#Like like like its like a slow decent. Like like slow burn but with breaking up yknow

[watzuu-lmk]

Has there been a shadowpeach fic where like, wukong decides to stay in ffm and lived out their forever but the doomed narrative keeps dooming anyway?

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (V)

Chapter 5 : ‘But here comes the lyrebird passing through the sky’

Hi, everyone!!! Here we go with the fifth chapter! Introducing new characters, and spending some time at Trinity for this one…

Also, chose a French poem for this one because it fit the theme very well, but I couldn’t find a decent translation, so I translated the poem myself… it isn’t particularly good, sorry about that, but it’s not worse than the other translations I’ve found, sadly…

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2110

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Writing Page

Two and two four Four and four eight Eight and eight make sixteen…

Repeat! Says the teacher

Two and two four Four and four eight Eight and eight make sixteen…

But here comes the lyrebird Passing through the sky The child sees it The child hears it The child calls it

Save me Play with me Bird!

So the bird descends And plays with the child

Two and two four…

Repeat! Says the teacher

And the child plays And the bird plays with him…

Four and four eight Eight and eight make sixteen And sixteen and sixteen what do they make? They don’t make anything sixteen and sixteen And especially not thirty-two Anyway And they go away.

And the child has hidden the bird Inside his desk And all the children Hear its song And all the children Hear the music

And eight and eight leave as well And four and four and two and two In turn go away And one and one don’t linger once nor twice One by one they leave too

And the lyrebird plays And the child sings And the teacher cries :

When you are done fooling around!

But all the other children Listen to the music And the walls of the classroom Peacefully crumble.

And the windows turn back into sand The ink turns back into water The desks turn back into trees The chalk turns back into a cliff The quill turns back into a bird.

Jacques Prévert, Paroles, 1946 – original title : “Page d’écriture”

September was grey and rainy, or rather, it withheld the doom of a storm within its dark clouds. The ground was drenched, making the curb darker than usual, the earth smelling sweet and rich with water and life, the leaves glistening in darker shades of green. As Saoirse finally entered the grounds of Trinity College, her steps echoed louder than usual on the glistening pavement.

Finally. Finally, Saoirse was a college student, independent and entering adulthood. That was how she felt, anyway. Even though she still lived with her parents on the outskirts of Dublin, was still a student… at 18 she felt like entering university was the beginning of womanhood, of adulthood, and she was excited about it. Excited, and terrified.

If she knew a few people on the campus, she was the only one studying English, and the loneliness that came with the new experience of university was adding to her anxiety. She looked around, a little lost but trying to look like she knew where she was going. She was trying to reach her first meeting, this first day being dedicated to integration, an introduction to the life on campus and a quick presentation of the classes they would follow this year. The classes themselves were only starting the following week. This orientation week was focused on the ways of university, on clubs and other useful information for students.

But Saoirse had been on campus for less than ten minutes and she was already feeling overwhelmed, with the small white tents along the lawns that presented clubs for students to join in, with the crowd and its loud chatter pulling her attention in all directions…

All of a sudden, there was another undergraduate student staring down at her, an amused smile on her lips.

“You look lost! Want some help?”

She was wearing a badge from a theatre club, a tired look on her face and an hyper-active glimmer in the eyes that revealed she drank too much caffeine.

“Erm… I’m fine, I just…”

“That’s alright! It’s your first day, you’re allowed to be lost. Let me help! Where is it you’re going?”

“Erm… the English department…”

“Ha, no worries, I’ve got you! I’m an English major too! Come on!”

Before Saoirse could speak another word, this stranger had turned on her heels and was making a bee-line through the crowd. Saoirse followed her the best she could, bumping into students and apologising profusely in the process, until they had reached a second yard that was much calmer. She hurried after her guide, almost running to catch up with her.

“There is the library,” the stranger said, pointing at a large building, a sculpted globe decorating the space before its door. “Note where it is, you’ll spend most of your time there while studying here. And no matter what you do, avoid the tourist attraction around the Book of Kells. Busiest place on campus, and some real chaos over there. This side isn’t as fancy, it’s more concrete and metallic shelves than beautiful wood and carvings, but it’s quiet and withholds all the information you’ll need for your classes. We often see some of our teachers hanging around there too. Who is it you’re gonna have this year?”

“Erm… I’m not quite sure…”

“You should have your schedule during the week. If you can, avoid Mahon and Patterson. They’re not bad teachers, but they are terrible human beings. Proper gobshites the two of them. I heard H-B is teaching about Yeats this year; if you can, take this class, and avoid Mahon’s lecture about science-fiction. Trust me. On paper, it sounds that poetry is harder and more boring, but Mahon is going to reap you apart, when H-B is probably the sweetest teacher at Trinity.”

“H-B?” Saoirse asked, trying to keep up with both the fast pace of her guide and her precious information that she delivered at a relentless speed.

“Hozier-Byrne. Everybody calls him H-B around here, name’s too long. Or just Hozier. Anyway, he’s a sweetheart. He’ll actually care about whether or not you pass his class. Also, he’s got the prettiest mug on campus, so it doesn’t hurt to see him once or twice a week,” she laughed, throwing her head back like a child.

The two girls kept on chatting while they were waiting in the corridor for the meeting to start, and Saoirse tried to get as much information in as she could.

Before leaving, her guide had one last advice.

“Come to the S2S mentoring program this afternoon. I’m part of the mentors, we’ll give you a full tour and help you register for your classes. Also, we’ll help you to find your tutor among the academic staff, to get into a club or society… stuff like that. Oh, the name’s Gabi, by the way! I’m one of the mentors for the English department, so if you want, you can come and find me at the meeting.”

“Thank you so much,” grinned Saoirse.

“Hey, no worries! I used to be a lost freshwoman too, back in the days! You should go in for the boring meeting, General Session… Tomorrow’s meeting about your classes will be more interesting.”

With one last thank you, Saoirse finally entered the room, found a seat, remained silent, not daring to speak with the students around her.

She looked at the blackboard, the desk and chair and microphone for the absent professor.

Fucking hell, she was starting university…

Saoirse listened to Gabi’s advice, looked for the S2S Mentoring meeting, scheduled for 2:30 pm. It was easy to spot the exuberant student, as she laughed with her friends, and she greeted Saoirse with a grin. She followed Gabi’s group for the full tour of the campus, along with a small group of freshmen. She chatted with a couple of them, especially Donal, whose colourful nails and vibrant make-up matched his buoyant personality. They then settled in a large classroom, scattered into small groups and each mentor helped their students with registering for their classes, gave them advices and a little bit of gossip.

Gabi helped Saoirse log into the orientation website and access the right page for her to register to her classes.

“You can change the classes you’ve selected up to the 23rd,” explained Gabi, “and after tomorrow’s meeting with your tutor and the presentation organised by the department, you’ll have a clearer view of what to choose. But you can still take a look now. Also, pay attention to the schedule. You can’t select classes that are happening at the same time. You can select a few classes now already if you want, just to be sure you’ll have a spot.”

Saoirse nodded, went through the list of classes.

On the schedule, the classes about Yeats’s poetry and science-fiction were clashing. She hurried to select the class about poetry, following her mentor’s advice.

She also selected a class about modernism taught by the same Hozier-Byrne, trusting Gabi that it was worth skipping a class about Shakespeare, not that she held much regret about avoiding that class, to be fair. She registered for a class about ‘the use of gender-normative language and patriarchal norms in modern literature’, excited about this class already.

“Erm… sorry…”

She turned towards the student by her side.

“Can you show me how to get into the schedule? I didn’t understand where I should click…”

He looked a little lost, a little overwhelmed, like most people in the room, and certainly as she felt herself. Dark hair, brown eyes. An attempt at a stubble colouring parts of his cheeks.

“Sure!”

She showed him how to log into the schedule, he thanked her, a little shy.

“I’m Sean, by the way.”

She grinned.

“Saoirse.”

He seemed nice, they kept chatting for the rest of the day. She hoped they would have classes in common…

Y/N Y/L/N.

Saoirse read and re-read the name of her tutor. There was a small group of students in the classroom, ready to meet the member of the academic staff who would be in charge of their well-being for the year. Sean was part of the group too, and they sat together on the third row. Donall was there too, he joined them as soon as he spotted Saoirse.

Y/L/N. Saoirse had recognised the name immediately, belonging to the teacher in charge of what seemed to be a very feminist class.

And indeed, when you entered the room, looking tired but benevolent, Saoirse liked you immediately. There was something in the way you spoke that was gentle, patient, that sounded like you actually cared, that you were happy to meet your students, too.

You gave your students some extra-information about their classes, gave them advices depending on the majors they wanted to select for the rest of their degree. You helped them register, you answered their questions. The meeting took longer than expected, but you didn’t seem to mind.

You smiled when you noticed Saoirse had already selected your class.

“Looks like we’ll see each other every week for a couple of months!” you smiled at her and Saoirse was even more excited about your class now.

“Yeah… the class seems very interesting.”

“I’ll do my best to make my babbling interesting, indeed,” you joked, before moving to Sean’s computer to check that he was managing.

And Saoirse had such a good feeling about this year. Things would turn out great, she was certain of it.

You let yourself fall into your office chair, letting out a tired groan. You heard Andrew’s chuckle, but chose not to acknowledge it. His meeting with the students had been a little briefer, he was already in the office when you had come in.

“You’re alright?” he asked, checking on you with an amused smile still tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Exhausted.”

“It was to be expected…”

“Aren’t you exhausted too?”

“I’m on my fifth coffee of the day.”

You laughed at that.

“Hmm… looks like professors are as addicted to coffee as students.”

“It’s standard sleep-deprived diet.”

You looked over at him, and you exchanged a smile.

You weren’t friends, per say. Your break-up had made you more distant, and Andrew’s reaction to his own heartbreak had been to close in on himself. But you still got along, even though you weren’t close. A shame, you kind of regretted that. You could have been closer already, if it weren’t for your pain. Still, you chatted, and he helped you get used to Trinity, and you discussed your classes and his. You simply weren’t more than colleagues, and for now, it was fine. You couldn’t handle getting your heart broken and finding friendship at the same time. Your life was too messy for that. It was easier to build professional boundaries, and Andrew seemed to be in silent agreement. You hadn’t discussed much about your two separations, both preferring for that part of your lives to remain private, and outside the walls of Trinity.

The Heartbreak Department. You had joked about renaming your shared office that way, and Andrew had had no choice but to agree, it was quite on point. Perhaps it was this office, indeed. Maybe it was bringing bad luck, to both of you, when it came to love…

“I can’t wait for the weekend,” Andrew heaved a sigh, rubbing at his eyes before he would readjust his glasses.

“My weekend will be busy, though…”

Indeed, you had agreed to attend a party that Frank was hosting on Saturday night. He said that he had a big announcement to make, and you wondered what he meant by that. Also, his new girlfriend would be there. You hadn’t asked her name, weren’t interested in knowing anything about her, but you wanted to meet her, to see who had stolen your life away. Because that was what you had lost when Frank had left. It wasn’t just a break-up, it wasn’t a simple heartbreak… you had lost a wedding, a life you had planned and thought you would get to live. If you could have forgiven the pain of getting your heart broken, you couldn’t forgive the life that you felt had been stolen from you.

So, you were curious. Also, you were desperate, addicted, and wanted to see Frank, no matter why, where, or when…

“Mine is busy too, but orientation week is a lot.”

“It is, indeed.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, your head thrown back towards the ceiling.

You pictured Frank’s face against your eyelids, and couldn’t imagine that it had been over a month already that he had shattered your whole world…

[simp4konig]

"Can I sit here?" König X Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3060

*Part one?

*Slow burn?

*Strangers to Friends (to Lovers?)

Not decidedany of those yet 😶

Edited on 23/8/2023 for some grammar tweaks.

*!!Fanfic inspired by @theeggrollslord's drawing on Twitter!! I really wanted to use their art as the cover for this fanfic, but due to me not having an Twitter (or X 🤮) account, and not knowing whether the original artist consents to people reposting their art, I held back. 😿 If anyone knows whether they are able to give me permission or are cool with it, please let me know!! ☺️

*Author has played MW1 + 2... but not the newest reimagines. 😭 all I remember from the campaign is that Shepherd shot Ghost in the face,but in NO way did he look as fine as he does now ☠️☠️

*Author does NOT speak German... but can use Google Translate !!😊

As is customary with all foreigners, English is not my first language!. Pls do not bully me if my grammar  is bad i will cry 😢

König sat by himself in the cafeteria.

Three sausages, a spoonful of beans, and two eggs alongside a 500ml water bottle were all that consisted of his daily breakfast. Hash browns would be served raw, and the bagels were solid enough to break teeth when bitten into. He didn't even want to consider the sandwiches, as their stale, stinking cheese and slick ham made him gag. A pity that they didn't serve Bratwurst or order authentic — hell, even half-decent — eggs, as the meat in his sausages tasted out of date and the yolks were a dull yellow. The beans weren't even Heinz.

