any other way) or slightly logical conversation with Janus. He hated him, from the tip of his dumb black beanie, to the soles of his beige loafers. Overall, he hated Janus.

Whenever they passed in the college, there would be a flurry of middle fingers and middle-school-grade insults like "shit head" and "dumbass" thrown about with as much malice as two theatre majors could. They seemed to lose all common sense when in the mere vicinity of each other, instead becoming caricatures of theatre rivals. Arguably, that was exactly what they were.

"Taylor." Roman spat out. "I heard the LGBTQ+ Club's  putting up another play soon. Suppose you're going to want the lead role. But it's mine." He declared, as if no one had expected Roman Diaz Santos to want the lead role. 

Decei - shit sorry, Janus hissed back. "I heard it's gonna be Shakespeare, and guess who always gets Shakespeare roles? Me. Shithead." He added the “shithead” as an afterthought, as if this was his first rivalry and he had almost forgotten rule #315 of the Rivalry Book of Rivals.

They then tossed each other middle fingers like mutual salutes and marched off, heads held up high and refusing to turn back.

"Man, Janus really is a dick isn't he?" Roman complained to his best friend Virgil Teo, who sighed.

"Yes, Roman. Just like the -" He pulled out a notebook and made a little mark. "534 other times you've told me. This year. I don't even know what's that bad about him." 

"Well of course you don't get it. You two dated freshman year. Honestly, I thought you had better taste."

"And I do. That's why we broke up." Virgil slapped Roman's shoulder playfully. "Who are you to insult my dating life? You haven't had a single date since the start of college."

"I've had dates." Roman protested.

"Bad dates, Princey. Those don't count. Maybe you could send it to the Guinness World Records."

Roman gasped in mock annoyance. "How dare you, Virgil.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Anyways, I just want to find my soulmate. They’re out there, I can just feel it. A Juliet or Julien to my Romeo.”

"You're always are full of bullshit, aren't you, Roman?"

---

Patton, a senior, walked up to the front of the leture theatre and tapped the teacher on the shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and the teacher sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose frustratedly. "Hi! The LGBTQ+ Club is putting up two Shakespeare plays for this November! The first one will be a gay Romeo and Juliet, called Romeo and Julien. The other will be a sapphic 'Much Ado about Nothing'. Audition sign ups start next week Monday and end on Friday! Thank you!" Patton was very chirpy for 8 a.m. .

Now, this was when shit hit the fan and our story gets exciting. Roman turned to Virgil enthusiastically. "I'm totally auditioning for Romeo." Meanwhile, all students in the near vicinity who wanted Romeo's role sighed in unison.

Across the lecture theatre, Janus turned to his friend Remus excitedly. "I'm auditioning for Julien! This is gonna be great."

"For fucks sake." Someone in the near vicinity groaned and his friend patted his back sympathetically. 

---

Roman sat outside the auditorium, swinging his feet while waiting for his turn to audition. Walking down the corridor, Janus turned to Roman and picked up the chair beside him. He moved 6 feet away and plopped the chair down.

"So, Santos." He started, staring intensely at the auditorium door.

Roman found his shoes absolutely riveting. "Yeah?"

"What role are you auditioning for?" 

Tapping the side of his chair, Roman said, "The lead one, obviously."

"Oh." Janus paused and turned to look directly at Roman. Sticking out his hand, he gave him a slight smile. "Well may the best one win."

Roman took the hand hesitantly. "Yeah Janus. Break a leg."

---

The large board outside the auditorium was a crowd favourite among students. It was constantly updated with rehearsal times, casting choices and upcoming performances, you know, the classic cool stuff.

Roman and Janus were the first to arrive at the board and glanced at each other before looking down the corridor with longing. 

A boy with big circular wire framed glasses bounded down the corridor, an A4 paper in his hand. He waved excitedly at the two in front of him. "Hi Roman! Hi Janus! Waiting for results?"

The two nodded in synchronisation. 

"Oh, well I got them here!" He got out a stapler and stapled the paper to the board, the sleeves of his turquoise hoodie large and dangly. 

Romeo: Roman Diaz Santos

Julien: Janus Taylor

The two boys turned to each other in horror.

"Y - you mean -"

"You thought-"

"Julien."

"Romeo."

"WAS THE LEAD ROLE?"

The boy, Patton, looked at them in amusement. "Well, you both got main roles, so congrats! Rehearsals start in two weeks and I'll give you guys your scripts tomorrow. Have fun!" 

He patted them both on the back before heading off, skip in his step.

Janus and Roman turned to look at each other in horror once more. 

---

There is a moment in one's life, where they will reflect on everything they have done, and wonder what mistakes they had made to lead them down this path. As Roman flipped through the script Patton had handed him, that was exactly what he was doing. "You mean to say, I have to kiss this - this snake 5 times? Outrageous. Unacceptable."

They sat in a circle, everyone who participated in the play knee against knee. It was far too close for comfort and Roman was probably going to vomit onto the rest of the cast.

Virgil, who was in charge of lights and sound and sitting next to him, smirked. "Princey, this is literally a play about you two in love. 5 kisses are the minimum."

"And I am right here, you know." Janus looked slightly offended, leaning over and looking at Roman, who was a Virgil away. "And I'm not that bad at kissing. Ask Virgil. "

Virgil choked. 

Before Roman could retort, Patton interrupted them. "Okay guys! Don't forget to practice your lines. Rehearsals start in two weeks so I hope you manage to memorise some of your lines."

As they left the auditorium, Roman whispered to Virgil. "Is Janus actually good at kissing?"

Virgil just shrugged.

Patton called after the leaving group. "Roman? Janus? Please get whatever feud is going on between you two and throw it away. You two need to cooperate so that we can all work together. Go bond over the next few days. Thanks!”

Bond? With Janus? Roman never wanted to hear those words in the same sentence ever again. There was an odd creeping feeling that grew in his stomach and crawled up his throat invasively. It was foreign and weird. Maybe an allergic reaction.

“Oy! Janus! We probably have to - to get to know each other better.” Roman could feel heat spreading from his toes all the way to his cheeks. Why was he blushing? He should not be blushing. “So, do you wanna go grab some food tonight?”

Janus’ eyes widened and he physically stepped back. He pointed at Roman, before pointing back at himself. “You? Offering me? Dinner?” 

Roman shot a wink at Janus cheekily, before turning around to hide his blush. What was he doing? He never flirted with his rival. Was that even flirting? Tugging his hair down in a pitiful attempt to hide his burning red ears, he turned to Virgil. 

Virgil wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, before elbowing Roman in the side. “Stepping up your game, Santos? Impressive.” 

Roman blushed even harder, and looked away. 

---

Roman had had his fair share of dates, if that was what you called a dinner like this, and he never knew what to say. He pulled out his best card. 

“So...ya like jazz?” 

Janus choked on his iced lemon tea. "Fucking Bee Movie?” 

“Well, you do wear black and yellow 80% of the time, so you clearly like bees. Ergo, Bee Movie.”

An eyebrow was raised. “Impressive. You almost sound as smart as Logan.”

“I wish. He’s an absolute genius.” Logan was studying law, would probably become the valedictorian, and was dating Patton. Truly a legend.

“What’s your favourite animated movie then?” Janus asked. “Mine certainly is not the Bee Movie. There are loads of better Dreamworks films. I love Megamind."

“Oh, Megamind is really good! Choosing a favourite… that’s so hard though!” Roman bounced in his seat. Another movie lover? Perhaps, Janus wasn't too bad.  

Janus laughed and the food must have been tainted or something, because Roman’s heart skipped several beats. 

---

“Right! Let’s start at Act 1, Scene 5. You guys are at the party and this is when Romeo meets Julien for the first time. Action.” Patton, perched on the edge of a chair, announced, eyes shining with excitement. 

Roman glanced over at Janus, clad in a hoodie and jeans. He was flipping through his script and mumbling lines to himself. It was their first rehearsal so they were still allowed to look at their scripts. It also happened to be their first kiss scene. Pink tinted Roman's cheeks at the thought. Kiss… Janus? The two words seemed so foreign next to each other, yet they felt as though they were meant to be. He couldn't stop his eyes lingering over Janus' light pink lips. He turned away quickly, glancing at his script. Romeo kisses Julien.

Romeo.

Kisses.

Julien.

Shaking his head, he looked up at the people on stage, waiting for his cue. He had to stop thinking so much. Thoughts were dangerous. Who knows where they may lead?

Roman wondered what Janus' lips tasted like.

Oh for fucks sake. 

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Roman shoved his face back into the script, mumbling his lines under his breath and waiting for his queue to come on stage.

Stepping onto the stage, he channeled Romeo Shakespearean thoughts. It was a little hard in his button up shirt and jeans, but he was a professional. “What lord is that which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?” He gestured towards Janus. 

A server bowed politely. “I know not, sir.”

“Oh, he doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night. Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows. As yonder lord o'er his fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch his place of stand. And, touching his, make blessèd my rude hand.” He spoke to the audience, but couldn’t help think about how accurate this was. Janus too, was really hot. 

Roman spoke some more about how hot Julien was, and the rest of the rehearsal was a blur. He wasn’t Roman anymore. In front of this audience? He was Romeo, a rich lovestruck teenager. 

Then suddenly, he found himself staring into Janus’ eyes, and he was Roman all over again. 

Janus’ eyes, a deep, rich brown that gave Roman a steady look, pierced into Roman’s heart. He spoke towards the audience, but he sounded so genuine and sincere as he uttered his lines. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Roman gave Janus a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned in and brushed Janus’ lips. It was hesitant, and soft, and he could hear Janus' quiet gasp, as if he wasn't expecting it. It was barely a kiss, more like a peck, but Roman could feel heat rushing into his cheeks. “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” He said, loud enough for the audience to hear him.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took?” Janus cocked his head to the side, looking far more innocent and coy than Roman had ever seen him behave before.

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” This time, Janus stood on tiptoes and kissed him. A proper kiss that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and Roman wanted to stay like that forever and ever. The scent of Janus' cologne made him giddy and he took Janus' hands, pulling him closer. On one hand, they were playing parts in a play, and on the other hand, everything felt oh so real, from the hoodie toggles that tickled his button up shirt to Janus' soft fingers gripping his hands tightly.

When they finally pulled away, Roman gazed at Janus' shining brown eyes in what must have been a lovestruck expression. He found his Julien.

---

"You BITCH!" Virgil slapped the study table violently.