Looking at the cheap slop on his tray made him lose his appetite. At least the water was drinkable, but its taste was peculiar at best.

König sighed.

Every day "eating" the same breakfast, sitting in the same spot, at the same time.

To say that he enjoyed the routine of the barracks would be an overstatement, as he felt oppressed by the monotony: rigorous and thorough briefings pre-missions; intense training three times a day; shooting drills and target practice right after the sun barely opened its eye or into late hours of the evening when it was hard to see. Yet he couldn't complain, and forced himself to appreciate the predictable structure of the barracks.

After all, routine meant safety.

Knowing the details of the misson and the intel required guaranteed a flawless operation. Knowing how exactly to eliminate an opponent in any given situation meant that it made the job even easier. Knowing when to dive for cover to avoid a rain of bullets and the rumbling thunder of machine guns in an active shootout equalled survival.

And knowing that you intimidated everyone on base at least made social interactions easier. All of these extended his life expectancy, yet by how much was anyone's guess.

Being a 6'10 wall of a pure muscle made him the perfect human bulldozer, and paired with his animalistic instincts taking over while on the battlefield, he struck fear in even his own teammates.

Most of the time, König didn't even need to use a gun, as he could snap an enemy's neck faster than they could blink; and, even if they could do that, they wouldn't be able to react fast enough as he manhandled their body like a rag doll and snapped their spine in half over his knee. Quick and easy kills. Other times, frantic stabs in the abdomen, chest or neck finished with a harsh cut of the throat sufficed when sneaking, and allowed him to release any pent of frustration he felt that he wouldn't have been able to relieve through strangulation alone.

Yet, all of the time, seeing König's brutality first-hand made his teammates lose their balance and struggle to collect themselves during the mission, fearing that he would turn to indiscriminately killing anyone that had the misfortune of entering his field of vision. Compared to König's animalistic instincts taking over in an active firefight and causing bloodshed, his allies putting down enemies with a bullet to the head seemed merciful, and even kind.

Unlike friendships, killing people was easy. Keeping good relations with people was difficult enough for König to begin with — with his first hurdle being his social anxiety, and the hurdle of others being getting used to his frightening exterior — and it grew more and more into a challenge as he moved up the ranks, until his position as Colonel made him feared, not respected. People avoided his eyes, and kept conversations to a minimum, bowing their heads in fear, not respect.

After witnessing him maul enemies like a feral animal, König walking down the barracks had people scuttling away like rats in opposite directions, a horde of people dissipating in an instant. Crowded rooms with rowdy laughter suddenly were brought to silence once he made the mistake of entering, with people speaking in hushed whispers or not even speaking at all, opting to escape before their colonel addressed them.

Truth of the matter was, König never wanted to be a colonel. He'd had rather been the one receiving orders than the one making them, as his social anxiety in front of innumerable pairs of expectant eyes put pressure on him in the moment and made it near impossible to let a single word out.

He was not a natural born leader: he knew it, everyone knew it; but he kept his position solely due to his ruthlessness in action and his cold efficiency, as there was no one like him that could come close to imitating his behaviour.

Then, to say that he enjoyed the daily routine of life in the barracks was a stretch to say the least. The thrill of killing on missions and the primal adrenaline that took over his veins and clouded his senses could not be more of a contrast to this boredom and overwhelming isolation on base: of every day sitting in the same damned spot; of every day pretending to eat the same damned food; and, of every damned day being avoided by the other operators to be at a peace he was forced to accept, whether he liked it or not. What a miserable life to live.

The beans on his plate looked menacing, and he had the urge to crush each one individually until they'd stop sneering at him so, as being judged by off-brand beans was running his patience thin. Yet, he wouldn't do that, as everyone else would view him as not only a brute but a mentally unstable lunatic who was now using food scraps as an outlet for his temper; so, he resorted to just picking at the rations instead. His head was in his palm, and his gaze went elsewhere, his pale blue eyes drooping.

So engrossed in absentmindly pushing the beans on his tray with his fork and contemplating what went wrong with him that he did not hear the footsteps walking towards him.

You cleared your throat. "E-excuse me, sir, but can I sit here?"

König looked up, and saw a young recruit hovering over him with a small brown paper bag in their hands. Your face was one he hadn't seen before around here, and you weren't in the standard military uniform, so he assumed that you were perhaps a groundsperson of sorts.

Your ignorance of him was probably the only reason you dared approach him, as any other person would have avoided his table at all costs and gotten whiplash from how quickly they'd turn their head the other way. However, he was glad that he didn't intimidate everyone that encountered him, and was internally thanking you for giving him a chance. Some hope.

Feeling uncomfortable under his scrutinising stare, you tugged the collar of your t-shirt and struggle for words.

"S-sorry," you begun, sheepishly looking down at the floor. A rub of the neck and a shuffling of feet. "It's just... all of the other tables are crowded, and I don't know anyone here well. And yours—" You looked at him, shooting him a lopsided grin, "—yours is empty."

"I understand," he stated, before looking back down at the mush on his tray. "Not a problem."

You gulped, feeling like he was dismissing you, and beginning to regret approaching him. "Are you sure, sir? I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Look at you, he thought, so thoughtful over his feelings. When was the last time anyone bothered to ask him how he felt, or treated him like a human being?

"Ja. I am sure."

Still standing, unsure as to how to interpret the tone of his statement, you shot him a shy smile and sat down at a reasonable distance from the man, beginning to unpack the contents of your bag.

König kept stealing glances of you from under his eyebrows, trying to be discreet. Although he actually was uncomfortable — not used to company in the slightest, especially with someone so polite and courteous — he was oddly drawn to you.

He was thankful that you were oblivious to his status around these parts, and he wanted to leave a decent first impression on you before you finally overheard the true rumours about him, and paid attention to how quiet the cafeteria had gotten now that you two were sat together.

The thing was, he didn't know where to begin.

Communication was not his strong suit. He mused over potential ways of starting a conversation, yet not only had he never been faced with a situation like this, the language barrier was ever so present. Perhaps if he could speak to you in German he'd be able to formulate his thoughts better, yet at the moment it felt like all his knowledge of English seemingly evaporated in an instant.

"You prepared well your breakfast," he stated plainly, angling for any kind of small talk. He internally cringed at the order of those words and how wrong that sentence sounded in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

An awkward smile. "—W-wow. Thank you, sir!"

König felt his chest tighten, but he didn't know why. 

"My first day on base I had the misfortune of being served breakfast," you continued, "so, from then on I decided right then and there "never again". The food—" you laughed weakly, "—sure is something."

"Du hast recht," agreed König. "I mean... You are right. If I had a dog, I never would feed it this— these... scraps."

You could sense König hungrily devouring your food with his eyes. Although he tried to be subtle, he was not good at going unnoticed. Really, stealing glances of this behemonth in front of you, you kind of pitied the man, especially when the next edible meal would be in precisely 5 hours. With his breakfast beaten and bruised into an unrecognisable pulp, it was definitely too late for him to consume.

Mourning your sandwiches, you silently bid them farewell and took a deep breath:

"Well, sir. I would assume that you're hungry."  You took out the contents from your bag and slid them in front of him, smiling meekly. "You can have my breakfast."

He looked down at your two sandwiches and his eyes visibly widened under his hood; four thick slices of sourdough bread, a generous slather of butter, cheese, rocket lettuce, and thinly sliced pieces of meat, topped with tomatoes, and most likely seasoned with spring onion and pepper.

They looked so appetising, and he felt his mouth salivate, yet he shook his head vehemently. "Nein! Ich sollte das nicht tun, nicht, wenn du dich so sehr bemüht hast!"

You tilted your head in confusion. König mentally facepalmed.

"I-I mean... you tried very hard, and it isn't right of me. They are yours."

You waved a dismissive hand. "Honestly, you need them more than me. Have them."

"Einer wird ausreichen," He shook his head again, and picked up one slowly. "One will be enough."

He reached over to take one and you looked at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to take a bite and give you his thoughts, yet it hit you. He was wearing his mask. He probably wouldn't eat in front of you.

A cough. "S-sorry. I'll look away while you eat it. Tell me what you think about it."

König practically shoved the entire thing in his mouth the moment your back faced him and and started choking. He saw you turning back to assist, but he raised a weak hand to stop you.

Getting over his coughing fit, he could finally appreciate the freshness and the flavour of the sandwich. It tasted of... nostalgia. Like the sandwiches his Mama would make for him after school to reassure him and to take his mind off the day's events. He felt like a young boy again. When he closed his eyes, for a split-second he imagined he was in the kitchen with his mother chatting energetically, taking his plate and ruffling his hair when he had finished and feeding him another, insisting that he "was a growing boy".

"So köstlich..." he said, and was disappointed to see that the sandwich was gone from his hands, already eaten. "Mein gott, that was perfekt. A sandwich of the Gods."

You turned around and you were beaming so brightly that König swore he would need to shield his eyes from the sight.

"Thank you so much! You don't know how happy that makes me."

You looked at him, your smile unwavering. "Do you know what would make me happier?"

He gave you a blank look. "...No?"

"If you ate the other one," you said, and König's eyes widened comically. "Though, please, be careful. Sandwiches can sure be a choking hazard," you dared tease him, and was actually surprised when he let out a quiet chuckle.

After savouring his second sandwich, the two of you were quiet. Although the tension had evaporated, the silence was deafening, and you felt suffocated by the lack of conversation.

"Uhm... Sir. What is your name?" A hesitant start, your hands folded neatly in your lap. "If it isn't too much of a personal question, of course."

He deliberated for a few moments, before responding with a quiet "König."

"König," you repeated, making sure to pronounce it properly. Your eyes widened in realisation, and you smiled broadly. "That's King, in German, right? That's so funny, because I go by King!"

König froze up like a statue.

"Holy fucking shit, what are the chances?" You rambled, not realising how quiet König had become. "Honestly, what are we doing here? Where are our castles, our riches? Our chariots led by silver horses and our toilets made of 24 carat gold?"

König shrugged stiffly. "Blown up by a grenade, I suppose."

You looked at him, dumbfounded, then burst into laughter. Like, fits of giggles, too many of them and too strong for his unbelievably dry response. Maybe that's why you were laughing so hard.

Either way, König couldn't believe it at first.

It was so... beautiful. Almost angelic in a way, despite you holding yourself up with a palm on the table and unable to contain your pig-like snorts. He could get used to hearing you laugh more often.

And, just like that, he dropped his guard. Slowly, all of his stiffness melted, and he became more of his confident self, this trait only ever coming out when he was actively shooting.

The two of you spent the entire length of breakfast chatting, joking, and telling each other things about each other. Although König insisted that his English wasn't good, you assured him that you understood him just fine — if anything, his confused looks and furrowed eyebrows at idioms you used were adorably endearing, each time earning a sympathetic giggle from you.

At some point — and though he would've been ashamed to admit it — he tuned out the babbling that came out of your mouth as he admired your face, noting all of your features: the colour of your eyes and how they'd crinkle in happiness whenever you smiled; the way your hair flowed and framed your face; taking the time to count all of the freckles on your nose and committing the number to memory.

He'd only catch himself staring when you'd suddenly finish talking. "But what do I know, I'm kind of stupid if you ask me. It's a wonder I passed the tests to qualify for this job in the first place."

You locked eyes with him, interested in hearing what he had to say. "What do you think, König? I bet you know the answer!"

To which he'd quickly clear his throat and respond with, "Ich weiß nicht. I don't know. To be... frank, though that is strange for me to say when I am not "Frank"—" 

You struggled to struggle to contain your laughter, and quickly apologized as soon as you stopped shaking, before attempting to explain to this clueless Austrian man why it was used. König didn't feel demeaned by your explanation, though, as he thought that his blunders would be worth it every time if it meant hearing you laugh so sweetly.

To König's dismay, half an hour flew by in minutes, and it was time to part ways as you began your daily duties.

As the two of you stood up, you initially had realised that König was taller than the average man based off how his knees could barely fit under the table.

You sure as fuck did not expect to see this.

He towered over you, casting a shadow down below. You had to strain your neck to make eye contact with him, and a painful cramp was already forming.

"Ha—ha.... you're pretty, uh... big."

That statement had more than one connotation. Gott sei Dank für diese Maske, he thought. Thank God for this mask, otherwise you would have seen the blush from his neck up to his ears after his mind went to a place he hadn't thought it'd go, especially not with a person he had formally met not even an hour ago.

"Oh well, I can finally put those 4-inch combat boots in the bottom of my closet to good use," you laughed, playfully nudging what meant to be his shoulder but your height difference meant that you instead touched his pec. Not that you minded though.

With your arms behind your back, you shyly averted your gaze. "Well... It was nice to meet you, König."

"You too... King."

Furrowing of brows as you tilted your head. "How do you say it in German? "Auf Wiedersehen"?"

"Ja, das ist es."

"Well then, Auf Wiedersehen, big guy. I'll see you around!"

Big guy... In more ways than one...

God. König had to get a grip.

Yet, with the way he was looking at your backside and fantasizing about your next meeting, he already knew that not even Gott could help him.

...

Note: I HATE this fucking fanfiction WITH MY SOUL 🤬🤬. This fucking thing was NEARLY FINISHED and I was in the process of tweaking yet my phone decided to erase half of my progress !!!! 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡

My phone 📵 and God 🤬 didn't want this fanfiction getting published yet guess what!!! 🖕🖕🖕🖕Fuck you!!!🖕🖕🖕 Ive gotten it out anyways🗣️ fucking shaved a decade off of my life trying to recovervthe opening part of this fic,,

,,,,literally why did I get punished for writing a very mild and unextreme fanfic 😭😭😭😭 like the first half was just in Königs perspective and Ur telling me that i can't do that?????

I mf get fucking crucified like Jesus  on the cross, only this time I sarcificed my sleep and sanity to not be ressurected again,, bitch I would have rather died if I had known tjis would happen ☠️☠️ I could have actually SLEPT?!! 🤬🛌

Never again writing fanfictiosn on my phone, I can't trust this evil technology!!  I'm gonna draft them with PEN and PAPER bitch!!!! Typewriter!!!!!!!! Chalk On Pavement™!!!!!!!!!!!! PERMANENT MARKER ON MY FOREHEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...

If you read this rant of mine, I hope you have a lovely day/night, beautiful person. <33 (please wash your eyes after reading that,,I needed to release my anger somrjow don't judge me hhhhhhhHHHH—)

[azure-firecracker]

The X-Files Season 1 Review (First-Time Watcher)

(Any fans-please come talk to me about the show and send me asks-I’m obsessed!)

It did not take long for me to realize that this was going to become my newest hyperfixation show. It has everything I love in my shows-a strong focus on its main characters, campy sci-fi monsters mixed with some genuine creepiness, slow burn romance, banter. In short, it’s the perfect show for me. I was basically hooked right away.

Like all first seasons, it was pretty clear that the show was still finding its footing. There were some clunky bits to iron out and the show definitely found its vibe more and more as it went along. I would say it began getting overall more consistent around episode 10 (with individual exceptions before and after that).

In terms of episodes, I enjoyed almost all the episodes of this season even though I would only call a couple stellar. Most episodes were fun or at least had fun moments, and the banter between Mulder and Scully (what’s their ship name?) is enough to keep me going through even the clunkiest and cringiest plots.

Speaking of Mulder and Scully, it’s rare that a show can make me love two characters so equally but I really do. Although Scully is much more in line with my usual favorite characters (she is my special girl and I will do anything for her), I also have a special place in my heart for Mulder’s neurodivergent traumatized puppy energy. Of course they really go together so it’s natural that I love them both.

The only weighty criticism I have for this season is that I feel Mulder gets more spotlight moments than Scully. Not egregiously, but it feels like he’s usually the one in the final fight, seeing the aliens, figuring it out, etc. I do know that they were trying to break gender roles by making Scully the skeptic, but given that the aliens are so real…here at least she often came off as oblivious and she sometimes felt like she was tagging along on Mulder’s quests. Which SUCKS! Because I LOVE HER and she could be SO USEFUL if the writers LET HER. This is why I really loved the moments where she got to step up. Veteran viewers…want to tell me if this gets better?

That criticism aside, I could watch these two fight monsters for days, and I know the S2-S5/6 stretch is considered the show’s best, so I’m looking forward to that.

Individual episode reviews under the cut.

Pilot: Fantastic introduction! It did a great job establishing the characters and their dynamic pretty seamlessly, as well as introducing the alien lore in a way that we could digest. It wasn’t perfect and the story was a bit clunky at times, but it got me hooked and did its job well. I also liked Scully being the audience surrogate here. 8/10

Deep Throat: This episode really solidified the dynamic introduced in the pilot, and is packed with great character moments. It gets a HUGE boost from Scully exchanging the guard to rescue Mulder at the end. I mentioned living for the moments when Scully gets to step up, but I think it was necessary to put this moment so early. Because Scully is new to the X-Files and also clearly wrong about aliens, it was necessary to show us that she had a lot to bring to the table and that Mulder needs her. Also a special shoutout to Seth Green as a stoner. 9.5/10

Squeeze: A very fun monster of the week episode, slightly reminiscent of BtVS. Decently creepy with that 90s horror/sci-fi vibe we all love. Plus lots of great Mulder/Scully moments. (Also, despite my complaints about Scully being underutilized, I enjoyed Mulder saving Scully at the end. Rescuing one another from mortal peril is actually my favorite trope, as long as it’s balanced. In that regard, this season has been). 8/10

Conduit: Honestly this episode was a little slow for me, I felt like the pacing could have been better. I had a hard time staying interested. Also it was hilarious that this was supposed to be Iowa because Iowa does not have mountains like that. It gets a boost from the ending scene which in itself is a 100/10. 6/10

The Jersey Devil: Now this is campier and goofier than suits the show, and I feel like they realized that soon after this. The Mulder/Scully banter still made this a good time, but it wasn’t great. Also not helped by the fact that everything happened during the day (the only time in this show where the lighting was too bright) and the Jersey Devil looked like a normal person with some dust on her. 6/10

Shadows: I found the mystery of this one quite engaging. Back with those 90s horror vibes we love, and it kept me guessing right up until the agents figured it out. Negative points for the lack of Mulder/Scully banter though. 7/10

Ghost in the Machine: Was this cheesy? Yes. Was it objectively good? No. Did I enjoy it anyway? Yes. Who doesn’t love a killer computer? Also Scully crawling out of the vents was badass af. Objectively like a 6/10 but 7/10 for my personal enjoyment.

Ice: Now THIS was the stuff. An objectively great episode of television. The tension, the paranoia, the fallout, seeing what our leads do under that kind of stress…brilliant. (Although my dad the geologist couldn’t help but point out that there is no ice sheet in Alaska). Very tempted to write an alternate version where Mulder actually is infected and Scully has to find a cure before the others kill him. That would’ve been interesting. Anyway 10/10

Space: Apparently people don’t like this episode but I enjoyed it. It had a ticking time bomb feel that I quite enjoyed. Also Mulder’s space nerdiness was adorable. 8/10

Fallen Angel: Similar to Conduit, this episode felt rather slow to me despite the fact that there was a lot happening. It just sort of failed to hook me, which is a rarity for this show. 6/10

Eve: This was FUN! I love when we get to unravel the mystery along with the agents and the plot twists definitely kept me guessing. Props to the child actors who did a great job. I did get thrown off by the many parallels to Stranger Things-even though this obviously came out first. 8/10

Fire: Once I got over my anger at sharing a name with Mulder’s horrendous ex, I liked this one. Both Mulder and Scully got good character moments here, with Mulder trying to shield Scully from all his drama and also showing one of his flaws-he’s susceptible to manipulation. Scully, conversely, was really the MVP of this episode and carried the investigation on her back. Also props to our bad guy of the week-great job being creepy! 7.5/10

Beyond the Sea: Immaculate. Probably my favorite episode of the season. Scully burying her grief in work and Mulder being gentler with her than he’s ever been. Scully’s family lore reveal. Both of them going toe to toe with this killer (forgot his name) and not knowing what to believe. Mulder getting shot and Scully getting FURIOUS. Scully’s complicated relationship forming with this killer while she also thinks about her father (rather reminiscent of Silence of the Lambs). Cinema. 10/10

Genderbender: So we have gender switching aliens who kill people…I’ll give the show overall a pass since it’s 1994 but I will not be revisiting this one. Extra points for Mulder yelling GET OFF OF HER at the guy who’s working his weird magic on Scully. Minus points for him blaming her for it after. 2.5/10

Lazarus: So we got panicked Scully 2 episodes ago and now we get panicked Mulder and it is GLORIOUS. I also found all 3 side characters-Scully’s ex as well as both criminals, interesting, especially as Scully’s ex began to mix with the bad guy. Minus points for not shooting the bank robber until after he started shooting up a room full of civilians, extra points for Mulder being great this entire episode. 9/10

Young at Heart: Episodes with creepy killers are always my favorite, and I loved seeing Mulder get toyed with. Reverse aging science…eh it’s not the main point. Minus points for the worst plan ever (let’s invite the killer into a crowded area and let him shoot at Scully even though apparently her bulletproof vest barely saved her), but extra points for Mulder angst. This man has so much guilt. 9/10

E.B.E: Honestly the plot of this one wasn’t super interesting but that’s not what we’re here for is it? Every Mulder and Deep Throat interaction? Perfect. Scully’s little « the truth is out there, but so are lies » speech? Immaculate. The ending where Deep Throat reveals his backstory and Mulder says « I’m trying to decide which lie to believe? » Cinema. 9.5/10

Miracle Man: A bit of a letdown after such a strong streak, but still solid. Pretty good! And I admired that they had the guts to kill the kid too. 6.5/10

Shapes: Another fun 90s horror episode, HEAVY on the BtVS vibes. And it actually dealt with all of the Native American issues better than I thought it would! Not necessarily well in every aspect, but I was expecting much worse considering Genderbender. 7.5/10

Darkness Falls: Y’all this was GOOD! I loved the sense of impending doom that was just present the whole time, and the melancholic feel of the entire thing. Minus points for the anti-environmentalist sentiments and for the blatant plot armor at the end (they really should have died…but then there wouldn’t be a show). 9/10

Tooms: While Tooms being let out on parole was a bit of a stretch, I enjoyed seeing Mulder stretched to his limit. He’s a good character to do that with. Tooms was an even better villain here than in Squeeze imo, because his craftiness really got to shine through. Huge bonus points for the scene in the car. « Mulder, I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody but you. » I’M DEAD. 8.5/10

Born Again: The most memorable parts of this episode for me were the thick fake New York accents and the fact that the kid was named Michelle so I kept quoting Derry Girls in my terrible fake Derry accent the whole time. 5/10

Roland: This was the only episode I hated. I could barely get through any Roland scenes-I thought the autism portrayal was clunky and unnecessary and I just don’t want to watch autistic people suffer. It pained me. There wasn’t even any Mulder/Scully banter to salvage it. In fact, it seemed they were barely in the episode at all. It gets half a point because Scully looked really pretty this episode. 0.5/10

The Erlenmeyer Flask: Now this was GOOD STUFF. I feel like since we know the aliens are there and there’s less mystery, alien-focused episodes so far have been slower and I’ve liked them less but THIS kept the pace up and the mystery going throughout. I was fully hooked. I was also WORRIED for Mulder at the end-I thought we were getting a season cliffhanger! And those chemical burns looked BAD. And I DID NOT expect Deep Throat to die OR for them to get shut down. Where the heck are they gonna go from here? I love it. My favorite thing about this episode was really getting back into Scully’s headspace for the last 10 minutes or so. With some exceptions, I feel like a lot of the season has been shown through Mulder’s eyes (part of my gripe from earlier), but the pilot was 100% Scully and circling back to her here felt right. I also liked that she had to do another hostage exchange-a parallel to the first time she really showed why Mulder needs her. So much to love here. 10/10

Idk how many txf fans I have here aside from my one post that made the rounds, but if you’re here congratulations for making it through my essay! Let me know if you’d like any more thoughts/analyses, and if you’d like shorter, episodic posts when it comes time for Season 2:)

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest (4)

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: description of rape, angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment, violence, swearing, self-destructive behavior ]

[ description: A female painting student is finally able to choose the specialisation she has dreamt of - stained glass. She wants to become a student of the best specialist in this field, but he, for some reason, refuses to accept female students into his workshop. She finds out that he once slapped a female student of one of the other professors. Nevertheless, she makes an attempt to find out what happened then and to convince him to teach her. Slow burn, sexual tension, dark, agressive Aemond, great childhood traumas. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

With difficulty, every day, he forced himself to get used to her presence, to the smell of her coconut shampoo when she walked past, to her voice when she spoke to her year mates.

He always worked with his back to her, without looking at her, and she worked, as promised, in the corner, at the last table, covered by a pillar so that he could not see her most of the time.

On the one hand he felt uncomfortable, but on the other he thought with some feeling of pride that maybe this would help him get out of his area of weakness and trauma, that maybe this important decision would make something change in him.

She only dared to approach him when she wanted to show him her project, but when she laid it down in front of him he noticed with disappointment that it was too contrived.

There was too much going on, he thought, she was trying to prove to herself and him that she could create the most expressive, most complicated design possible.

"Overdone and tacky. This is not a competition for the most pompous baroque stained glass. Don't show me things like that again." He said dryly, returning to cutting glass. He heard her swallow loudly and walk away, leaving behind her scent of some new herbal shampoo.