"What did I do?"

"1 year. 1 fucking year of you making fun of me falling for a white guy and here you are, falling for the exact same white guy." Virgil looked vaguely irritated. "Even my mom was like," He put his hand at his ear like a phone and did an exaggerated Chinese accent. "Aiyah ah boy, I know you like boys, but an angmoh gao is too too much already. But don't worry lah, 4 months is not long, you still can leave him.” Do you even know what that means, you ass?”

He suddenly burst out in laughter. "This is great, it's my turn to poke fun." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "What was the kiss like? Was it...spicy?"

"Weren't you there?"

"Yeah, but I want a personal recount. Actually, no. Give me the P.E.E.L. format. Point, evidence, example and link on Janus' kissing skills. Go." 

"Oh, er. Janus was a… good kisser?" Roman didn't kiss much. "Um, point. His hair is all fluffy and I feel it brushing against my forehead, which gives me butterflies and this warm tingly sensation that ran through my body and gave me goosebumps. And he makes this noise whenever we kiss that is so cute, he honestly sounds genuinely surprised whenever it happens, even though we're following a script. And his cologne smells so good, oh my god I need to get the brand name, it's like kinda ashy, but not quite and it was a bit light, like a nice stroll in a forest. Holy shit it smelled nice. And-"

Virgil raised an eyebrow and paused Roman's tangent. "He wore cologne? He never wears cologne."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened. 

"Maybe…" Virgil wiggled his eyebrows. "He wore it for the kiss scene." 

The heat that decided to congregate on Roman's cheeks was undeniable. "Why - why would he do that?" 

"He likes you, ya dumbass. And he wanted to impress you, so he decided that hoodie plus beanie plus cologne was a good combo."

Roman stared at his feet. "It was."

Virgil stood up and patted Roman on the head comfortingly. "There, there, it's alright. White guys aren't all that bad."

"Oh fuck off."

Virgil bowed and shot Roman the finger. Truly a man of eloquence and class. Roman opened a picture on his phone from his date with Janus. Janus was smiling, and Roman could feel himself smiling too as he looked at the picture of Janus. Of his Julien.

[mikroparadise]

↠ Pairing: dom!Namjoon x brat!Reader

↠ Word Count: 1.7k+

↠ Genre/Rating: smut pure filth; 18+

↠ Warnings/Tags: spanking (with a hand and a belt); dom/sub; brattiness; slight exhibitionism; light degradation; light breath play; public sex; daddy kink; fingering; foul language

↠ A/N:  @shadowsremedy​ I can not believe that I wrote this, but I hope you enjoy it! This was so damn hard to write, this is by far the filthiest shit I’ve ever written and I had to keep STOPPING to collect myself cuz it…..yeah. It’s….yeah lmao plz enjoy this filth.

This is for my 300 follower celebration! Send me a “Would You Rather” scenario!

You squinted in the darkness as you entered the theatre, popcorn and drink in hand, hoping you could make it back to your seat without tripping and busting your face. You scooched down the empty row of chairs toward the back of the theatre to your seat in the middle and sat down next to Namjoon.

“Did you not get me any popcorn?” Namjoon asked warily as he eyed the solitary small bag of popcorn in your hand.

“No,” you said bluntly, forcing back a smirk, knowing that you were about to royally piss him off. You’d been disobeying him all day and this was about to be your pièce de résistance.

“I asked you to get me popcorn.”

“No, you asked me to go get popcorn, you didn’t tell me it was for you.” You giggled.

“You’re really pushing it today,” he scoffed. “You’re not usually so bratty in public.”

“Yeah well I’m getting away with it though, so…” You shrugged and popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth, crunching down dramatically.

Namjoon shook his head in disbelief and smiled at you all smug. “Don’t think that I won’t make a scene in front of all these people.”

“There’s not even that many people in here, that’s not much of a risk if you ask me. Seems kind of weak if you ask me.” This time you couldn’t hold back the shit-eating grin that graced your features as Namjoon all but shot steam from his ears.

“You just wait and see, baby girl. Keep it up.”

The impending punishment made your panties wet. You hoped he wouldn’t go too easy on you, considering the fact that you obviously wanted him to make a scene. You just had to push him a little bit farther. The anticipation was killing you, and it made you absolutely giddy.

You sat in that giddy state for a while, just watching the movie with Namjoon. You didn’t even know what movie you were supposed to be watching, that was at the bottom of your priorities list. It seemed like an overall quiet film, no gunshots or explosions, though you seriously couldn’t pay attention for long enough to even know what the plot was and you couldn’t care less. You just lay in wait for the opportunity for the next act of disobedience.

About halfway through the movie (you assumed), Namjoon reached over you to grab your drink. You sat as still as a statue, not even daring to turn your head as you peered over at him through your peripheral, pursing your lips to hold back your impish grin.

Namjoon took a sip of your soda and almost immediately his face twisted up in disgust. “Is this Diet fucking Pepsi?” he asked in wild disbelief.

You snorted before you could stop yourself but quickly regained your composure. “Yes,” you lilted.

“Why on earth would you get Diet Pepsi?”

“‘Cause I know you hate it.” You snickered.

Namjoon chuckled. “I don’t think you understand how much trouble you’re in baby girl.”

“No I must not,” you retorted sarcastically.

“Can I at least have some of the popcorn that you neglected to get for me?”

“Sure.” You moved to hand him the bag of popcorn and purposefully spilled it all over his lap. “Oops,” you said with a pout.

His eyes widened in shock as he stared down at his lap covered in popcorn. “That’s it,” he said. “Get on your fucking knees, right now.”

You slunk out of your chair and onto your knees and looked at Namjoon expectantly.

“In front of me.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the patch of floor directly in front of him.

You obliged and sat back on your haunches waiting for his next order, your core practically throbbing at his commanding tone and piercing stare.

He pointed down at his lap and spread his legs wide so that you could fit in between them. “Clean it up.”

You began picking each popcorn kernel off his lap, but Namjoon grabbed you by the chin and brought your face closer to his, so close that his lips were barely a centimeter away from yours. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“With your mouth,” he commanded through gritted teeth before releasing your face.

You began eating the popcorn off of Namjoon’s lap, piece by piece. Occasionally you’d let your tongue drag along his length as you scooped a few kernels into your mouth, and you’d just barely hear Namjoon sigh through the sound of the movie that was still playing. When you were done you sat back on your haunches and waited for his next command.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now get back in your seat and bend over.”

You did as you were told, crawling back up into your seat and bending over so that you were across Namjoon’s lap.

He slowly rubbed his palm over the roundest part of your ass before rearing back his hand and smacking it back down. You let out a whine at the sensation, but Namjoon was quick to shush you.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to watch the movie.” He punctuated his point by spanking you again, but you choked back a sob of pleasure, so he spanked you again, harder. You refused to stay quiet this time though, openly moaning as the wave of bliss rippled up your body, and you looked up to see the other moviegoers looking around for the source of the noise.

Namjoon slipped his fingers between your legs and began massaging your core through your jeans, and you whimpered as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “If you don’t stay quiet I will make you scream so loud that they’ll hear you begging me to let you cum all the way in the lobby. You got that?”

You nodded your head fervently, but when Namjoon spanked you again you all but wailed in ecstasy.

“I’ve had enough of your shit. Get up.” Namjoon waited for you to sit back in your seat before standing and grabbing you by the wrist. “Let’s go.”

Namjoon dragged you out of the theatre and into the men’s restroom across the hall. The door slammed shut behind you and he immediately dragged you over to the counter and bent you over. You looked at Namjoon through the mirror and he was unbuckling his belt and sliding it through the loops. “Take off your pants.”

You reached down and unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down your legs. Your panties must have been sopping wet, because they were clinging to your folds like a second skin.

“Look at you. So wet.” He used his belt to spank you, the leather against your skin making a loud thwack as you yelped and a fresh wave of arousal coated your panties. “Being so disobedient,” THWACK. “Trying to make me make a scene in public,” THWACK. “I bet you want someone to walk in right now and watch me punish you, don’t you, my sweet little slut,” THWACK.

Your sobs of ecstacy were out of control, your body was shaking wildly, you were in heaven.

“Answer me,” THWACK.

“Yes!”

“Yes what?” THWACK.

You gasped. “Yes daddy!”

“Good girl,” Namjoon cooed, using the tip of his belt to tickle the reddened skin of your ass.

You could barely breathe between your whimpering and whining, the sensation fluttering all the way up your spine and down your legs to the point that your knees wanted to give out on you.

Namjoon continued tickling your bare ass as he slipped your panties to the side and began rubbing slow circles around your clit. It was all so overwhelming that you wanted to jump out of your skin. You didn’t know what to do with all of the sensation, it was maddening.

Just then Namjoon plunged a finger into your sopping wet cunt, and then two, and curled them right into your most sensitive spot. A guttural moan ripped from your throat as he began pumping right into that spot over and over again. Your back was arching uncontrollably, and you were practically screaming in ecstacy as Namjoon began alternating between spanking you and tickling the area of impact with his belt.

Within a matter of minutes you could feel the coil ready to snap, and you knew that Namjoon knew that you were close. He slowed his rhythm to a torturously slow pace, and you became so frustrated that you almost wanted to cry.

“Do you want to cum?” he asked you expectantly.

“Yes, fuck!” you screamed.

“Beg for it.”

“Please daddy, let me cum!”

“Louder!” he demanded as he started picking up the pace again.

“Please, daddy! Please let me cum! I’m- fuck! I’m sorry for being so bad! Please, please let me cum!” you screamed.

“That’s a good little slut,” he murmured. He reached up and softly placed his hand around your throat, not enough to restrict your airway but enough to let you feel the thrill, and set a punishing pace with his fingers. “I want to hear you cum. Cum for me.”

The coil in your stomach snapped and euphoria shot through every nerve in your body as you keened and whined as loud as you could, your cunt spasming wildly around his fingers.

Namjoon slowly brought you down from your orgasm, and when you were breathing steady again, he licked his fingers clean of your juices and stood you up, turning you around so that you were facing him. He brushed through your hair with his fingers and cupped your face. “You okay baby?”

You took a shaky breath in through your nose and nodded your head. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You smiled up at him.

“Good.” Namjoon stroked your cheek with his thumb softly before wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you in close for a tender kiss.

When you both pulled back he stared at you for a moment, his chocolate eyes soft and warm, before reaching down and pulling your jeans up for you and buttoning them. “Do you want to go finish the movie?” he asked as he began put his belt back through the loops of his pants.

“No,” you chortled, “I couldn’t even tell you who was in it if you asked me.”

As you left through the lobby, all eyes were on you. They’d definitely heard you, and that knowledge ensured you’d definitely be doing this again.

[dreamsafterhours]

college boyfriend!markhyuk au series: I (donghyuk’s pathway)

a universe in which roommates!markhyuk meet each other's s/o in class

markhyuk are roommates, my/n and dy/n are roommates, mark and dy/n take classes together and so do donghyuk and my/n — how will their fates intertwine?

genre: fluff pairing: platonic!mark+dy/n format: dotpoint AU universe: non idol, college best friend warnings: n/a

please read the prologue before reading!

masterlist

or click here to meet your new best friend, paediatrics!haechan :))

0 ⇤ | I | ⇥ II

I: the fateful meetings

the beginning of the companionship between mark + dy/n

mark isn’t sure what this new semester will bring

but we do don’t we /waggles eyebrows/

doing a first year subject in third year seemed like a good idea until he watched all his classmates walk into the lecture theatre in his modern and contemporary literature class

his timetabling had only allowed him to get around to this subject this year and he had been super excited for it but—

sudden doubt and uncertainty crawls into his mind

what if people look to him as a senior and judge him for taking a first year subject or something?? what if he embarrasses himself??

being the introvert that he is, he still hadn’t really gotten used to approaching people first himself (he really wanted to, but it always seemed like his friends approached him first

so there he was, his knees bouncing and aching nerves building in his stomach until the lecture theatre is moderately full

until you, clad in your leather jacket and starbucks drink in hand, walk in with all the charisma in the world, confidence oozing from your figure and holding yourself like a queen

mark is kinda half hoping that you don’t sit near him bc you highkey intimidate him

and half because you... remind him of his roommate donghyuk but.. oop

but also wondering what it’d be like to be noticed by someone like you and whether or not he’s seen you on campus before bc he’s sure to remember someone like you

so when you choose to enter his row, he’s chanting in his head for you to sit in the empty seat that’s not right next to him but we need this plot to manifest itself so ofc you go for it and ask if you can sit next to him

he nods his head yes and stays silent as you unpack your essentials to take down your notes

debating with himself about whether or not to introduce himself

he kept psyching himself up to say hi, thinking of that senior he met in his first year (johnny—he’s in graduate school now though) who said hi to him the moment he sat down and led a fairly nice conversation despite mark’s inherent awkwardness he cringes at himself every once in a while

but you beat him to it

“i’m dy/n,” you offer, holding your hand out

he doesn’t know if he should be relieved or disappointed that he wasn’t the one to start the conversation, but that’s okay for now

he shakes your hand, “my name’s mark.”

“are you in first year?”

“um, no, actually.. i’m in my third”

you tilt your head in realisation—he was older than he looked, apparently

“oh really? that’s cool”

he blinks, having expected you to ask him why he was taking a first year subject but glad that you didn’t question it nonetheless

he remembers to ask you what year you’re in

“i’m in first!”

brain freeze

that was not what he was expecting

and his shock is apparently evident bc you laugh at his reaction

“wait—what? wait, wait, wait—so you’re—a baby?”

poor mark he learns never to underestimate first years from that moment on

“not a baby but yes, first year” you confirm

“whoa.. whoa you seriously don’t give off first year vibes tho”

the leather jacket was a power move on the first day tho we can’t lie

you two get acquainted with each other until the professor starts the lecture, learning that he’s taking an english literature major and he’s living on campus, which coincidentally you are too

you ask to exchange social media IDs at the end of the lecture before you leave and he jumps at the chance (“oh, sure!”), typing his user into your phone and accepting the request on his own

as you wave goodbye and leave for your next lecture, he thinks to himself

you remind him of his roommate

a lot

and a thought crosses his mind that you two would make very good friends if you knew each other

little does he know tho ,,

you would become. very ,,, very good friends oop

at the end of the day, you come back to your dorm room after all your classes and find your roommate my/n already there, looking over her notes

she asks you if you made any friends

yeah lol your future husband being one of them you mention all the friends you made (having made an effort to talk to at least one person in each of your classes) and say that you met a third year in your lit class

she says she only made one friend today, and starts to tell you about him...

click here to meet your new best friend, paediatrics!haechan :))

0 ⇤ | I | ⇥ II

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone -02

Masterpost

"You're really lucky," Bruce confirms, staring into the microscope at her blood sample. "Looks like you don't have silver poisoning. Not for lack of trying, though."

Natasha sits up uncomfortably, rubbing the bandage over her left palm. "What would that even look like? In humans?"

"Argyria?" Bruce asks. "Skin turns blue or blue-grey. Either locally or generalized. Potentially toxic in high doses or at chronic exposure. Deposits usually in the skin, hence the color, in other organs, particularly the eyes. Can damage rods in the eye, impairing vision, particularly night vision, and can also impact organ functions. Most of all, never ever goes away."

Natasha shudders. "Sounds like it could be worse."

"It's doubtful the dose you took would have killed a vampire," Bruce adds sternly. "Even if he drank all the blood in your hand. People have experimented with that in the past, it only works very very rarely. So stop poisoning yourself."

Fury is staring at her with one eye. Oh great, he's gonna have words. "Promise," Natasha says. "Won't do it again."

"Hope so," Bruce repeats, cleaning out the petri dish. "Tell me if your hand does go blue in the sun. Other than that, you should rest for at least a week, you look like you got run over."

Plus going out into the night with a bleeding wound is suicide, no matter how well bandaged. And really, she just wants to sleep. But first, she'll have to face Fury, Fury standing there, arms crossed. She sighs, turning to face him, not trusting her legs enough to get up. "Come on. Just get it over with, I know I fucked up."

Bruce decides he maybe should not be here and excuses himself. Fury's face doesn't change, even when the door falls shut. She snorts inwardly, as if the silent treatment would work on her. But she's tired. "Just say it. I broke the rules."

"I don't appreciate you trying to sacrifice yourself," Fury states. "But I can't say I don't understand it."

Not the tone she expected. She breathes in deeply, against the protest of her rips. "That's not-"

"It is," Fury interrupts. "But that's never going to work. So sleep, and then we'll work out how we get this motherfucker together ."

She sighs again. Boy, her right shoulder still hurts from time to time, even though Bruce relocated it and put her on painkillers. "Do you think that's going to work, though? That we have a chance?"

"I don't know," Fury replies honestly. "But if there is, that's the only way."

  Strangely enough, nobody really asks her what the black cloak actually wanted. Then again, it's probably a bunch of lies anyway. Except that he honestly doesn't seem to plan on killing her or he really would have. Why would she trust anything he claims to want, though? She won't be played with.

While Fury mostly lets her off the hook, Clint is very pissed at her. The words reckless, crazy and suicidal fall. She holes herself up in her room, sleeps, only comes out at night to eat and generally pretends she's dead.

Her left hand grows an unhealthy ashen color, swelling up as well, especially around the cut, creeping up her forearm. So she does have some silver poisoning. She doesn't show Bruce, though, because she is so fucking tired. Sleeps most of the day. It calms down after a few days of rest, only leaving another scar in her palm.

"You're a pale motherfucker, Romanoff," Tony the tinker remarks, stuffing more grapes into his mouth with his greasy fingers. "Maybe I should point a UV beam at you?"

She snorts, opening the fridge. At least she doesn't have to look for her own food anymore, like when she was running around Saint Petersburg all alone. "I'll hack your precious fingers off. Where's the meat?"

"Meatpacking plant got attacked again," Tony clarifies. "No, seriously. Do you remember the sun? Incredibly bright, yellowish, gives you that weird warm feeling?"

"I do go out during the day," she insists, slamming the door of the fridge shut. At least some bacon… but no. "When I'm not recovering. Seriously, no meat at all?"

"None, Clint ate the last sausages," Tony states, slapping after a fly but missing. "You can take some of Sam's protein powder, he claims it's very healthy."

She rolls her eyes demonstratively, yanking the fridge open again, spotting some eggs at least. "Guess it's better than them going on a killing rampage in Vinohrady. Though I would die for a juicy burger."

"Don't flirt with me, Romanoff, we talked about this," Tony teases. "Bruce says it's more like a gateway drug. The animal blood, not the flirting. That too but he obviously didn't mention that."

She gives him a warning look, cracking the eggs into the pan. "What are you even doing? It's the middle of the night."

"Pepper's out tonight, testing her new armor," Tony replies. "Probably not coming back soon, though. Actually, I should go back to bed."

Natasha grins crudely. "Awww. Can't sleep, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up, you heartless shell of a human," Tony returns. "Enjoy your stupid eggs."

  Her shoulder still slows her down. Jab. Block. Jab- too slow. His kick hits her, knocking her back. Fuck. Block. Dodge. Jab jab- ouch. He doesn't take it, probably because he knows he doesn't need it. Upstrike. Jab cross jab knee strike- it actually lands, though not very hard. Block. Dodge. Block. Punch- too slow. Block block block. Kick. Blocked. He catches her on her back foot so she stumbles back, block, dodge, lash out, tumble-

She grunts as she lands on her bandaged hand. Should get up before he pounces, not give him the chance to- fuck, she's so tired. She groans, dropping on her back. "Fine. I give up."

"Took you long enough," Sam remarks, unwrapping his hands. "You're a lot stronger than you look, though, I have to give you that."

She huffs, pulling her knees up. Breathe. "Not quite back at my best yet."

"Pretty close," Sam corrects, holding a hand out for her. "Wanna get up? I'm cooking dinner."

She waves him off. Not in the mood for that many people. "Thanks. Just gonna lie here."

"Mhm." He sits down next to her. "Is everyone mean to you, just because you disregarded every rule of safe conduct in the face of an unprecedented danger?"

"Fuck you and your psychology degree," she returns. "Just leave me alone."

"You're really no good at dealing with problems that you can't shoot in the face," Sam observes, getting back on his feet. "I haven't done my isha prayer yet, do you mind?"

She shakes her head, staying on the floor. She won't admit it but she actually enjoys listening to him pray. While she can no longer believe in God, it gives her some momentary comfort that he can. "I'll put some food aside for you later," he offers while getting his bowl and filling it with water. "Whenever you feel like eating."

She nods to herself, closing her eyes, then quiets her breath down enough so she can hear him recite Basmala and wash his hands.