Although he feared she would be a distraction to him and others, she behaved politely and decently, concentrating on her work, talking to her colleagues only during short breaks for tea or food.

She conformed to the rules and always cleaned her workstation thoroughly. She also dressed appropriately, usually wearing a large black t-shirt tucked into high-waisted black trousers, her hair either tied up in a braid or tied partially at the back of her head as the rest of her curls fell down her back.

As much as he didn't want it, she was the centre of his relentless attention − he waited for any stumble from her, any proof that she was faking it, that there was something different under that mask than she had shown so far.

It seemed to him, however, that the more days passed, the more relaxed and smiling she became. She worked on her new project while sitting with headphones on her head, listening to music, bobbing her head to its rhythm, painting at her table, undeterred by his unpleasant comment.

Two days after their exchange of words, she approached him for the second time, again holding a piece of paper. He looked at her sternly, wanting to make sure she knew what she was doing.

"Are you sure you want to show me this?" He asked warningly, and she nodded quickly before placing her draft in front of him. He pressed his lips together, feeling his heart thump involuntarily in his chest.

Her design was beautiful.

Her composition, although not perfect, even in its sketchy outline with the colours she had chosen and the positioning of the figures made the whole thing look light, lifted − he noticed immediately that the figures of the Virgin and Christ were inspired by Raphael's Sistine Madonna and wanted to see if she would admit it.

"Were you inspired by someone?" He asked coolly and she nodded quickly, smiling softly.

"Yes, Raphael's Sistine Madonna."

He hummed under his breath, pleased that she'd confessed, and began to analyse what he saw before him.

"On the left and right the composition is too filled in. You need to leave those four apostles lower, give more space to the background. Let them form an arc under the figure of Our Lady, not half a circle." He spoke at once what he noticed, running his hand over her work, pointing to the parts he had in mind.

She watched his every move with rapt attention and nodded quickly, her eyes shining with delight, as if with her imagination's sight she could see that indeed his changes would make the whole thing look even better.

"Yes. You're right, Professor, I will." She said excitedly, looking at him with a sort of gratitude and joy from which he felt uncomfortable.

He felt some strange kind of warmth in his lower abdomen at the thought that this smile suited her.

That she was pretty.

She was a pretty girl.

He bit his lower lip, embarrassed and horrified at his thought, and lowered his gaze, returning to his work.

"That's all."

He was not helped in dismissing this thought by the fact that, a few hours later, he came across her in the canteen, seeing her in nothing but a floral strapless summer dress.

He was relieved to find that nothing was showing through from under it, but the very fact that he saw her, in his perspective, in such a negligee made him take a greedy sip of coffee and avoid her, trying not to think about the pulsing he felt in the lower part of his body.

When he had gathered all the projects he made an appointment with the bishop, who invited him to his curia − they had coffee together and then proceeded to discuss the designs he had brought him. The bishop was delighted with three of them and couldn't make up his mind.

"You are the artist, tell me what you think. Which one do you think is the best?" He asked him, glancing at him curiously, catching himself involuntarily by the large gold cross hanging from his neck.

He looked intensely at the design that Wright had done and fought with himself, at the same time wanting to admit that she had surprised him positively with such rapid progress and considered her design one of the best, on the other hand not wanting to admit it to himself or to him. He grunted out loud.

"Please choose for yourself, Father Bishop. I am not a fair judge in this matter because I am prejudiced against one of the female students." He said frankly, and the bishop looked at him curiously.

"A female student? I thought your workshop was almost a male convent." He laughed low, gripping his belly concealed beneath his purple robe, and he huffed under his breath.

"It was." He muttered, as he nodded his head in understanding and sighed heavily.

"This one." He pointed his finger at the Wright project, and he pressed his lips together with a loud, tense swallow. Bishop looked at him curiously.

"Did I just choose the project of this female student?" He asked amused, and he looked away, impatient.

"Yes." He replied dispassionately.

"If you wish, because of our long-standing collaboration, I will change my decision." He said softly, and he shook his head.

"No."

Whether he wanted it or not, he had to announce the results and how he divided the work. While it was certainly a great achievement and he thought she had done a good job himself, he knew that she wasn't ready to do such complicated things as she had designed and that she needed to practice the basics for now.

The backgrounds were the perfect opportunity to do so and he saw no reason why she should suffer or consider it a humiliation, especially as he was the one who was to take care of the faces, with a little help from Cregan with the figures of the apostles.

He was concerned, however, when he walked into their workshop one day and saw Jason Lannister standing over her − although he was not happy that she was his student, he had decided to take her under his wing and felt responsible for her safety in every sense of the word.

Especially the kind he might have expected from Lannister.

As soon as he had left, he approached her with an unhurried step, standing on the other side of her table, asking dispassionately what he wanted, willing himself to be sure of his assumptions.

"To learn the secret of my success." She said without much emotion, concentrating on cutting out the papers. He felt a squeeze in his throat at her words knowing what she was implying.

"What did you tell him?" He asked coolly, leaning over the table, wondering if she was expanding on some lie or rumour about him. She looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, numbering piece by piece.

"That he shouldn't measure everyone by his standards. His attitude towards his female students was one of the reasons I didn't want him to teach me." She said quietly, and he furrowed his brow, finding it amusing that she feared harassment from Jason Lannister, but begged a known female aggressor for a place in his workshop.

"And you came to ask for a place with a professor who hit his student?" He asked seriously, lowly, and she threw him an anxious, frightened look − he saw her clench and lick her lips, swallowing hard, cutting another piece of paper.

"And did you hit her, Professor?"

He stared at her for a long moment, wondering if he should go any deeper into the subject, if he should talk to her about it at all. He felt, however, that he wanted to know what she thought about it, how she really perceived him.

"Yes." He replied with fatigue and frustration at the same time.

She didn't answer him for a long moment, her hands shaking as she tried to cut another template with straight, sure slashes.

"Why did you do that?" She asked quietly, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Does it matter?" He asked, as if the answer was obvious.

Since when did it matter what you slapped someone for?

In the eyes of the law, in the eyes of good manners, even if she acted like a monster, he had no right to touch her.

Women were untouchable.

Not like men.

After all, they were stronger.

"It matters if you did it for no reason or if you were trying to defend yourself against her, sir." She said uncertainly and he snorted at her words, amused.

"In what way could she harm me? Hit me?" He asked ironically, knowing that no one would ever recognise any of his explanations, that in many people's eyes there was no way that a woman could have harmed him, that she would have been at fault, unless she had thrown herself at him with a knife.

The woman had to commit the ultimate, sudden cruelty to be considered a real threat, when in the case of the men, verbal aggression was enough.

"Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways. It's just that they are hardly believed." She said quietly in a trembling voice and he felt his heart stop for a moment. He looked at her in disbelief, feeling a tightness in his throat, feeling sick again, as if he was about to vomit.

Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways.

It's just that they are hardly believed.

"I don't know if it's a good idea." He mumbled horrified, looking at her in shock, not understanding why she had come to his room, why she wouldn't let him alone.

She continued to nag him, encouraging him to rub oil on her back when she was sunbathing while his parents weren't looking − she untied her bikini top in front of him and let him look at her breasts.

He felt uncomfortable, excited and embarrassed at the same time, like when he watched pornographic films.

He felt that something was wrong.

"You are such a pretty boy, Aemond." She purred, trailing her slender fingers along his bare arm − he had just started going to the gym and was proud of having muscles, he wanted to look like a man already, even though he was only sixteen.

Her attention simultaneously boosted his ego but also overwhelmed him in a way that frightened him, so he involuntarily ran away from her or locked himself in his room when he heard her voice.

When she came to him that night, however, he forgot to turn the key in the lock of his door and never forgave himself for that.

The fact that if he had got up before bedtime and checked it, it would have never happened.

She came to him wearing only a strapless nightgown from under which practically everything was visible, the outline of her large breasts and her womb.

He looked at her terrified, thinking only of the fact that she could be his mother, that he felt sick, his hands trembling, his heart pounding like mad.

He didn't know what to do, what to say, he didn't want to offend her, he just wanted her to leave.

"Easy. Your eye, your scars don't bother me at all." She said softly, in a low, sensual voice, slipping the straps off her shoulders, revealing her naked body to him, at which he stared in horror, feeling his head humming, finding it difficult to catch his breath.

"Why are you so tense?" She laughed softly, quietly, as if it was funny, sitting down on top of him, sliding the duvet off him, and he shook his head when he felt her grab the material of his sweatpants.

"No. My parents will hear. Please." He mumbled, not wanting to come off as weak, as a man who couldn't satisfy a woman, but all he felt was terror − he felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest, cold sweat running down his hot back.

"Shhh. Just stay still and let me take care of myself." She whispered, as if this was going to be their sweet secret, her hand exploring what was underneath the fabric and running her fingers over his manhood, clamping her fingers firmly onto it.

He pressed his lips together, holding back a moan of horror and discomfort as he felt himself involuntarily pulsing under her hand, betraying him and his body, responding automatically to her mechanical, determined movements.

"Look, see? You wouldn't be so hard if you didn't want it. It's okay, sweetheart." She cooed, as if speaking to a small child, and when she thought he was ready, she simply slid him deep inside her.

He looked away from her, pressing his lips together as he looked towards the window, thinking only of how a real man would enjoy this, that he had watched endless pornographic films depicting such a scenario and trying to focus on it, however, all he felt was a burning wetness under his eyelids and his body trembling.

She raised and lowered herself on top of him, panting loudly, whispering that she had wanted this for a very long time and that she knew he had too, but that it was okay, that she would take care of him now, that he was such a good boy.

He felt her hands on his torso, on his shoulders, on his cheek, her intense perfume that she must have lathered herself with before coming to him made him feel sick.

He threw up suddenly, and she almost screamed, getting off him, panting heavily.

"What the fuck?"

He sobbed pathetically, panting heavily, and it was only then that she realised how much she had misjudged the situation. She swallowed loudly, quickly dressing her nightgown back up.

"Relax, it's okay, nothing happened. Nothing happened." She repeated, but he didn't hear her, trembling all over, feeling that something inside him just died.

Women can hurt men in all sorts of ways.

He stared at her, feeling that his lower lip was trembling, his mouth twitched in a dangerous grin.

"You prefer to defend the abuser instead of the victim?"

She furrowed her brow at his words, clearly offended by his question.

"No. I just know her version of events. I wanted to hear yours before I decided what I thought of you, Professor. I thought it was only fair." She said with some kind of regret, and he felt his heart squeeze again, the thought that she would be sorely disappointed in him.

She would be disappointed in him just like his grandfather, his father, his mother, his siblings.

"There is no excuse for me. But I don't regret what I did. What do you think about it, Miss Wright?" He asked ironically, cocking his head, wanting to see what her answer would be, how she would try to justify him this time.

A sort of pain flashed across her face, her eyebrows arched in disapproval, her eyes expressing a pure, deep sadness from which he felt discomfort in his chest.

"That I feel sorry for you, Professor. Just like I feel sorry for that girl. I hope you find the decency to apologise to her one day. Excuse me, but I would like to focus on my work." She said calmly, lowering her gaze, going back to cutting again even though her hands were shaking.

He looked at her not believing what she said.

She dismissed him.

He pressed his lips together and walked out on his heel, grabbing his jacket on the fly.

He stepped out and lit his cigarette in a quick, aggressive movement, inhaling deeply, only now feeling how much his heart was pounding, how hard he was breathing, how his hands were trembling, droplets of sweat on his forehead.

He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, thinking how pathetic it was that he cared about her opinion.

She was nobody to him.

She could think whatever she wanted.

Nevertheless, he noticed that she had begun to avoid him − when he stepped into the room she would look away, pretend she didn't see him, that he didn't exist.

Even though he had only dreamed of it, her attitude now frustrated him.

She considered herself better than him, a saint, but he knew there were no perfect people.

If she wanted to despise him, so be it.

He decided to focus on his task, on making a faces for her project, which, despite his aversion towards her, he still liked. He easily found inspiration for the Twelve Apostles by sketching the figures of the older men in the town square one morning, standing by the fence.

There he had a whole plethora of interesting, expressive faces.

However, he had no idea what to do with the Mother of God.

Sometimes he would give her the face of his own mother or his sister, but he felt he had done this too many times, and he didn't want his work to look the same over and over again.

Sitting at his desk he glanced at his female student who despised him so much, watched her face in gentle concentration bent over her work, her warm gaze surrounded by a fan of long lashes directed at the glass she had just cut.

He wandered his eyes over her soft facial features, over her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her eyes, her neck, and felt like a voyeur.

He took his sketchbook in his hands and waited for the moment when she looked at him, wanting to make her face him, sketching her in the meantime in the position she was in now, just to catch the right proportions of her figure.

When she finally lifted her gaze to him he felt heat in his lower abdomen − she immediately averted her eyes, but that was enough for him.