  Clint also gives her the silent treatment, even after a week. She can live with that. Though she doesn't really want to. The streets are way more quiet at night now, but people are starting to doubt there's really a black cloak. If there was, it would have to somehow be worse, more murders, more blood in the streets than just the occasional execution of inept vampire fledglings. If the hammer doesn't come down, no matter how loud it cuts through the air, one starts wondering whether it's really there.

They're patrolling the riverside today, up from Vyšehrad towards the National Theatre, staring occasionally across the Vltava. The castle's lit brightly, tauntingly. As if they're holding a crooked dance of the dead. Clint draws his bow, just for the hell of it, because a patrol is always an incredibly tense and taut affair. He's right, the bow's incredibly quiet. The vampire the silver arrow hits won't be, though. Slowly releases. Natasha breathes out. "They're really high on their horses, aren't they."

Clint makes a non-committal noise, shrugging and turning away. Won't cut it. There's a car coming down from Karlovo Náměstí, loudly spluttering over the breaks in the asphalt. The roads have seen better days, too. Clint raises an eyebrow and puts in an arrow. Vampires don't drive, obviously, but they often follow cars waiting for the occupants to stop and climb out. Easy prey. The car's brakes screech as it prepares for the turn, the driver's face flashing yellow as it comes closer to the street light, eyes widening, and then he yanks the car to the left, speeding past and away from them, South. Maybe, if he drives far enough outside the city, he'll be safe. Clint snorts, lowering the bow. "Yeah, thanks."

As if they looked like vampires, with all the body armor and all the silver on their persons. Natasha shakes her head, internally grateful the silence is broken. "Forget about him. Let's check the roofs around, maybe the noise lured some out."

Clint nods, shuffling across the now again empty street. They know the area very well, since it's the closest thing they have to a frontline, the hunting parties from the castle crossing the river to find prey. "You wanna stay on the ground?"

"No, coming with you," Natasha replies quickly, following him through a backyard. She promised not to run around alone after all, and she doesn't feel like suffering the silence alone either. There's music playing somewhere inside, soft and jazzy, somewhere in the warm light behind the curtains. Clint throws a grappling hook up a balcony, grabbing onto her wordlessly, and then they're already pulled up into the night sky, climbing and crawling up onto the roof.

The noise is different up here, less people, more wind. There's some traffic, somewhere, constant humming in the background. Cars these days are fairly safe. Getting out is the hard part. There's light in some windows, those that aren't behind wooden shutters. The river glitters with the moonlight. Clint settles on the top of the roof, surveying the area. She crawls up as well, pushing some loose strands of hair behind her ears. The shadows are quiet, for now.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," she says. "That was not my intention."

Clint bites his lip. It's clear he doesn't want to talk. Well, so would she, but here they are. "Fury didn't even care, did he?"

"Because he didn't rip my head off?" Natasha questions.

"You could've died ," Clint repeats. "Damn close. You shouldn't even have gone out. He didn't seem overly concerned, to say the least."

"Guess he lost a few too many," Natasha replies. "This job… it helps not to get too attached."

"That's not what you deserve," Clint states.

Someone opens a window, a middle-aged woman, pulling out a cigarette. When she sees their silhouettes on the roof, she slams and bolts the window again.

"It's after 1am, isn't it?" Natasha asks. "They're getting careless again."

Clint huffs. "Aren't we all. See that down there?"

Natasha leans over the edge to see better. "Think that's just a bag of trash. After all, been a long time since we last saw a homeless person."

"You never saw that, did you," Clint remarks. "Wasn't great seeing them, but not seeing them anymore is worse."

Natasha huffs. "Plenty of homeless people in Moscow. And Petersburg. The very first ones they got, when no one cared yet."

"Got something of a divine punishment, doesn't it," Clint states. "Turning those we neglected against us."

"Man is wolf to man, right," Natasha agrees. A light turns on somewhere and there's faint arguing carried over by the wind. She remembers women locked out of their apartments by abusive partners after sundown, kids thrown out by their parents, the threat of being left outside in the dark hanging over everything. Since the police stopped patrolling at night, everything falls into nothing. Anarchy. At the mercy of whoever's stronger, more brutal.

Clint gets up carefully, watching every step. "Let's cross to the other side."

They climb South, over the roofs. What they don't tell you is that most of the time, nothing happens, nothing at all. Just sitting around, paying constant attention and definitely not falling asleep because that gets you killed. Also why you don't go out alone. It's 90% boring as hell and 10% deadly.

There's hardly any movement on this side either. Another stray feline beast. Rats, almost bigger than the cat. Many of the windows are just empty, dead. The city lost a hundred thousand to the vampires and another three hundred thousand to the safer seeming countryside, not counting the other side of the river. Everything has changed so much. It's like a war, right here, only fought at night. A bloody war.

The silence is more comfortable now. Clouds move quickly, with the wind, and the moonlight soon drowns in them. "I don't know if someone told you," Clint remarks quietly. "But I wasn't particularly pleased when you came here to join us."

Natasha smiles to herself. "I know."

"You didn't seem like a teamplayer, to put it mildly," Clint justifies. "And you're still holding back, but you know the ropes now."

Does she, now? "Is that why you were so pissed I went out alone?"

Clint laughs, bellowing. "Turns out you don't actually think you can solve every problem on your own. Just that you have to."

"Not true," she returns, pushing against his shoulder, carefully, and then they settle into an amicable silence.

After about half an hour, the armor becomes uncomfortable to sit in. It's not a cold night but moisture has still settled on the roof so that she's extra careful getting up. Clint stretches his arms. She slips slightly, grabbing onto the edge of an alcove to steady herself, only slowly straightening again.

"Tasha!"

She whips around, just in time to see a black silhouette diving towards her, it crashes into her like a wall, knocking her far off the roof, she grabs on automatically, twisting, window straight ahead, rolls up to prepare for-

Just as she slams into the glass pane, her side , she's pulled back and suddenly, they're diving down another street, cool night air cutting tears into her eyes, oh shit, house, house, stone, closer, closer, closer-

They ricochet off almost noiselessly, up again, towards whichever fucking floor that is, another street, another house, another window, house, stone, glass glass glass-

Whatever she's knocked into doesn't break but she hears the glass, barely has time to roll in on herself, then they crash, stopped, all the speed turning into impact , some crack , and boy, her spine.

She's thrown around once again but then it stops, only her insides swim, her sight, sick, sick, can't hear properly, her vision swims red, groans, the glass beneath her crunches but the armor, thank Tony, up, down, up, up, up, she presses her eyes shut and her gloved hands down, her back hurts , right side, shoulder, no time, she fights herself up to seated. The black cloak stands by an intact window, up, they're high up, staring out, boy, she's ready to throw up. "Are you batshit crazy ?!"

He doesn't reply obviously, that fucking asshole, intently focused outside. She tries to breathe again, despite her ribcage and the pressure of her armor. "We should be good," he states, not paying her any mind. "He's going the other- ouch. "

She reaches for her gun while he plucks the silver throwing star out of his thigh, only to find the belt must have ripped, cut by one window or the other, gone, and then he's already turned back to her and she missed her chance. "For the last fucking time, could you stop throwing things at me?"

"Are you insane ?!" she screams at him. "The fuck are you doing?"

He rolls his white eyes, throwing star dropping to the ground carelessly. He's bleeding but not much, as far as she can tell. Dammit. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" she repeats. " Calm down ?"

"Try not to cut yourself," he advises. "I'm sorry I hurt you last time, I'm not going to do it again."

This guy is un-fucking-real. Off-the-chart annoying. Another wave of sickness overcomes her. "Maybe don't knock me through a window next time? Two. Two windows."

"You didn't go through the first one," he returns. "And I took the second one for you, you're welcome. Not my fault you're so hard to grab for a talk."

"Oh, now it's my fault?" she questions. "A fucking talk ?"

"Yes." He strides over. "Have you decided?"

"Whether I would rather be turned into a monster," she clarifies. "Or see all of my friends die."

"Yes," he confirms calmly, squatting down to her height. "It's not going to become any easier."

"I was being sarcastic," she remarks. "How about I get rid of you instead?"

He smirks, fang peaking out, and dangling something from his hand. Her belt. With the guns. Motherfucker. "Don't think so, sweetheart."

She calculates mentally whether there's any chance she could snatch that- not without a good distraction. But she can't think of anything other than cutting herself, and she's not ready for that. "I could always bite the bullet myself."

He chuckles, and it sounds frighteningly human . "No, you wouldn't."

"You don't know anything about me," she bites back.

"I know more than you think," he replies, straightening and backing away, taking the belt with him. The throwing star is by the window, too far, can't reach. Is there anything else… "I know why you left Russia."

She freezes, very cold all of a sudden. No. No. Nononononono- "I know what you did there," he adds. "Really, you're not better than anyone."

She jumps to her feet, crunching glass. Don't engage. Don't feed the flames. "Give me my guns. Or I'll cut myself."

He seems exasperated. "You couldn't goad me into a blood frenzy if you cut an artery."

Bluffing. "Guns," she repeats, holding out a hand.

"I could still murder your friends," he points out coldly. "Starting with the one with the arrows."

Her hand drops. Her head's still spinning. Shouldn't poker too high. She feels very lost all of a sudden. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats for the umpteenth time. "Or any of your friends, if I don't have to. Just agree already."

"I don't give a fuck about your empty lies," she spits.

"Well, I do," he replies. "You know, you remind me of myself. Before."

"Before you turned into a fucking monster," she specifies. "Before you started hunting humans for blood."

He looks slightly disgusted. "I hardly ever feed on humans."

"Oh great," she cuts him off. "Then you're hardly ever a murderer."

Surprisingly, he throws her one of her guns. She's too slow to catch. "This look innocent to you? But I forget, you're obviously something better ."

There's a trap somewhere. She can't just shoot him- "I'll take you to Žižkov," he announces. "Satisfy your own bloody urges. Then you can think about whether you're really all that different."

[dear-yunho]

Date Night

Pairing : Kim Hongjoong (ATEEZ) x Female!Reader Genre : Mostly Fluff/Comfort Word Count : 2,310 Author’s Note : This is the first Joongie fic I wrote that I was happy with! 