He saw what he wanted.

On the one hand he felt like a pervert, on the other he felt some kind of sick satisfaction analysing every last bit of her face, taking several of his sketches with him and creating the final one. When he had finished it and dressed it with the right robes surrounding her head he thought it looked perfect.

Her portrait was melancholic, serene − there was a kind of warmth and certainty emanating from her gaze at the same time, her lips slightly parted, as if she had just taken a breath, making her look full of life, only frozen in stillness, in the moment.

He figured that as soon as he finished painting he would throw away all his sketches of her, and if anyone asked if he had been inspired by her facial features he would deny it.

Halfway through his work he went out for a cigarette and, convinced that there was no one else in their workshop at such a late hour, left the door open.

When he returned, however, he froze, horrified, seeing her figure bent over his sketches, an expression of disbelief on her face.

Fuck.

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.

"Get out." He growled harshly, enraged that she had seen this, that she now knew what he had done.

She wanted to say something, frightened, but he wouldn't let her finish, terrified of what she could do with her knowledge.

"Get. Out." He repeated warningly. She nodded and moved quickly towards the exit.

He didn't know what had tempted him to grab her tightly by her shoulder − he heard her draw in a quick, loud breath, terrified, he could smell her, herbal shampoo and some cheap hand cream.

"Don't ever come in here again without permission. Your painting room is next door. This is my private studio. Do you understand?" He burst out sharply and she nodded her head quickly, he could feel her whole body quivering. He let her go and she literally ran out, leaving him alone.

He walked over to the table, restraining himself with the remnants of his strength not to drop all the glasses and smash them to smithereens. He picked up the sketches with the depiction of her face and began to tear them to pieces one by one.

She meant nothing to him.

On his way out, heading for his car, he spotted Lyanna, the girl he had slapped then, also heading in the same direction. She was now in her final year of university and wasn't using shared workrooms, not wanting to run into him − as soon as she spotted him she furrowed her brow and turned away, tense.

"Wait." He called out after her, feeling his heart pounding hard, wondering what he was actually doing.

I hope you find the decency to apologise to her one day.

She stopped, looking at him terrified, breathing unevenly. He approached her slowly, stopped in front of her and sighed heavily, lighting a cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out through his mouth.

"I'm sorry. For then. That I slapped you." He said, shaking the ash from his cigarette onto the ground with a flick of his finger, not looking at her but somewhere to the side, licking his lip nervously.

"The truth is, if I wasn't earning so much for the rector, I'd be out of a job straight away for it." He muttered, taking another drag and letting out a puff of smoke through his nose, unsure if he was actually apologising or explaining.

The girl looked at him in silence.

"I'm sorry too. For what I said back then. Jason brainwashed me pretty good." She muttered regretfully, not looking at him but somewhere to the side, thoughtfully.

"He was afraid of the fact that you were on his tail, that you wanted to destroy him. He made me believe that we were in love, that there was nothing wrong with that, but it wasn't until later that I noticed how he controlled me. I no longer have anything to do with him, only now do I understand how he manipulated me, and now I watch him do the same with younger girls." She said in a trembling voice, looking at her fingers, and he lowered his gaze, pressing the cigarette to his lips again, taking a deep drag.

"Have a nice day." He muttered, turning away, leaving her surprised.

She thought clearly that he felt like listening to her grief now, comforting her with a good word, that nothing had happened, that she was a victim too.

She had consented of her own free will and was suffering the consequences of her actions.

No one forced her.

She had a choice, and instead of the victims, the girls he molested when she wasn't looking, she chose herself.

He thought with amusement that he didn't feel better at all.

That no one would find out about what he had done.

That she wouldn't now, after two years, have those defamatory articles retracted, wouldn't tell the other professors that they had come to an understanding, to give him a break.

Everything would be as it had been, except that all he knew now was that she was as stupid as all the other women he knew.

And then he thought of her face, that face which in his eyes already appeared as Our Lady in a golden cloud, giving the weary apostles the hope of heaven.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess

[n0n-sen-se]

I just found you today and Im in love with your writing! If you don't mind could I request some relationship Headcannons with Kyojuro and Sanemi! (separate)

If you write this thank you in advance! <3

-🍷

tysm ♡ i sincerely appreciate it :') and on another note: for these headcannons i decided to add a little bit of everything i could think of! Hope you enjoy them!

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬!

includes ;; kyojuro. sanemi. content ;; fluff. like a dash of angst. domestic fluff. a/n ;; this turned out. like i mean there's a ton of hcs but (in my defense) i did try to include a bit of everything!

☆☆☆ # kyojuro rengoku !

kyojuro is one of the most open people you'd ever meet (especially with his s/o) why hide anything? he pretty much wears his heart on his sleeve!

compliments you a ton! and doesn't just dump them on you, they're always genuine things he notices: how amazing your hair looks in the sun, your smile, the way you light up when you talk about something you like. . . all the good things

pretty decent cook, the food will taste amazing just. . . the kitchen is now a hazard zone.

(if your soft spoken ♡) his hearing is a little shot. he'd be so embarrassed of himself for asking you to repeat yourself over and over again (like it has his heart-racing and ears burning) ❛god your precious❜

oh my goodness, kyojuro would write you so many letters when he's away (or even before your relationship) he'd add little dried flowers for you. the best was probably the primrose!

hugging you is a comfort, so sometimes he'll just quietly walk up to you and hold you.

always smiles and brightens up when your around

rengoku nuzzling his nose into your face when he's happy, like literally trying to bury his face into yours

is wholly protective of you, and 100% speaks his mind if he feels someone is mistreating you/doesn't let anyone lay their hands on you (threatening to break their wrists move) also note that he doesn't like to resort to violence.

always opens doors for you, or holds your hand when you stepping down stairs.

it would take a whole lot to witness him cry. and he'll never cry for himself. not when he's hurt. not when somethings weighing on his mind. nothing. except when it comes to you and your happiness.

when fights or arguments happen he needs a moment (a long moment) to think and reflect. . . he puts himself in your position until he finds out what he needs to do.

he comforts you to no end though if your upset, lots of hugs and communication

☆☆☆ # sanemi shinazugawa !

i feel like he doesn't just casually kiss you (?) when you're around him he just holds you, firmly. sanemi always has a hand resting on you: shoulder, lower-back, linking his pinky with yours. at some point he (and probably you) wouldn't even notice the habit it anymore.

when he does kiss you its a whole ordeal, lifts your chin up, slow, passionate to full blown make-out session. usually never just a ❛quick kiss❜

the love aggression he'd feel sometimes-! just watching you. . . exist is so overwhelmingly adorable (he'd never say that exactly) just clenches his fists together and strings together a bunch of frustrated, mumbled swears

honestly, he's very competitive if you two were to play a game together. (a sore winner and loser)

when you're sick his way of comforting you is just quality time, he'll get your favorite snacks and make you as warm as possible, even laying down with you to keep you company. ask him for anything and he'll get it for you or make it better (maybe just this once)

(first) date ideas? none. he'll bring you somewhere that means a lot to him, even somewhere quiet where you can just. . . talk. if sanemi opens up a bit he'd be up for some fun (which usually involves danger or mischief) call it. . . part two of the date!

sometimes you'd just catch him smiling at you, a subtle peaceful stare with the ghost of a smile on his lips. (god, how did he get so lucky?)

fights would be the toughest. not usually because of the initial argument, but because of his inability to talk to you afterwards. disagreements get him frustrated for all the wrong reasons (usually at himself), and instead of dealing with them, he'd rather ignore them.

best thing he considers: is waking up with you next to him, just resting your head on his arm.

ooohh, actually after a while he wouldn't be able to sleep without you. ❛slept like shit❜

all relationships require work, and its definitely worth it! you're already his entire world, he just needs to learn how to show it more

and by god, this man would fight for you. need I explain? he worships you.

[painsandconfusion]

Off Guard

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-eight

(tw: electrocution, escape attempt, concussion, torture, death mention, murder mention, plotting murder, handcuffs, stun gun, blood, beating, unintentional self harm (bloody knuckles)) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan’s fingers tingled as he walked, flicking them against each other by his side to stave off the sensation as he moved down the hall. 

He didn’t want to be too loud. Not tonight. The light was off in Nate’s room, so the bastard must finally be getting some half decent sleep. No reason to wake him and have the idiot trying to take over the scene. Again.

He shoved open the workshop doors, ignoring the slight grinding whine the hinges gave off - though still subconciously noting to add some kind of oil or whatever the fuck you do with hinges later. As the lights snapped on, the pitiful lump of a man in the middle of the room curled into his chains, a small sound of displeasure coming off of him.

“What, were you sleeping? I’m sorry-” Ethan stepped up to him, almost delicately pressing a foot down onto a dried slurry of blood that gashed over Crawford’s thigh. 

“Hnn-stopstto-”

“Hmm… I dunno, maybe beg a little more and see if it puts me in a good mood?” The edges of his mouth seemed to shift, tugging like curtains pulled by a string on the other side of the room to coax a smile out of him. 

Getting there, at least.

It was an almost completely forgotten sensation. Smiling without meaning to. It pulled an entirely different set of muscles than the simple, polite curve he gave to people he wanted to shut up or leave him alone. Different than the ruse he put on or the sarcastic toothy grin he threw in Nate’s direction in place of a verbal response. This was something different entirely. Like a little parasite had carved up inside his cheek and gnawed at the thin strands of muscle until they tightened like strings of a violin, ready for the steady screech of rosin to truly set them alight.

“Y’mdnr-”

“Hmm~?” Ethan’s foot ground in further, leaning in to see Crawford’s face as the man squished it against the cement. 

Another incoherent slurry of sound pressed from the man’s throat, still curled into a ball around the spot where the shackle lashed him to the ground. 

Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing off the man with a small kicking shove before crouching down and squirming his hand into the knotted ball of a man to grab his jaw. Twist him round. Hear his neck crackle with the fresh movement after nights sleeping on cement.

“Use your words,” he prompted, forefinger alone relenting the grip to taptaptap on Crawford’s jaw.

.PaiN.

Pain.

Ethan knew pain.

Close friends as they were for so many years, it was strange he found himself at a loss for its name when it reared its ugly head once more, overwhelming his mind in a single snap of blank, processing emptiness.

Ethan felt the echoing crack as his head hit the concrete, remnants of what he was finally recognizing as electricity buzzing down his twitching legs.

Some strangled growl ripped up his throat as he tried to right himself enough to grab for the man who was shoving on top of him, but his arms were slow - groggy from sleeplessness, shock and lost, aimless electrons trying to find their way underground. 

He shoved at Crawford only to feel the prongs of the stun gun shoved hard into his collarbone, burning agony through the skin and crackling as if eating through the bone itself as he thrashed to shove the searing pain away.

My name is Ethan Scott. The mantra lit up the back of his skull without prompt or ask. It was just there.

It begged him to fall stoic. To sit still and take it. Be tough. Be a good b-

No.

No-

NO.

My name is Ethan Scott and you cannot break me.

He won’t sit still- he can’t. Taking it isn’t strength right now, taking it is defeat.

Crawford was the one in chains today. 

Ethan’s hands scrabbled for Crawford’s arm, finally knocking the thing off of his flesh with a roaring gasp, shoving the other man off of him as best he could. 

Knuckles snapped against his nose, crunching it back. Some dull part of his mind calculated that that wasn’t even half the force of Crawford’s normal blows, but it locked up his mind anyway, pushing his gaze hazy and blurred as heat snapped across his sinuses and exploded behind his eyes. 

There was blood. He could taste it.

Shoving numbly, he was barely keeping up enough to track the bastard’s fingers knotting into his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Again. Again. Again-

And it stopped.

The weight lifted off of him in a blur of white and charcoal grey, sound muffling to the side. 

Ethan shoved back, hand moving to his face to press against the bleeding and squeeze his eyes shut to will vision to return to him. His head was spinning, like he was about to tip over and crack against the ground again. 

He shoved it back. Forced his eyes open and made them focus on the sounds and movement to his left as he shoved himself up on an elbow to squint at the unknown blur.

It took a moment to process exactly what he was seeing. 

Nate was a cheerful kind of bitch. The asshole whose smirk you could never wipe off. The life of the party. Class clown. Charmer. No matter how many screams he ripped out of Ethan, he did it with a gentle, almost seductive tone, grinning, smirking, or smiling almost fondly. He’d only seen Nate angry the once. When they’d met for the second time. 

But this savage blur in front of Ethan’s bleary eyes had him wondering if he was knocked into a dream. Blood splattered up Nate’s face from the sheer force of his hits as he drove his fist into Crawford’s face again and again, snapping it back and forth against the unforgiving cement. He didn’t even have to pin the man down - the welp on the floor couldn’t do anything but try to throw his arms up in front of the blows, shielding his face. 