The smell of popcorn seemed to stick physically to you as you and Hongjoong left the theatre, and pieces of it were actually literally stuck on parts of Hongjoong where an overexcited child had thrown the remainder of their card box box of buttery kernels at him. You couldn’t help letting loose a tiny giggle at the memory of his stunned expression as the mother hurried her child away, throwing a rushed apology over her shoulder. “What?” Hongjoong looked at you, completely unaware that there were still pieces left on him, “Hold still.” You told him, reaching out to pluck the offending food from him and showing him the small pile in your hands before dumping it into the nearest bin. He pouted, hands patting the rest of him to ensure there were none left. “It’s not funny, stop laughing at me!” He exclaimed, pout growing the longer you continued to struggle to hold in giggles. You bit down hard on your lip, filling your eyes with an apology to ease his lost puppy look. “It’s a little funny.” You choked out when he finally smiled back at you and he glared for a moment before grabbing you around the waist and crushing you in a one armed hug while his free hand danced against your sides. “Is it still funny?” He questioned gloatingly as you gasped against him, trying not to laugh at the tickling he was torturing you with. “Hongjoong!” You whined, slapping his arm gently until he stopped, grinning widely down at you now. “Sorry princess.” He chuckled, kissing you quickly and softly before pulling away and inspecting you with adoration in his eyes that made your knees weak. This was the first time in weeks that you’d been able to see him, his schedule had been so crazy and you’d wanted to give him space to deal with that without worrying about you, but you hadn’t realised just how much you’d missed him. You stood on your toes, mouth seeking his in a kiss that lasted only a few seconds longer than the last. He held your waist, smiling against your lips. He’d missed you too. After a few more kisses that you were sure would probably have people gagging at the sight of if they were wandering past, you realised the time. It was getting dark, and you had things to get done at home, because although it was Hongjoong’s day off, it wasn’t yours. And you’d already left it too late, you’d be up well into the early morning struggling to meet your deadline for a work assignment that was due in tomorrow. “Mm I need to go.” You told Hongjoong, squeezing his hands and stepping away from him. His face fell in dismay and he followed your steps back, hands catching yours. “Let me walk you home at least?” He begged, mouth twisting sadly when you began to shake your head before he was even done speaking. You tugged your hands from his, catching his face gently between them and kissing him one last time. “If you walk me home, I’ll let you come in and spend the night and I won’t get any work done.” You pointed out, giving him a small smile that he half heartedly returned. Being the leader of his group, you knew that he understood what you were saying. But that didn’t make it any easier for him, or for you. “I could help you.” He offered, already knowing your response even as the words left his lips. “You helping would be a distraction in itself.” You giggled, running your fingers through his hair, amazed that it felt so soft and silky still, even though it had just recently been dyed red. The colour suited him, bringing out the delicate features of his face and accentuating the natural blush that often sported his face when he was with you. “Okay, Okay.” He agreed finally, pulling you into a bone crushing hug, his chin pressed to the top of your head as it rested against his shoulder. You sunk into him, allowing yourself a moment to be encased in his arms, in the warmth of his body against yours. “Go now because if you don’t then I’m not letting you go.” He mumbled into your hair, squeezing you somehow tighter. You buried your head deeper against his shoulder for a moment, sighing softly against him. If it were possible to freeze a moment forever, this would be the perfect one to keep in your heart. With a lot of willpower you managed to force yourself out of his arms, chewing your lip as you weighed the cost of putting off your work further.

As much as you loved Hongjoong, and you did, even the night with him wasn’t worth the outcome that you’d suffer for not getting the assignment done. “I’m going now.” You informed him, smiling when he chuckled at you, his eyes shimmering in the moonlight that was beaming down on you. “Be safe, go straight home.” He told you, lifting his hand in a tiny wave that nearly had you running back into his arms. Instead you nodded, as if you’d be going anywhere but straight home. The hardest thing you’d ever had to do was turn around and start walking in the direction of your apartment. Every step felt like you were dragging a bag full of bricks behind you and you refused to turn and check behind you until you knew you’d walked far enough that you couldn’t possibly still see Hongjoong with the romantically lit up theatre entrance behind him. Suddenly the air seemed colder without his bubbly presence beside you and you shoved your hands deep into your pockets, seeking the warmth, and focused on hurrying your steps up. You ached to be at home, bundled up in bed with your laptop in front of you working on your assignment and occasionally messaging Hongjoong with updates. You were halfway there when you noticed the sounds of footsteps echoing softly between yours.

Immediately your heart sped up and the hair on the back of your neck stood up as you resisted the desire to take off at a run. Every cautionary lesson ever on being followed in the middle of the night on an empty street the victim gave in to their flight desire, only encouraging the pursuer into the chase. But things were much easier discussed in a safe classroom in the middle of daylight hours than they were acted out. After a few minutes the footsteps got heavier and closer, and faster and you swallowed heavily, fingers wrapping around your phone in your pocket. Really you should have pulled it out long ago to call someone, but a part of you figured that the moment whoever was behind you saw the phone they’d pounce. It could just be someone else walking home. You tried to convince yourself, fingers clenching and unclenching around your phone. It would be so much easier to believe that, but if you were wrong then believing that for too long was what could get you attacked. The decision was made for you when a hard grip captured your elbow, spinning you forcefully around to face a man that had to be at least twice your age, and definitely highly intoxicated. Terror trilled through you and you scrambled to loosen his grip, bringing your phone out and attempting to unlock it one handed. “Come on love, no need to struggle.” The man drawled, smirking in a way that made your skin crawl and your heart race in the complete opposite way that Hongjoong made it race. Hongjoong, you’d give anything to go back and ask him to walk you home now. “Let me go, you asshole.” You hissed at the drunk, trying your best to ignore how painful his grip on you was becoming as you twisted desperately in an effort to escape. If you could free yourself you figured you’d easily outrun him, hell even fast walking would probably throw him off, but he was twice your height and even drunk much stronger than you would ever be. “Nawh come on, there’s no need to struggle.” He repeated, eyes sweeping hungrily over your body as you struggled, bringing the urge to vomit to you. You didn’t bother to respond, still holding on to the hope that you could somehow manage to worm your way out of his grip, which was surely going to leave bruises. Idiot, bruises are the least of your concerns right now. You inwardly screeched at yourself. “Let her go.” A familiar, and yet completely unrecognisable, voice rang out quietly from behind the man, whose shoulder shielded you from being able to physically see who it was. But you knew. You’d recognise Hongjoong’s beautiful voice anywhere, although you’d never heard it quite so dangerously low and angry until this moment. The man scoffed, turning abruptly to face his interrupter, incidentally dragging you along with him thanks to his tight grip around you. Hongjoong was glowering, his hands curled in tight fists as he stared first at the man then at you, his eyes sweeping over you to check you were uninjured. “Joong.” You whispered, tears clouding your eyes. You made a mental note to thank him for following you after you berated him for the same thing. “Hey princess.” He said quietly, expression softening for a moment before it returned to your captor, hardening once again. If you were anyone but his girlfriend, you’d be terrified of him right now. “I’m not going to ask you again, let my girlfriend go.” Hongjoong directed his words to the man who spitefully gripped tighter to you, earning a reluctant whimper of pain from you. You could swear that the bones below his hand were close to snapping under the pressure of his hold. Hongjoong’s expression grew, somehow, darker and he stepped closer warningly. “What are you gonna do?” The drunk crowed, stumbling back and taking you with him, your eyes fixed desperately on Hongjoong. A part of you ached for him to close the distance and retrieve you, but another part was terrified of what would happen to the disgusting human holding you if Hongjoong got his hands on him. As much as you couldn’t care less for his life in this moment, you cared about Hongjoong’s, which would be ruined if he were arrested for beating a man to a pulp, even under the circumstances. “Honestly? I don’t think you want to find out.” Hongjoong told the guy, frowning in a way that made him look like Satan himself. Your body shook and you tried once more to tug yourself out of the vice like grip on your arm, resulting only in causing yourself more pain. Tears slid down your cheeks. “Ah,” The drunk rolled his eyes, glaring first at Hongjoong then you. “Stupid bitch isn’t worth it.” With that he flung your arm out of his grip, sending you tumbling to the ground at the sudden change and scraping your hands against the rough ground. Hongjoong was beside you in a heartbeat, arms encasing you and cradling you to him as an overwhelmed sob ripped out of your chest. You clung to him, shaking in his arms. “It’s okay Y/n, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He whispered, kissing your forehead over and over, hands rubbing your back soothingly until you stopped shaking and the tears stopped trailing down your face. “It’s okay.” He repeated when you lifted your face to stare up at him with watery eyes, his thumb reaching out to sweep away the remaining tears clinging to your cheeks. “Let’s get you home.” He said softly, lifting you carefully to lean against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist and taking almost all of your weight. Your legs weren’t injured, you wanted to point out, but you didn’t have the heart to and nor did you want to walk any further away from him than you already were. You held your injured arm to your chest, letting him continue to whisper soothingly to you as you both walked the rest of the way to your apartment. “I can go in alone.” You mumbled when you were standing outside the apartment door and Hongjoong was reaching into your pockets to retrieve your keys. He paused and looked at you with raised eyebrows. “If you think I’m going to leave you by yourself tonight after what just happened then you’re crazy.” He finally got the keys and slotted them into the lock, twisting it and pushing the door open. A rush of warm air indicated that you’d accidentally left the heater on before rushing out to meet Hongjoong, something that was now a blessing on your freezing skin as you both stepped into the small apartment. “My work-” You mumbled, eyes landing on your laptop, discarded in the middle of the kitchen counter. “Can wait. I’ll talk to your boss.” Hongjoong reassured you, closing the door and ensuring it was locked behind you before guiding you to your bed and gently sitting you down on the edge of it. He’d been in your apartment enough times to know where everything was without a light and soon he’d gathered your most comfortable clothes and dumped them on your lap, leaving you to change with a kiss and a gentle reminder that he would be in the kitchen calling your boss while you changed. When you’d finally managed to do it you slipped out to wrap yourself around him where he waited, sinking into the warmth of his body as he held you tightly. “Thankyou for following me.” You whispered against his chest, feeling him tense slightly at the words. Probably thinking, like you, about what would have, could have, happened if he hadn’t.

[junkyardlynx]

Pt. 5

By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. 

-The Waste Land, T. S. Eliot. (III. The Fire Sermon)

Four cold, slick, and damp walls surrounded Thomas. He lay huddled on the dirty floor, clinging to himself, as if trying to hold everything he was inside of him. Short black hair, matted with mud, sweat and blood stuck to his forehead,  The relief that the chilly concrete provided his burning skin was momentary, but it was something. Like a cat seeking affection, he proceeded to grind his cheek and forehead into the wall, a low moan issuing from his searing throat.