Nate didn’t seem to care. He hit them too. Silent yet somehow screaming a rage tha echoed through Ethan’s skull.

Ethan sat there for several long seconds, trying to blink away the mirage in front of him before it slowly sharperned into clarity. It was really happening. 

A dull thought finally graced his addled mind. He’s going to kill him.

Immediately a panic pressed up through Ethan’s veins like acid, snapping him to attention and the closest thing to lucidity his star-studded mind could handle. He shoved up to his knees and flopped forward to tackled Nate off of the man. “St- sstop- STOP!”

Nate shoves at Ethan, trying to throw him off enough to get back to Crawford. Ethan could practically see the red smeared over Nate’s eyes as he shoved the man’s hands away, fogged body easily ignoring the nails slicing blood from his arms in their desperation to return to their proper target.

“NATE STOP.” Ethan finally just grabbed Nate’s face, forcing it toward him. 

Nate’s eyes stayed on Crawford, but he did slow, chest heaving and teeth barred like some kind of animal.

“..that’s enough-!”

Nate tried to shove off the words along with his hands. “He w-”

“I get to kill him. Me. Not you. Me.” 

Nate’s breath stuttered off its ragged rhythm, and his jaw set, lips pinched tight as a glare snapped to Ethan’s eyes at last. 

In a surrendering kind of huff, he shoved Ethan off of him again. This time Ethan let himself roll to the side, lying with shallow, echoing breath on the ground as Nate shoved out the workshop doors at a brisk walk, sticky hand leaving a smear of blood like claw marks over the edge of the door.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta  @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions-deactiva @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

[theviridianbunny]

THE NOMAD AND THE LONE WOLF - PART 1

Summary: Logan Howlett / mutant oc [klara -aka Volatile] ... A very slow burn between two mutants coming and going from the X-Mansion.

---

Klara's Pinterest board with vibes for her can be found here. she's been living rent-free in my head for years and I am finally starting to write her and logan's story!! Deadpool and Wolverine was maybe the reason my brain got kicked with love into starting this!!! Yayayay!!!

Divider art is an edit of a commission I got from my dear friend @redmedic - go check out his work !!

Read the first part of this fic under the cut or on AO3 - writing is hard !! But I'm trying my best and having fun!!

The world seemed to go quieter as Klara leaned against to bonnet of her land rover. The traffic past her seeming almost like a calming white noise . She knew laybys weren't really meant for cigarette breaks- but it wouldn't be long until she were back on the road again.

"Why is it this cold.. its only the autum..." - quietly complaining to nothing but thin air... She tugged her slate gray shawl over her sholders. Trying to cover her inked arms from the cold and bitter breeze. Her skinny fitted black tshirt was definitely the wrong choice for this weather.

It felt like it would surely rain soon. Rain and Klara did not mix - especially when she were wearing denim.

Her Gloved hand reached for the un lit - hand rolled cigarette - held on the back of her ear - she placed it between her lips and lit it with a lighter that had definitely seen much better days… she took took a long drag.

If she had any sense - she would just move and sit inside her land rover to smoke - to turn on the engine and warm herself agaisnt the dying heater that needed to be fixed.... but the nomadic mutant was stubborn. She didn't want the stench of her ciggerates to permiate into the fabric of the interior.

As the wind picked up and the heavens felt they were starting to open - Klara quickly gave up with having a proper smoke break - she stubbed her cigarette out on the worn sole of her leather boot and got herself into her car. Slipping off the shawl and replacing it with a dusty pink teddy fur jacket.

Turning the key - the engine of her land rover spluttered for a moment - before starting up.

" gotta get this rust bucket checked out before it dies on me..." she muttered to herself - making a mental note to look up a decent mechanic who wouldn't rip her off.. but that was a job for the coming week.

For now - she was just trying to get to the x mansion. A visit to one of her many homes was far long over due.

She pulled her grape purple hair into a top knot and apllied a little clear lipgloss. Smiling to herself in the wing mirror. She turned on the radio befpre finally Getting herself onto the road again - Maddona's like a prayer played quietly over the radio as she drove into

The mansion was only a few hours away.

[violetsiren90]

Blame Me: Chapter 1 | Jungkook/Reader

Pairing: artist!freespirit!Jungkook/noona!f!Reader

Genre: Best friend's younger brother; slow burn; friends to lovers; eventual romance; eventual smut; neighbors/childhood friends au; forbidden(ish) love; summer love.

Summary: Upon returning to your hometown after breaking off your engagement to your boyfriend of three years, you reconnect with your childhood bestfriend as you attempt to put the pieces of your life back togethe r. It seems like nothing has changed in the sleepy little town until your bestie's younger brother returns home from college - very, very grown. As the summer stretches on, the stakes get higher - can you play with fire without getting burned, or have you ignited a flame that won't be extinguished?

Chapter Warnings: All my fics are 18+ (minors, dni); allusions to an unhappy home environment/neglect; descriptive scenes of shared meals (the characters will eat together a lot in this fic, as it is part of a family dynamic); mentions of promiscuity made in jest; the accidentally-in-bed-together trope; brief panic attack symptoms; MC has some issues with guilt and feeling like a burden

Updates: When I can! Life has been crazy lately.

Author's note: This is so incredibly late in coming, and I really struggled with it for whatever reason (the initial inspo was there and then it just wasn't coming) but I am still excited to tell this story and thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to read it!

*Inspired by "Blame Me" by Monsta X 💕

In case no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️ 💜

Tag list: @papijiminfeed @oopscoop @violeata @fancycollectormoon @fandomtales @booboobutt @jlee97 @lifeless-firefly @lovemepie67 @shaybtsforever @woomyteez @smutbangtan @raiu54288

If you want to be added to the tag list, comment or send me an ask to let me know!

You watched the shiny white Tesla that had been your Uber grow smaller and smaller down the long shady stretch of Tiger Lily Lane. You stood on the sidewalk, behind you the warm asphalt of the road and long shadows of the tall, sprawling elms, and before you your childhood home. It was a little grey house with a blue door and white trim, kitchen windows like jovial eyes, curved at the top, staring out over a lawn overrun with crabgrass and lined with bushes of pale pink roses that grew flush with the unpainted picket fence. The porch swing was beginning to show signs of rust, but the two little hanging pots of azaleas that flanked it on either side were blooming and bright. The windows and flowers seemed to loudly stare out into the street,  assuring neighbors and passersby of a happy home, but you knew better. 

You shifted your duffel bag on your shoulder and sighed. You weren't ready to go in. The house into which your family had moved when you were in the third grade had never really been a home to you. In fact, it had been a place you had left. By choice. Granted you had paid the occasional visit, by choice. Because visits were temporary. This wasn't a visit - and the moment you walked through those doors, you would be shutting forever a chapter of your life in which, as stormy as it had been in recent days, had rescued you from the one before it.

An ugly feeling that had been brewing in the pit of your stomach since the pilot had announced that your plane was starting its decent was making itself well known as you stood outside the gate of house number 9195.

A voice snapped you out of your nauseated reverie, and as you turned to see its owner, new feelings washed over you. Better ones. In the lawn of 9197 Tiger Lily Lane stood a pretty, slim young woman with a sharply cut, silky black bob. Her catlike dark eyes were bright and intense, her face bare but lovely, and her clothes simple but strikingly presentable.

    "Y/n!" she called again, her arms extended with open palms in a gesture of embrace and inquisition.

    "Jiah!" you shouted, dropping your duffel with a thud and jogging into the ungated yard where she stood.

    No sooner were you within arm's reach than she pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you from side to side as she pressed out of you, along with all the air in your lungs, a muffled laugh. Suddenly grasping you by the shoulders, she jerked you back so she could look at you. You grabbed her arms to steady yourself, continuing to gasp out bursts of laughter as you protested.

"Jiah, hold on! Woah! I'm gonna fall!"

    "Who cares about that! I haven't seen you since...oh my god, since the summer we finished undergrad, I think? How are you? Are you going to be in town for a few days?"

You looked back over your shoulder to where two bulging suitcases stood beside your abandoned duffel, then back to Jiah's inquisitive gaze.

    "It's gonna be more than a few days, Ji."

    She squeezed your shoulder as she cocked her head to the side.

    "Wait, are you moving back?"

    You mustered a weary, uncertain smile.

    "Surprise!" you offered weakly. Her smile faded, lips drawing into a pensive purse.

    "You haven't even been in there yet, have you?" she asked gravely, her eyes searching yours, hand still on your shoulder. You shook your head, lowering your gaze groundward. She sighed.

    "Alright, c'mon," she said suddenly, marching toward your pile of luggage.

    She grabbed the duffel and tossed it at you, wheeling the other two bags up the driveway behind her.

    "You're coming with me for now. We have some catching up to do."

You didn't protest as you followed her over the threshold of the Jeon household for the first time in a long while.

    Linen. Every house has its very own unique scent - one that draws you into its aura, for good or ill, and wraps you in all of the memories and feelings it has afforded you; it can take you back to a moment in time, and who you were in that moment, unmistakable and fleeting - a smoke ring of a portal to a previous reality. Jiah's house smelled like linen. And lilacs? Something floral, but even more delicate.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as you stood just inside the door. The sick feeling in your stomach began to shrink. Every muscle in your body began to soften. You could hear the laughter of years ago. You could feel the bubbly schoolgirl giddiness of slumber parties under forts of sheets. Movie nights with cartons of takeout. Summer afternoons laying in the grass and tossing lazy wishes up at puffy white clouds. 

    "Y/n? Have you even been listening to me?"

You opened your eyes and blinked at Jiah, who was standing in front of you with two bottles of grapefruit IPA and a look of mild annoyance.

    "Sorry," you offered with a sheepish smile, slipping off your shoes, and traded the duffel in your right hand for one of the beers in answer to the question you had missed.

You followed her into the living room and plopped down next to her on a pretty white couch you didn't recognize, taking a long, wheaty swig from your bottle. She folded her legs up under herself and turned toward you, fixing you with earnest, expectant eyes. You raised an eyebrow quizzically.

    "Well, aren't you gonna tell me?" she pressed.

You smiled to yourself. Always so direct, Jeon Jiah. Even with half a decade stretching between this moment and the last you spent together, things were the very same. You were the Libra - the dramatic, messy one. The one with a heart full of dreams and a head in the clouds. She was the Capricorn with the strong sense of direction and the practical perspective. You always seemed to be in a quandary and she never failed to have a hard take on the situation. You sighed, taking another long sip of beer.

    "Have we really talked at all since freshman year of undergrad?" Jiah shook her head.

    While you had fought like hell to get out of Bellpond - even if it meant chasing your father's dreams of law school instead of your own - Jiah, who desperately wanted to join you in New York, had set aside her own longings to attend a local college while helping the family store survive the recession. Telling her the truth of what happened was going to be painful. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to transcend the assumption that what you were about to say would let her down.

    "It was a guy, wasn't it?"

You shot wide eyes up at her, mouth agape at her sudden interjection. 

"What?" she pressed with a shrug as she sipped her own beverage,

"That's always what it is with you."

    You blinked, trying to form some sort of protest while failing to find any evidence in memory to counter her claims. You settled for a rueful smile and a huff. 

    "I guess I always have had pretty terrible taste in men," you conceded.

    "Pretty terrible?" she pushed, her face pinching into a comically overt censoriousness. "It's like your number one turn-on is red flags!"

    "Hey!" you rebutted, launching yourself at her shoulder in a playful shove, and sloshing her beer in the process.

You froze in panic as she glanced down at her dampened cardigan, and then at you.

    "Oh, shit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

You jumped up and backed away, holding your hands outstretched in front of you as she stood up and slowly and menacingly advanced toward you. 

    "This is my favorite sweater," she hissed in a whisper.

    "Jiah, I didn't mean too, I'm sorry!" you whined, manic laughter punctuating your words as you backed around the coffee table.

    "It has lady bugs on the bottom," she hissed again, eyes narrowing as she raised the right hem to gesticulate at the embroidered insects in question.

    "And they're very cute," you placated, hands still raised in self defense. "Look, I said I was - Aaahh!!"

    She lunged at you mid-sentence, and you shrieked, tripping over your own feet in an attempt to flee and you toppled, one after the other, in a heap on the plush carpet. Before you could find out if your friend was in fact as strong as she had been in high school, the front door swung open and a familiar voice filled the room.

    "Jeon Jiah, get up off the floor and help your imo with all these damn groceries! I had to - AHHHH!"

    You looked up at the figure in the door as she let out a high-pitched squeal of delight. She was a petite bombshell of a woman in her early fifties, who, had you not known otherwise, you wouldn't have pegged for a day over forty. Bright and expertly executed makeup adorned her features - softer and rounder than Jiah's. Her permed dark hair was pulled up in a colorful bohemian wrap, and she wore compression pants, neon orange Nike's, and a crop top with a print of Joan Jett flipping the bird. She had dropped the bags of citrus and apples she had been carrying, sending the fruits rolling across the floor.