Perhaps five meters up lay freedom and he could see sunlight lazily streaming down into the makeshift prison he was in. The walls were meaningless, really. They could have left him in an abandoned field. There was no way that Thomas Jude was going anywhere, after all. He had no strength to move, much less stand, or crawl, or walk, or certainly run.

His entire being was undergoing a sort of rhexis, rupturing and turning inside out. Waves of immense heat washed over him, moment by moment, and the thick droplets of spittle that hung grotesquely from his lips felt more like molten lava. He wept fire, the tears of exertion only adding to his suffering, dripping off his inflamed cheeks and sizzling on the ground. He prayed for a death that he knew would not come. His mind was cast back to the past, seeking refuge from that ever-burning pyre that consumed his insides.

---

He just wanted to be like them.

He wasn’t jealous of their love. He supported it. Time and time again, he tried to push them together, but they were too shy or too hesitant to follow through. It was honestly irritating, he thought. How could they not realize their own feelings? So when it finally started to happen, when they noticed each other as something other than friends, he was overjoyed.

The three stuck together for years - kids knee-deep in the muck and the mire, laughing in shallow creeks and sneaking out to see bad horror movies. If someone had a problem with Jeal, Thom had a problem with them. If someone was creeping on Sarisa? Thomas might make a delivery of earthworms into their backpack, just to send a message. The three were inseparable, and there was only love and friendship to be found.

But then they started to grow apart from him. 

He was being left behind.

They disappeared at odd times, sometimes independent of each other but mostly together. This had happened before, of course, and Thomas chalked it up to things like Jeal having those piano lessons with his father or Sarisa learing how to ride that motorcycle she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday. You know, normal people things. Sometimes he was right.

But he found out, eventually. 

Having nothing to do after class on a Friday, Thomas went down to the retro arcade that had just opened. A spot of Terminator 2 Light Gun action felt like the right response to a boring and lonesome afternoon. Awkwardly fishing his wallet out of his jeans as he walked down the road, he started to count his bills as he rounded the corner, only to find something wholly unexpected.

Jeal being attacked by some...guy? A guy wearing some Japanese kabuki theatre mask and swinging a sword. A sword? Does he have a license for that? Shaking his head to sweep away that inane thought, he watched, mesmerized as Jeal evaded every frenzied slash. He looked almost bored, but surely that couldn’t be it. Thomas’ mind froze for one second, then two, and by the time that he began to leap into action, it was over.

It was over because Sarisa had appeared from nowhere, frozen the man’s legs to the ground and kicked him right in the jaw, replete with a wet cracking sound that indicated something had probably broken. He fell over at an awkward angle, his legs still stuck to the ground in a block of ice, leaving him in a very precarious sort of limbo state. With a sigh, Jeal brushed the dirt off his slacks and tucked a length of golden hair behind his ear before jerking his thumb at the attacker, his red eyes cold and hard, colder and harder than Thomas had ever seen them. Sarisa seemed to heave a mocking, exaggerated sigh before freeing the man. Leaving him in the middle of the road, Sarisa had grabbed Jeal’s hand and lead him off, both seeming wholly unconcerned with the entire bizarre fucking situation. 

Something came over Thomas in that moment.

He waited a few moments to see if the coast was clear before jogging out into the street and kneeling over the person, the demonic mask having been struck clean and cast off. Their sword was missing, curiously enough. Their face was turned to the side and covered by a black cloth wrap, but long brown hair could be seen peeking out from the sides of the makeshift cover.

“You alright, man?”

The person rolled onto their back to face him, dark honey eyes staring into his own cloudy blues. They wordlessly pulled down the black cloth covering their head before responding with a wordless froth of spittle and blood. 

“Not a man, right. Sorry.”

She was striking, even with half of her face swollen and distorted. Catching himself, Thomas stripped off his jacket and placed it under her head as he began to fumble around in his pocket, looking for his cell. He caught himself.

What was he doing? This person tried to kill his friend. 

But...

What were his friends doing? And what was that Final Fantasy Blizzaga bullshit?

“I’ll call the poli-”

Thomas found a short blade at his throat, followed by a gentle shake of the woman’s head. 

“...no police...” 

A soft voice forced itself from her lips and he found himself acquiescing to her demands, tucking his phone back into his pants. He looked around as the sun began to set, the street curiously empty. Looking back down at the woman, Thomas scratched the back of his head almost angrily.

“Guess I’ll take you back to my place. It’s not like I have parents who can tell me no anyway, haha. Hah. Yeah.” 

He offered his hand.

He couldn’t quite determine the emotions behind the look on her face, but it was somewhere between pity, empathy and gratitude. Carefully, grabbing onto Thomas’ shoulder, she pulled herself up to her knees, and then her feet. As if forgetting it existed until that moment, the lady bent down painfully to reach for the demonic mask, only to find Thomas handing it to her.

“Wouldn’t wanna forget that, right? Anyway, I’ll get you patched up. In return, you have to tell me about what you were attacked for.”

She only smiled at him, but the smile seemed far away.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Take the Stage: Masked

(A/N) Here is the first part of the Royal x Tom Hiddleston. For this, I made an OC and called her Abi.

And big thanks to @beenthroughalot she is simply amazing! I told her about the plot and she helped me find the right title and made the moodboard for me! Thank you so much!!! <3

I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The portray of mentioned, real life people are not accurate!

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Royal!Female! Reader

Warnings: mentioned death, crying

Tags:

@beenthroughalot

@moonstar86

@sarahivi

@godhateskyleigh

@sweet-hot-latte

@connnnnnected

@redfoxwritesstuff

@olyamoriarty

If you want on or off the tag list, let me know! I hope I forgot no one! :)

Masterlist

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

“Where is the princess?” “Have you found here?” “Where could she be?” “Have you checked her usual hiding places?” I was sitting in a supply closet, my knees up to my chest, crying for my parents. I was no princess, I’d never be. “Abi?” I raised my head. William was standing in front of me, looking at me with pity in his eyes. He was about to say something, when both of us heard footsteps coming towards us. “Move.” I moved further into the closet and William quickly climbed in before he shut the closet door. We waited for the footsteps to pass, before any of us said something.

“Why are you hiding?” William, who was a lot taller than I, also had his knees up to his chest. “They won’t stop calling me princess. I’m no princess! And…I want my parents back.” Will sighed, before he opened his arms. I crawled into his lap and hugged him. “I know you do, but we are here for you, okay? We are your family. And for the princess part, you are a princess now. Dad and Camilla adopted you, so that makes you a princess.” I shook my head, trying to shake off the truth. The truth…my parents were dead. The Queen’s son and his wife adopted me. I was a princess.

“Shit.” I hid behind a corner, trying to avoid the servant, coming my way. Sneaking out of the palace has never been easy, doesn’t stop me from trying though. I sighed in relieve, after the servant rounded a corner before mine. Not discovered, not yet, anyway.

I kept sneaking, and almost made it to my usual escape window. But of course, Eileen, my personal maid almost ran right into me. “Princess? What are you doing out here?” She raised her eyebrows and I bit my lip. “Ahm…just taking a stroll through the palace?” She nodded and rolled her eyes. “With a bag…in a black hoodie. Sure. For all I know, you went to bed early because of a headache and asked me to not let anyone bother you.” She winked, before she walked straight pass me. “Thanks Eileen.” She didn’t answer, but I knew that she heard me.

Grinning to myself, I continued my way, until I reached the window with the unregular stones outside. They made it easy to climb up and down and had been my escape route, since my teenage rebellion phase.

As soon as I hit the ground, I ran across the grass and climbed through the fence. Two streets away, one of my friends, Mary, waited with her car, ready to drive anywhere. This time, our destination was a theatre where they played ‘Hamlet’. Sure, I could have gone there, without sneaking out and everything, but then I would’ve had to dress up and take bodyguards and everything with me. And…I just want to spend some time as me. No royalty, no titles, no nothing! Just me!

But, my hopes to be me tonight, vanished as soon as we entered the theatre. We were late, which was good, since barely anyone was outside, but the few that were, noticed us.

“The princess.” “Is that her?” “I can’t believe she is here.” Mentally, I facepalmed myself. We should’ve sneaked in. Fuck.

“Princess?” An older lady walked up to us and curtsied. I immediately reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “Please don’t. Tonight, I’m just Abi, okay?” The old lady smiled and nodded before she asked for our tickets. She showed us where to go and I almost sighed in relief. Before a voice called out. “Princess! It is an honour to have you here tonight! But we weren’t informed about your attendance tonight!” A middle-aged man with barely any hair, bowed to me and looked at me distressed. “Oh, that’s because I’m here incognito.” He took a moment to process the information, before he nodded. “Of course. Do you have any requests? Something to drink, or-“ “We’d like to meet the actors after the play is over.” My friend, who has been standing silently behind me, the whole time, decided to join the conversation. “Of course!” The man smiled and bowed one more time, before the older lady walked up to us and told us the she’d show us the way.

Relieved, we followed her and she opened the door to our loge, to let us in. A blonde girl turned away from the stage and to us, glaring. “You’re late!” Sue whispered at us and I just shrugged. “Ran into Eileen.” She rolled her eyes and pulled me down to sit next to her. “There he is!” Sue melted into her seat, as one of the actors entered the stage. She’s had a huge crush on him for years and when we heard that he’d play here, we just had to go. “I wish I could meet him.” She held her hands upon her heart and had tears in her eyes. “Thanks to Mary, you can.” I leaned towards her to whisper in her ear. She immediately sat up straight and stared at the other girl. “How?” “She used my princess privileges.” I rolled my eyes and leaned back. Sue and Mary hugged and effectively prevented me from seeing anything. But when they pulled apart, my eyes went wide. Another actor had appeared on the stage, talking to the one from earlier. I leaned forward, almost standing up from my seat, to get closer to him. He was marvellous. His curls framed his face perfectly and with the costume he looked as if someone just pulled him straight out of the Shakespearean area.

I was leaning over the railing, when he turned towards the audience and his eyes locked with mine. For a few seconds, it was completely silent, you could hear a pin drop. It was just him and me, looking at each other, trying to reach each other.