    "Aebeolle!" She shrieked, running forward, and bending down to pull you up by your armpits into a half-stand so she could crush you in a hug. 

    "Rosie!" You propped yourself up on your knees so that you could wrap your arms around the tiny woman's middle.

    Imo to her niece and nephew, she was Rosie to everyone else. While Jiah's mother had been the responsible one, staying out of trouble, and working in the family store after school, Rosie had been the wild child. Smart as a whip but with no patience for the system, Rosie had dropped out of high school at seventeen and jumped on a tour bus the following summer as the groupie of a grunge band. She hadn't looked back until Christmas Eve of 1999, when her whole world was shattered by a phone call.

She had taken the next flight back to the hometown she had promised to never set foot in again so that by Christmas morning she could have her niece and nephew in wrapped her arms. She left behind her life in the fast lane to take over running the Jeon's store and raise her sister's kids in their family home. 

She had been there for you, too. On those nights you climbed out of your window, a backpack slung over your shoulder stuffed with clothes and a toothbrush, to tap softly on their front door. On the following mornings she had filled your stomach with warm, hearty dakjuk and fluffy slices of milk bread, and let you watch cartoons as she worked out the knots clinging to your neglected hair. She offered the warmest hugs, the softest words of direction, and the loudest cheers of praise. She had always called you "aebeolle" which was Korean for "caterpillar", and she had always given you the nurture you needed to survive. If she hadn't, you weren't sure where you would have come by it.

    "What are you doing here? You finally paying us a visit?" she asked, clapping her hands to your cheeks.

    "She was about to tell me about how some guy wrecked her life. Again."

Jiah interjected, earning herself a smack on the shoulder.

    "Jiah, you brat!" Rosie chided, as she helped you to your feet.

She glanced up at you through fake lashes.

"You really do have the worst taste in men, though."

    You sighed in defeat.

    "Ugh, you two," you blustered, "Where is Jungkook when I need backup?"

    "Headed this way, for the summer, actually," Rosie remarked as she collected the fruit strewn across the floor.

    "So he decided to slum it, huh?" Jiah huffed, "I thought he was going to Ontario, or wherever the heck that last girl he met at that festival was from."

    Rosie shrugged, shaking her head with a smile.

    "I've lost track," she chuckled.

    You blinked.

    "Wait, wait, wait...are we talking about the same person?" You asked, holding a hand up in disbelief. "Jungkook. Your little brother. Tiny. Shy as hell. Looks like the weight of his head is gonna topple him over. Bunny rabbit teeth....is a lady's man?"

    "Well, not strictly," Rosie hummed, hoisting a bag of produce onto the counter. "His sophomore year in Paris there was that one guy...what was his name?"

    "Taehyung," Jiah offered, shedding her sweater and draining her beer.

    "Right, right," Rosie nodded. "I liked him. Too bad."

    Your mouth hung open. Jiah wrinkled her nose.

    "You're gonna catch flies that way," she remarked sardonically. 

    "I...I just cannot believe what I'm hearing. Jungkook. In my mind he will forever be the tiny gremlin I have to keep bailing out of trouble."

    Rosie smiled. Jiah scoffed.

    "Well, he's still a gremlin, if you ask me," she sniffed, chucking the beer bottles in the recycling bin.

    "When does he get back?" You asked.

Rosie shook her head as she divided the groceries between the cupboards and the fridge.

    "He's on his bike so, barring any unexpected stops - which are definitely not out of the picture - he should be here in the next couple of days. Probably by the weekend."

    You nodded, still trying to wrap your head around the newly acquired image of you and Jiah's childhood tag-a-long. Rosie approached you with a picture pulled up on her phone.

    "Look at him," she said with a smile, sliding the device into your hand.

    You blinked at the picture on the screen. There he stood - much taller than you remembered - a girl under each arm, filling out a pair of ripped jeans, a black tank, and an ascot. A fringe brushed the tops of his eyes, while the top half of his dark waves were bound back in a little bun. His right arm was covered in tattoos. He was grinning from ear to ear, with that same toothy smile you had committed to memory.

   "That's just crazy," you murmured, shaking your head, before handing Rosie's phone back to her. 

    "He's going to be thrilled to see you. I think he has a lot of happy memories from when you three were kids just banging around town together," Rosie remarked as she continued to sort the groceries.

    You smiled to yourself. You certainly did. You glanced at your bags by the door.

    "I guess I should get going," you murmured without conviction.

    "Not yet, not until I've fed you," Rosie responded, not skipping a beat as she began to pile the ingredients for bibimbap on the kitchen island.

You smiled to yourself. Rosie to the rescue, as always.

    "Okay, if you're gonna twist my arm," you sighed dramatically as you pulled up a stool on the other side of the kitchen island, followed by Jiah who grabbed the carrots and a peeler.

    You reached for a huge zucchini squash and knife. Jiah shot you some side-eye.

    "You're not getting out of telling us about the big debacle, you know. Time to 'fess up."

    "Yep, spill," Rosie concurred as she prepped the rice cooker.

    You heaved another sigh. Might as well get it over with, you thought. But for some reason, the words stuck in your throat, unable to come out. You looked at your hands, shaking as they tried to steady the knife over the squash. You couldn't do this. Not right now. Not yet.

    You let the knife clatter to the cutting board and scrubbed your hands over your face. 

    "Y/n?" Jiah asked, leaning over to look at you, "Are you okay?"

    You drew your hands from your face and looked up at her with tired eyes. She and Rosie had traded their teasing glances for expressions of concern. You gripped the edge of the counter to stop your stupid hands from trembling.

    "It's really not a fun story, you guys," you said slowly, trying your best to sound casual, "You're not missing out."

    Rosie reached over the kitchen island to clasp your hands.

    "No worries, aebeolle. We can talk about it some other time. For now, just stick to slicing up this zucchini and forget about that other one!"

    She shot you a wink as she cracked open a tupperware of marinated beef.

    "Imo! My god!" Jiah protested with a grimace as you and Rosie burst into a fit of giggles.

    It was all laughter and shots of soju and teasing Jiah about being a prude until you were gathered around the table with steaming bowls of goodness in front of you. Rosie closed her eyes and threw up rock-on signs with both hands.

    "May Stevie Nicks bless this food," she murmured before snapping up her chopsticks to snag a mandu and pop it into her mouth.

    You took a heaping bite of bibimbap, your whole body relaxing as the flavors and warmth returned you to a simpler time. Another wave of nostalgia washed over you as images of three little hungry kids fighting over the last piece of fried chicken replaced the scene before you. Your eyes wandered to the empty chair beside Rosie. There was a missing piece in the picture of comfort you had always found in the Jeon residence - a missing piece in the shape of round head bearing a pair of giant doe eyes that would light up when he'd win and water-up when he'd lose, and little short legs that ran faster than the longer ones, and a bright smile that was all innocence and central incisors.

You smiled fondly as long-dormant memories continued to appear like little spring flowers of the mind. Jungkook had perfectly completed your little trio, because though Jiah was your best friend, you and he had always understood each other in a way that came so easily. You didn't mind that everything brought him to tears, or that he invested himself so earnestly in even the smallest of his joys. You also didn't find it annoying that he wanted to tag along with the big kids, or that he hated being called a baby despite practically demanding to be treated as one. You knew in a way Jiah would only later realize that he was caught between wanting to grow up too quickly and not at all. It was the same battle between longings that waged war in your own heart, along with so many others who in some way had to raise themselves.

    "How's the oi muchim?" Rosie's question roused you from your reverie.

    "Amazing, like everything," you answered, waving your chopsticks over the spread of banchan.

    "I made it a little spicier this time," the older woman said, sampling the cucumbers again herself. "Trying to get these staples just right before the new place opens."

    "New place? Another store?" You asked, helping yourself to more sukju namul. 

    Rosie's eyes shone, a proud smile tugging at her lips as she gave her answer.

    "A restaurant, actually."

    Your jaw dropped.

    "You're finally doing it!?"

    Rosie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, nodding at her niece.

    "It's all Jiah's doing. She's taking care of all the logistics, I'm just figuring out the menu."

    "Well, if you need help, I'm in between gigs at the moment," you added eagerly.

    Rosie clapped her hands and wiggled in her chair.

    "We would love the help! We've only just started hiring some staff. So far there's one person to wait tables and someone running the kitchen."

    Jiah let out a huff. You quirked an eyebrow in her direction, and she appraised you with a look of wistful discouragement.

    "Too bad you can't cook, or I'd boot him out tomorrow."

    "Who?"

    "The chef," she sneered.

    "Speaking of, Jiah-ie," Rosie remarked over the food in her cheek, "How is Seokjin doing these days?"

The older woman chewed back a poorly concealed smirk as she glanced up at her niece, whose lips curled scornfully.

    "One day, I'll kill him, I swear," she grumbled, shoveling rice into her mouth as if she was punishing it with every bite.

You glanced over at your friend, then at Rosie, who wiggled her eyebrows as she took a sip from her glass.

    "Seokjin...not Kim Seokjin?" you asked. 

    "Yeeeeep," Jiah affirmed bitterly.

    "He's a cook?"

    Rosie nodded.

    "And darn good at it. The only thing he's better at is pissing off this one right here," she remarked with a smirk as she gestured toward her glowering niece.

  You smiled to yourself as Jiah started off on what would likely be a lengthy rant at the young man's expense. Seokjin, or Jin, as he was more commonly known, had attended the same small high school as you and Jiah. In a body of four-hundred students, everyone had played a well-known role - and while she had been the straight-laced valedictorian, he was the class clown. Natural enemies who found the other beyond comprehension, the bulk of the ire had always been on Jiah's side, while Jin had seemed to find her as amusing as he did inexplicable. The concept of the two of them attempting to run a business together was the stuff of sitcoms.

His ongoing feud with Jiah notwithstanding, it didn't really surprise you that he had tucked himself into the Jeons' life. His father owned most of the agricultural land in the surrounding area, and with his older brother having been slated since birth to take over the family empire, Jin had enjoyed a freedom of direction that found him often seeking out the phenomenon of being needed...and people always needed a laugh. But laughter is momentary, and Rosie, having the heart for strays that she did, always provided something more permanent.

    "So now we're probably going to have to keep Jungkook at the store, because you know how they get when they're together," Jiah tiraded on.

    "They don't get along anymore?" you asked, a bit crestfallen at the thought. 

    "The opposite," Rosie chuckled, "You put them in the same room and those dorks turn into a couple of puppies. They broke the back screen door roughhousing last Chuseok. Plowed right through it."

    You snickered at the thought.

    "But Jungkook is darn well gonna contribute while he's here," your friend asserted as she stood to clear the table, still on her agenda about the restaurant launch, "Not just cruise around finding pretty people to sketch between make-out sessions."

    Rosie waved a hand dismissively.

    "He's always willing to pitch in. But it's summer, and he's young, so don't you go all drill sergeant on him." 

     Jiah scoffed.

    "Sure, it's summer, but there's a lot to get done between now and opening, and -"

    "AND," Rosie interrupted, "I expect you to have some fun as well, young lady! Especially now that Y/n is back. You two better do a decent amount of carousing."

    "Carousing?" Jiah asked with a grimace, directing horrified eyes in your direction.

    You let out another laugh.

    "She's got a point, Rosie. I don't think anyone has caroused in quite some time."

    Rosie rolled her eyes, crossing to the sink and running the tap.

    "Well," she rejoined, undeterred, "Whatever it is they're calling it these days, you two better be doing plenty of it! Give your imo some fun to live through vicariously, why don't you?"

    Jiah shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

    "And, you," she said, pointing a sudsy wooden spoon in your direction, "Should just stay here for the night. Take Jungkook's room. Then you can rest and be ready for...you know. Tomorrow."

    You accepted the invitation with very little hesitation. It was a relief, and Rosie knew. She had always known. You shot a text to excuse your absence that you doubted was actually necessary and lugged your things down the hall and into the last bedroom on the left.

    The rest of the night was spent stuffed onto the little couch with bowls of ice cream while the three of you shrieked and slapped each other's arms and kick your feet watching reruns of The Golden Girls. It was nearly midnight by the time you slipped under the sheets of the full-sized mattress in the smallest bedroom.

    Though your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, you couldn't help but glance around at the walls and shelves, filled with scented candles, and action figures, Polaroids, and an incredible number of charcoal and graphite sketches. There were drawings of buildings, trees, cars, and people. And though there was little variation in color, the vitality and emotion that sparked along each line drew you from piece to piece. Your eyes drifted over a particular drawing - a girl's lower face - the tip of a nose, lips slightly parted, and her chin tilting upward. It might have been the delirium of your tired mind, but something about it seemed familiar. You stretched for a recollection just out of reach as you slipped past memory and into slumber.