[imightbeapotatobutihavestandards]

He’s Hurting Me

So this was an idea for a fic that I’ve had for a while, I wanted to post it once I’d written everything... but since Article 13/11 are going to be passed soon and will try to ban me from being creative and posting any fanfiction or fanart, I wanted to post what I’d done... and hopefully finish it.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 

Summary: Patton, Roman, Logan and Virgil have been all been friends since high school, and though an unlikely group they’ve been with each other through everything. Now, they’re all adults, with jobs and responsibilities, but they’re still close. Though recently Patton’s been becoming more distant... While Patton faces struggles of his own in the present, every other chapter jumps back to the past and explains what the group has overcome, together. 

Based very very loosely on the song He’s Hurting Me by Maria Mena

Pairings: Prinxiety, lil’ bit of logicality... the ships are more in the background 

Warnings: None in this chapter, just a quick movie night with the bois

Part 1

Patton sat with his back leaning against the couch, one leg crossing over the other at the knee. He sighed deeply. He was so tired. He lightly pushed himself up, curling his legs up so he was sat cross-legged, and moved his glasses so he could rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. He pushed his hands to his head, running his fingers through his hair and glancing back up at the TV. It had been his turn to choose the movie this time, and he’d decided that after a long day at work, he wanted something light-hearted, so he’d chosen Tangled. Roman had been more than happy with his choice, immediately dashing over to his overwhelming collection of Disney films and finding it with ease.

Patton glanced behind him, looking onto the couch; Logan was to his left, sitting like a normal person, legs hanging over the edge of the couch, arm on the arm rest, even his posture remained impressive. Roman and Virgil… not so much. They were a mess of limbs, it was difficult to tell who was what, especially in the darkness of the room, but Patton was fairly sure Virgil was curled into Roman’s lap, the younger man’s legs pressing against Roman’s stomach. One of Roman’s arms was hooked around his boyfriend’s waist, the other was resting on his legs, occasionally moving in slow circles over Virgil’s knee. Patton noticed, as well, one of Virgil’s arms was draped across Roman’s shoulders, his hand resting in the other’s hair, ruffling it lightly. Both of them were intently focused on the movie, and Patton couldn’t help but smile gently. He was so proud, and happy for them, that they’d stayed together as long as they had, and that they still seemed as happy as they were at the start. Sure they fought, a lot, but it wasn’t normal people fighting, in fact, it wasn’t even fighting.

They were both polar opposites, Roman’s loud outgoing personality completely juxtaposing Virgil’s timid, introverted nature, they were destined to argue. And they did. Frequently. But it always felt like more of joke, they never seemed to be serious.

Patton was sure they must have had disputes, real disputes, where they questioned whether it was worth continuing, but they never let that side of them show. The worst argument he’d seen them have was over pineapple on pizza (“It doesn’t belong there Roman!”/”WHERE IS YOUR SENSE OF ADVENTURE VIGRIL?!”) But all couples fought, it was normal. It was always scary. It always left you feeling like a hurricane inside. But you always realise how much they mean to you in the end. Patton was sure that happened to them too. And they always seemed so loving, and caring, and...right together. It gave him, well, hope. In a sense. The amount of care, trust, and love in their relationship, was something he aspired to. His relationship wasn’t quite at that level yet, but it hadn’t been going on for nearly as long, so he couldn’t expect that.

Patton got lost in thought again, he thought about all the things Virgil and Roman had gone through, how much they had changed, and how much they hadn’t. It was the same for all four of them. They had grown so much, changed so much, adapted, in a way, but they were still here, together, in complete happiness, watching Disney films together. Even this, their movie night tradition hadn’t changed, even if they usually had to ditch the onesies. Patton was slightly downcast at that, but he understood; every Friday, everyone would come straight from work, round Roman’s (and Virgil’s) and they’d chat, mess around, and watch a film. It became difficult to always bring onesies, not to mention driving home in one was unacceptable for Logan, so he’d only bring his if he planned on sleeping round. It was funny, thinking of them being kids again, relaxing after school, dreaming of the future, wearing an assortment of onesies. Now that had been replaced with work clothes, it had been replaced with the future they were dreaming of. For Logan, that was a black shirt and a tie, as a teacher he had to look presentable. He’d always been inquisitive and had a longing for knowledge, it only seemed reasonable to pass this knowledge on. Roman wore a white shirt, his favourite jacket thrown over the top, and black jeans; despite working at the same school as Logan, Roman had assured him several times; “Drama teachers don’t need to look smart, our job is fantasy, what good is a tie there?” Roman had always been into theatre and actually gotten pretty far, being in several shows, but now his main priority was teaching. He really loved working with younger, enthusiastic kids and giving them a place to truly express themselves. Virgil wore pretty much his normal outfit, black shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and had obviously put on his favourite hoody as soon as possible. Virgil worked at a small antique store, it was quiet and the atmosphere was calm. The owner had taken a liking to him and made working there even better, it was funny but Virgil really did love his job. He didn’t want the pressure of teaching, or running his own company, and sure as hell didn’t believe in himself to put his work out there, but running a quaint old shop with sweetest elderly woman he’d ever met was incredibly appealing to him.

Patton looked down at himself; pale blue polo with a cardigan wrapped round his shoulders… he didn’t exactly have a dress code. He owned a coffee shop, and ran it with his brother, Thomas. It was doing strangely well, Patton had thought, and he really loved it. He and his brother had designed everything, it was something they could call theirs, and it was perfect. They’d filled it with plants, fairy lights, board games and rainbow pillows and blankets. The walls were covered in short motivational quotes, such as “Stay strong,” and “Keep going,” in beautiful cursive font and a faded watercolour background (courtesy of Roman.) It was small, friendly, if a bit cheesy, but people seemed to love it. Though no one more than Patton.

Patton sighed to himself again, feeling sentimental. His life was good now, it was better than good, great even. He ran a pretty successful business with someone he knew he could trust entirely, he had amazing friends who he’d been through so much with, he had a lovely house, and he had his loving boyfriend. Yet he felt in himself a longing deep in his heart, pulling him back to his high school years, forcing him to remember how all of this started. High school wasn’t the easiest time, yet for some reason remembering it felt so easy, it was comfortable thinking back on the nights they’d spent on group projects, times they’d gone to support Roman on his numerous shows, times he’d just sat and talked to Virgil for hours, times he and Logan would go for walks in complete ease. That felt so far away now, so far gone, he hadn’t been able to hang out with any of them individually for so long, he’d always have to cancel last minute if they offered. It was sad, Patton was sure their friendship would always be such a massive part in his life, but recently it felt like he was slipping away, fading out like a half forgotten memory or an old photograph. Even movie nights he usually had to leave early. He had to leave early.

Panic began surging through his chest, eyes going wide. What was the time?

He jumped out of skin when he heard his phone buzz, he immediately slammed his hand on it, frantically grasping at the sides and bringing it up to his face. A message brightly illuminated his screen, he should have been home ten minutes ago, his boyfriend’s name was displayed above his message:

Mike:

You’re late.

 Patton’s heart seemed to stop, how could he have been so stupid? He knew Miked hate it when he was late, still he did this. He’s probably so hurt, and worried, and upset. Patton felt the guilt and panic rot his insides, and a sickening feeling crawled up his throat. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Guilt. That’s what this feeling is. Guilt.

Patton shot up, startling the others, pausing only a second to type out a reply, then immediately began frantically dashing about the room, grabbing his stuff and uttering apologies as he went.

“Guys I am so so sorry, but I’m late and- Oh God, I have to get going, I’m sorry again g-“

“Woah, woah, hold up.” Virgil stated, confusion eating his words. “It’s only,” He paused to quickly check his phone. “Patton it’s 7:40, you have to be back at 8, chill.”

“No, no no no no, Mi-We decided to change it, I’m meant to be home by 7:30, and you know how he gets about time.” The eldest rushed out.

“What? 7:30?! That’s barely anytime at all! We haven’t even had our deep chats yet! The film isn’t even finished yet!” Roman gestured dramatically towards the TV.

“Indeed. Patton, I understand you want to get home, but surely you can explain to Mike you want to finish the movie. That is what movie night is for. You aren’t a child anymore.” Logan interjected, but Patton was already shaking his head.

“I’m sorry guys, I really am, I’ll try and stay longer next week. Promise.” Patton called, already heading out the door.

“Patton! Wait!” Logan called, standing and following him to the door.

“I’ll see you Lo! See you guys!” The door shut, the cheery tone carrying the words felt somewhat hollow. Logan sighed heavily, letting his shoulders slump forward as he walked back.

Virgil was standing by now, and Roman sat bolt upright, almost lifting out of his seat. The tallest shook his head as he re-entered, running a hand through his hair, then straightening his tie.

“I’m really… worried about him. He’s spending less time with us, barely answers his phone, seems constantly on edge. He’s isolating himself, removing himself from his own life.” Logan sighed, falling back onto the couch.

“It’s not him though, is it?” Virgil growled, Roman saw the anger building up in his boyfriend, it was flashing in his hazel eyes. Roman gently wrapped an arm around Virgil’s waist, pulling him back into his lap, lightly rubbing circles on his arm to calm him.

“That is, a fair assumption.” Logan continued. “But he doesn’t see what’s happening, he doesn’t understand the level of control that parasite has on him.” His voice was almost a whisper, but it cut sharp, causing Roman to lift his eyebrows.

“How… What can we do?” Roman questioned. “He won’t listen to us, even if we tell him the truth. You know he won’t. He’s always been a romantic, any issue, he’s convinced he can conquer it. He’s convinced love will conquer it.”

There was silence as the three of them thought. Patton had pulled them all together. Created an environment they were all comfortable. Given them all a family of sorts. He’s practically rescued them; he’d cared for them when no one else had. He’d always been there for him...and now they can’t be there for him.

I really hope you like this! Any questions feel free to ask me, part 2 will be out very very soon.

[breakmyreddieheart]

(Please Don’t) Say Anything - Ch5

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

++ Accompanying Playlist ++

Summary: It’s the last days of high school and the Losers are soon to be leaving for university, moving to different parts of the country. Richie is trying to figure out how to tell Eddie how he feels about him, but only ends up making things worse and needs to figure out how to apologize. Bev has a cunning plan, and Richie Tozier gets extra…

Setting: Derry, ME - the summer of 1995

Pairings: Reddie (main), Stenborough (on the side) 

Words: 2300

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to update! Life and stuff I guess, but this is another chapter that worked out longer than I expected, so the graduation ceremony is going to have to be bumped to its own chapter!

Hope you enjoy reading!

---

Eddie wakes in a haze, drenched in soft white sheets with sunlight glowing around him. A peaceful bliss enshrouds him as his vision clears to find two hazel brown eyes staring back into his own. Richie Tozier leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips, beaming as he does so.

“I love your face first thing in the morning, so sleepy and cute,” Richie mumbles into his mouth. Their legs are intertwined, Richie leaning gently on top of him as he traces a finger up Eddie’s forearm, pausing at the palm and interlocking their fingers.

He can’t remember ever having felt this happy, this peaceful. He wraps his arms around Richie, pulling him into a deep embrace with his face tucking perfectly between neck and collarbone as he takes in the moment.

“I love you Ri--” Eddie whispers as he pulls away, freezing in horror as he sees Richie’s face. Where before his skin had been flushed and freckled, it has now lost all colour, oozing puss and sagging as if melting from his face. Most of his teeth are broken or missing and his tongue lolls too far out of his mouth, dripping saliva onto Eddie’s face.

A white-hot fear creeps from his stomach up through his chest, tightening around his lungs and throat like a creeping vine. He goes to scream but finds no air to do so. Frozen in place, he watches in horror as Richie’s eyes open to reveal piercing yellow orbs, his mouth grimacing into a horrific smile revealing rows of sharp, dripping teeth.

He can’t move. He can’t breathe.

Cracking open Its jaw with a sickening crunch, not-quite-Richie’s head arches back into a screaming laugh - all too familiar to Eddie.

I can’t move. I CAN’T BREATHE.

“wE ALl fLOaT DowN hERe” the deformed Richie cackles as his jaw cracks open, revealing strange orange lights within. Terrible lights...

(the deadlights)

“NO!” Eddie cried, jolting back out of his bed onto the floor knocking his bedside table on the way, sending his lamp, drink, and inhaler crashing down with him.

He lay stunned for a second as he tried to make sense of this nightmare, heart racing and trying to catch his breath. Reaching instinctively for his inhaler, he pressed two firm pumps into his mouth and desperately tried to steady his breathing. As he felt his chest loosen he slumped back on the now-damp floor, tears streaming.

What was that??

His heart still pounding, he tried to shake Richie’s face from his mind as he got ready for what was already bound to be a stressful day.

“Eddie-bear! I hope you’re nearly ready darling,” his mother cawed from the other side of the bedroom door. “I want to leave extra early to make sure I get a good seat. It’s not every day I get to see you graduate, and goodness knows if I’ll be able to make it all the way to California for the next one!”

Sonia was never going to let that one go. While she had come to accept that Eddie was moving away, she still took every opportunity to vocalize her distaste for the idea.

“Sure ma, I won’t be a minute...” he replied carefully, trying to mask the panic still twitching inside of him.

But this was stupid. To get so worked up about seeing Richie again. It had been five weeks since their fight - five weeks of avoiding each other and faking more illnesses than even his mother could dream up. Bill and Stan had tried several attempts to get Eddie to talk about it, but he brushed them off with vague excuses each time. Now, this horrifying image of the not-quite-Richie settled at the back of its mind, perching uncomfortably over the memories of his friend like some foul, black bird holding on just-too-tight with Its rough, calloused talons.

Straightening up his tie, he took a moment to catch his breath as he studied his reflection in the closet mirror. The bags under his eyes were beginning to look like bruises, and his bottom lip was chapped and sore from nervously chewing on it. Truth be told, he looked a mess, but it was better not to keep his mother waiting. All he had to do was turn up, graduate and get home without bumping into Richie. Easy, right?

Right?

***

“I can’t do this, Bevvie...”

Richie was pacing again. Beverly studied him as she sat on the windowsill of his bedroom, carefully blowing cigarette smoke out into the morning air. His hair was a disheveled nest, and he rubbed at the patchy stubble on his cheeks as he paced the little floor-space his modest room had to offer. He clearly hadn’t showered in a few days, and she was fairly convinced that he hadn’t changed out of his PJ bottoms and that ratty old Pink Floyd t-shirt in a while either.

Of all the Losers, she felt like Richie was the only one she could truly read like a book. To the untrained eye, he was a carefree goofball - all jokes and bad impressions. No one could deny he was intelligent either, he excelled at school and finished top of his theatre class - although it was for that reason Beverly knew there was more to Richie Tozier than met the eye. He was a superb actor, and his best role was played out day-to-day for a whole-world audience. But Beverly wasn’t fooled, she could see past the façade to the boy underneath. Just a boy who was scared - so goddamn scared of the future that it was paralyzing. His mother, his education, his sexuality - all things he was so terrified to approach that he buried them so deep that even he himself might be fooled into thinking everything was A-OK.

But Beverly saw through it all, and this morning she could see the cracks in the façade reaching their breaking point.

“Richie, come here,” she said, not unkindly but with authority.

He continued to pace, waving a hand vaguely in Beverly’s direction as he muttered something to himself.

“Richard. Approach.” This time she was louder, and Richie’s gaze snapped to her in surprise.

“Sir, yes sir,” he said, lifting his waving hand to a mock salute. But there was something missing, Beverly sensed. Some conviction that’s absence left the delivery much heavier on the heart. Her boy was hurting bad.

As he approached she pulled him in close, turning to grasp his hips between her knees. She rested her hands on his cheeks and brought him in to kiss him on the forehead. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, and as she pulled away she felt the tension drain from his body as if she had released some invisible pressure gauge on his subconscious. Popping her cigarette in his mouth, she encouraged him to take a drag. He leaned over her to exhale out the window and moved into a silent embrace, resting his chin on her shoulder as she rubbed the small of his back.

This kind of wordless exchange was not uncommon between the two. All of the Losers shared an intimacy that was unusual to outsiders, but Richie and Bev had a special kind of bond that transcended verbal communication. Beverly knew how to calm him down, and right now he sure as shit needed that.

A couple of minutes passed in comfortable silence as Richie finished the rest of the cigarette, careful to blow the smoke out the window. His parents probably knew he smoked, but he was sure they would wig out if they caught him doing it inside the house. Best to be safe.

“Your mom seemed well this morning,” Beverly spoke after a while as Richie stood back upright.

“Yeah, she’s been better this week. Dad didn’t want her to come today, but she insisted she couldn’t miss it.” He stared absently out the window as he spoke as if accessing an area of emotion he could only address from a distance. “Dad says she shouldn’t be over-exerting herself, but I think he’s just ashamed. Ashamed of what people might think.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Richie,” she said, gently stroking his arm. “People are going to notice eventually, and when they do I can’t imagine they’ll be anything but supportive.”

“That’s just it,” he said, finally making eye contact. “He’s proud. Too proud for the sympathy. Ashamed of his sham of a family, ashamed of his queer, theatrical son. I’m sure he’d up and fucking leave us if he wouldn’t be so ashamed of himself.”

Beverly listened. She knew Wentworth Tozier could be distant, but she couldn’t reconcile the man she knew with the picture Richie painted of him. She couldn’t help but think he was painting from the palette of his own doubt and insecurity. But now wasn’t the best time to address that.

She squeezed his hand as she rose to her feet.

“C’mon sweet, let’s get you showered. You smell like you crawled out of Satan’s asshole, and I just got a noseful.’ Richie cracked a smirk at this and gently flicked her on the nose.

“Thanks, Bevvie, you’re a real charmer you know that?” They laughed together and Richie went to clean himself up. 

The sound of a car approaching caused Bev to pause before lighting her next cigarette. Looking out the window she saw Mike pulling up in his dad’s old pickup.

It was old. Old enough for the sound of the shuddery engine and squeaky brakes to be recognizable from a mile off - if the wind were blowing in the right direction. Will Hanlon had replaced it long ago with a more reliable model that didn’t take quite as much good luck and elbow grease to get started, but Mike had worked all last summer on fixing it up and it was as good as his now. It ran smoother now than it ever had in Mike’s lifetime, even if he did have to pause for a few silent prayers before turning the ignition.

Beverly gave him a coy wave before moving to gather her things. She rapped on the bathroom door a couple of times as she passed.

“Come on Trashmouth, our rides here!”

“I am very naked Beverly,” he called back, “I’m pretty sure they don’t let you graduate naked.”

“Only one way to find out!”

Richie chuckled to himself as he heard Beverly head downstairs to be fussed over some more by his mother. Maggie loved his friends, but he’d been hesitant to bring anyone home since she got so bad. She was in her element today, however, making cookies and squeezing fresh lemonade ready for Beverly when she arrived to get ready. 

Just like she used to do for me and Bill when we were kids... Richie pondered, wondering whether she knew him and his friends had grown up now.

He didn’t want to think about it. That would mean he would have to eventually talk about it, and it would be real, and everyone would see how terribly he’s dealing with it. How badly he’s fucked everything up.

It’s okay, we can salvage this, he thinks to himself as he checks his reflection in the mirror. A quick buzz with an electric razor deals with the stubble, but the eye bags aren’t going anywhere. Not great, but it’ll do. Not like Eddie is even going to look at you anyway...

He shook his head, trying to brush off the negative train of thought. 

Positivity, Tozier. Positivity. 

He hadn’t meant to snap at Eddie. He wanted to talk to him. To tell him everything, but every time he felt the words forming they tripped and fell into a stupid joke or sarcastic remark before his brain even registered what his mouth was doing. 

It’s not like Eddie wouldn’t be supportive - quite the opposite... but that’s the problem. If he started talking about it, then he might not stop. He might say everything on his mind, and his feelings for Eddie would break loose in the unfiltered barrage of his thoughts. And then what? Eddie would surely never speak to him again if he knew how he felt about him. Never let him sleep over again, or lay on his bed watching him study. Definitely not pick him up and tease him like he so loved to do. But he’d lose all that soon anyway. After the summer Eddie would be moving away to his new life. He had to say something soon. But how?

Absentmindedly pulling his clothes on, he muttered to himself, practicing ways to broach the subject.

“Eddie, I’m in love with you.” 

No. Too blunt.

“Are you tired? Cause you were running ‘round my head all night - and let’s face it, you’ve got pretty small legs.”

Jesus, no.

“Hey short-stuff, I’ve been in love with you since Grade 6. Please don’t break my heart and leave forever!”

I am so fucked.

Throwing a loose tie around his neck, he grabbed his graduation robes and made his way downstairs. Hopefully Mike would know how to tie this thing properly.

Hopefully Eddie would at least talk to him today.

Hopefully I won’t fuck this up again.

- End of Chapter 5 -

A/N: Will he fuck this up again? Find out next time when I get my act together and bash out another chapter!

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