    Weight. The first thing you registered as your mind began to again become aware of its physical trappings was a heaviness. At first your hazy consciousness likened it to blankets, then to the heaviness of a sleep without dreams...safety...security...

    And then something brushed the skin of your stomach under your shirt, drawing a hum out of you as your eyes fluttered open, and what they saw had you frozen in place. An arm. A large, muscular arm covered in dark ink was snaked around your waist, hand slipped under the hem of your sleep tee.

    Fight or flight mode suddenly triggered, you snapped up and pushed yourself away from the body attached to the limb, letting out a shout as you kicked your legs, and only catching a glimpse of dark hair and grey sweatpants as the intruder rolled off the bed and hit the carpet with a loud thud. You jumped off the other side of the bed before you could think, tangling your legs in sheets that brought you tumbling down onto your ass. Before you could thrash free of the bedding, a groaning figure peered with large, dark eyes from the other side of the bed. Dark, wild waves framing his sleepy head like a halo, and wide, round eyes still bleary with sleep, the young man passed tattooed hand over his mouth to wipe the remnants of drool away as he blinked at you from across the room.

    "J...Jungkook?!" you choked out in surprise and confusion, struggling to your feet.

    "You kicked me..." he groaned, his features taking on an injured look as he stooped to rub his thigh.

    "Why...when..."

    "Imo told me to wake you up for breakfast," he pouted.

You scrubbed your hands over your eyes. Same damn baby-faced expression. Huge, bulky man. With tattoos...and a lip ring? This Pokémon had leveled up. Maybe twice. And that was all your brain could register as your heart rate descended from two hundred beats per minute and the heavy fog of an interrupted sleep cycle began to dissipate. You tossed the sheet back onto the bed, and as your eyes flicked back to his face you noticed his had dropped a little lower. Registering with horror that you were in a thin cotton nightshirt with nothing underneath, you snatched up the sheet again, clutching it to your chest. What the fuck was happening?

    "Rosie told you to wake me up, so you decided to spoon me?" You asked incredulously as your embarrassment quickly morphed into agitation.

    Jungkook's eyes widened as they flew up to yours, seemingly caught off guard by the edge in your tone.

    "No, noona...it wasn't like that!" he said, standing to his full height, his brow creasing defensively.

    He was pretty fucking tall. His white tee and grey sweats did little to hide the fact that he was also pretty fucking big. Exasperated by these unbidden acknowledgements that had your brain buffering, you snapped a little again.

    "Then what was it like? You had your hand up my shirt, Kook!" 

    Your voice had unintentionally softened at his nickname, and he caught it, biting back a grin as you hugged the sheet over you just a little more snugly. 

    "It was kind of your fault, noona," he smirked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

    You shot him a quizzical and unamused look.

    "I came in here to wake you up and you pulled me into bed. You kept calling me someone else's name...and..." he giggled, "'Baby', and you kept insisting we sleep for just five more minutes."

    You gaped at him in horror.

     "You pulled my arm over you," he continued, now a bit smugly, "And I had literally just woken up, so...being so comfy...well, I guess I fell back to sleep with you."

    You could feel the heat in your face. You had a history of pretty intense sleep talking, but you hadn't experienced it to that extent in years. You considered that you must have slept deeply as you stammered your apology.

    "Oh my god, Jungkook...I'm so sorry - that's horrifying - I didn't mean to..." 

    The younger man just laughed in response, breaking into his signature luminous smile. His eyes glimmered.

    "Didn't mean to steal my bed, demand cuddles, and then beat the heck out of me?"

    You let out a sigh.

    "Sorry."

He nodded, a little smile still tugging at his lips.

    "I accept your apology for the bruises...but not the cuddles. Those were nice."

    He threw a wink over his shoulder as he headed for the door, and you tossed a pillow and a string of expletives after him as he jogged, giggling, toward the kitchen. Still flustered and a bit thrown, you changed into real clothes before joining the others in the breakfast table. Rosie was placing mayak eggs alongside the piles of bacon and pancakes as you pulled out a chair next to Jiah.

    "You slept well! You must have been exhausted," Rosie remarked, handing you a mug of coffee.

    "Yeah, must have," Jungkook quipped with a smirk as he snagged three strips of bacon.

    You shot him a warning look as you stabbed demonstratively into a stack of pancakes, but his grin only deepened.

    "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until the weekend," you addressed him coolly.

    "Mm," he took a sip of orange juice. "I actually wasn't really supposed to be back until next week. I expected to head north to see a friend but she ended up being out of town, so I just came straight back."

    "A friend, huh?" Jiah crooned patronizingly, as she twirled a fork in his direction.

    Her brother nodded.

    "The same one you were talking to on the phone very loudly when you came in last night?"          

Jungkook scrunched his nose, sticking out the tip of his tongue in her direction.

    "Wow," she drawled, "How very adult of you. And for the record, friends don't call each other 'baby'."

    Jungkook snickered, glancing at you again before he mumbled, "Some friends do..."

    "So, Jiah - " you practically shouted, as you turned toward her in a desperate bid to change the topic of conversation, "You gonna show me the new place today, or what?"

    "The restaurant? If you let her drag you out there, she'll put you to work and you'll never be seen again," Jungkook hummed over an entire egg that he had pocketed in his cheek, casting teasing eyes up at his sister, who smiled back wickedly.

    "You know, Kookie, it's just so good to have you home! We needed someone who puts in those gym hours to do a bit of the heavy lifting." 

    Jungkook flashed another smile, puffing his chest and massaging his pectorals as Jiah feigned a gag.

    You chuckled, and Jungkook grinned as he tucked into his pancakes.

    Watching the two of them bicker and catch up, you realized that things felt a bit more whole again - familiar, if different. You considered that maybe the three of you could all fall back into stride. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

    After breakfast you gathered your things to head next door. You tried to slip out quietly, to avoid Rosie stalling you any further, but Jungkook caught you as he was coming around from the garage, an oil towel in his grease-stained hands.

    "You leaving?" he asked with a tinge of disappointment.

    "I can't over-stay my welcome," you shrugged, smiling wryly.

    His face took on a serious expression.

    "You know you're always welcome here, yeah? It's good to have you back," he pressed earnestly.

    You nodded, touched because you knew he meant it and that the other two members of his family shared the same sentiment. Jungkook wiped his hands on the towel casting a look over at the house next door. 

    "You staying there?"

    You nodded. His brow creased and the corners of his mouth turned down.

    "Okay. You can come here whenever."

    "I know," you said softly.

    His eyes looked worried and uncertain. You dropped your bag and pulled him into a hug. 

    "It's so good to see you again, Jungkook-ah," you murmured, dropping your head against his chest.

    His arms squeezed around you in return. He had always preferred to talk with his body instead of his words. Every playful punch, or little shove, or squeeze of his hand carried a message. This one meant it was good to see you too.

    As you waved goodbye you counted the Jeons' welcome among your blessings - not everything you had left behind would be so welcome to recall. But, life hadn't left you with many choices. So you began the long walk to the house next door.

-End Chapter 1-

[jess-themess05]

Favorite fics?

oh geez. i’m gonna try keep it sweet and simple less i go on and make it unbearable to read. also these summaries are gonna be terrible but i think all of these are gonna be fnaf sun and moon fics i’m SORRY ITS IN MY HEAD BUT ANYWAYS- SHORT N SWEET LES GO

A Dose of Sunshine and Starlight - @give-me-your-monsters a slow burn w/ lots of angst and bittersweet-ness aww but you are all mentally ill.

Bug Love - @theohnocorral the boys are now bug-ified gods and take a liking to a mortal who probably apologies to inanimate objects

Universal Jesters - @lovelymoonmagic you accidentally become the handler to pair of bots with memory loss and mystery trauma

it was, in reality, not fine - @bones-of-a-rabbit you, the reader, have the self preservation skills as a bowl of soup. also oblivious to love hehe

Late Night to Early Morning - Loyal_Backstabber reader meets neglected robot clowns and vows to risk their life for them

Solar Lunacy - @bamsara its- ITS SOLAR LUNACY. anyways you meet certified murder robots and say i can fix em, they’re gonna fix u too.

copper cogs rusted through - @paper-lilypie “oh what’s this, one of these jesters tried killing me? eh it’s fine” then you fall in love

Rotating Shifts - LightningTriceratops protag mistakes sun for unconscious, jaundice ridden man and realizes he’s a robot with a not dead brother and separation anxiety

basically ANYTHINGGG by @naffeclipse , but the first story i ever read from them was In Deep Dreams Between the Waves very different fro, eclipse in sleuth jesters cause he’s actually decent. (also poor vanessa girl don’t get a break)

Clowning Around - EngageSage you overcome your anxiety to protect a poor jester, and are fueled by spite to fuck up moon man for being a certified bitch

Celestial hearts in a purple mind - @kabra-malvada *finds ominous object* *touches it* *is shocked to find they are possessed*

Twin Animatronics With Too Much Time on Their Hands - @twinanimatronics & @dana-chan-the-control-brain you fall in love and fight the temptation to resurrect a dead dude and kill him again

The Night Shift - @certified-handler oopsie you now work with a needy jester who sweeps you off your feet, even more oopsie he turns into a psychopath when the lights go out and triple oopsie you fall in love with HIM too

Star Crossed Souls - @faz-friendly-light-up-shoes reader said “god give me a sign i’ll find love.” gets the sign, and ignores it

404: Personal Space Not Found - CrazedAuthor anxiety filled individual thinks they will be fixed by a child supervisor, gets surprised by his stab happy twin

Celestial Syzygy - @echoingkarma you’re like the jack of all trades, including befriending animatronics who may or may not hate you (and want to maim you) you are probably underpaid.

My Neighbor Mr. Roboto - @kagedbird oh what’s this? you think moving into your new apartment will be simple and boring? WRONG there’s a robot in your closet. and everywhere- why are there so many-

Apology Flowers and Blooming Hours - @daunsun you’d think sentient flowers would have no angsty backstory huh? well actually...

Our Orbit is Elliptical - @sycopomp like your intrusive thoughts came to life, and you choose to ignore them

Lost and Found - SmolShampoo technology is so cool right guys? you got ai, and that ai can get traumatized! how cool??

Stare at the Abyss; It Might Look Back - @characcoon reader becomes a human punching bag and finds new rusty robot roommates. once they escape a deteriorating child’s play place they walked into

Ventura Highway - @madamemiz says “hey is anyone gonna take this robot?” and doesn’t wait for an answer.

Repaired Unstable - @blonde-fraumell you decide to work alongside your childhood friend! oh how non threatening he was- hey why’s this man TEN FEET TALL. and why’s this other man so kickable.

also, obligatory mer may fics! even though it’s no longer may these are still being updated :D

Luminescent Charm - @finfiprince reader finds the fishy dudes they saved as a kid in a cage, continues to spite god until they can save them

Celestial Omens (that really like Fishsticks) - @bamsara (again yes) you save two scared bastard fish and feed them in your bathroom, a decade later they see u and go “well they gave us fishsticks no drowning for them”

The Sea Jesters are Real Science - MatosaurusRex & sixty_nine13 your idol hires you to take care of real life mer! wow! unfortunately being their therapist wasn’t in the contract

Pisces Caelestis - S_V i’m a little scared of reader. they got attacked by a mer and passed out for 3 days and said “yeah lmao i’ll be fine” nO YOU WONT-

[sugolara]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

previous || series m.list || next

She wanted to die or at least inflict pain on others. Being raised by a father who considered feelings were weak caused her to not know how to even deal with her emotions. That's part of the reason why Hitoshi had to set boundaries, even going as far as to break the friendship if she continued, though she didn’t blame him as she understood his reasoning. 

She knew she could not continue staring at Hanta’s room wall, dreaming of things she couldn’t have, treasuring their final days, their last memories until the day came where she forgets his face. 

She had to get up, put the past behind her and realize that other people are suffering, far worse than she probably is. 

That’s why she’s outside Sorston, a pistol with a silencer in her hand as she was in a neighborhood just a little away from the community. She desperately wanted to go back to the area where Hanta’s body was rotting, but she knew she’d break down when she saw that the rotters left nothing of him but dried blood on the dirt.

Her rage only grew at the thought and she decided to take it out on the rotter who was stuck underneath a car. She used the red vehicle to hold her while she stomped on the rotter's skull, each stomp getting harsher and its blood gushing everywhere. She sneered at how disgusting the sight was, but that didn’t stop her. 

A rotter a few steps behind her caught her attention as she quickly aimed her silenced pistol, the bullet quickly penetrating  between its eyes. She glared as it fell while her bloody shoe smeared the clumps of blood onto the pavement. 

A bit of sweat was beginning to build up as she looked up to the cloudy sky. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out here as time seemed to go by fast and she didn’t have a watch. She had forgotten that Izuku would be coming home sometime today and Katsuki would arrive tomorrow. When they did, the funeral for Shota, Toshinori and Hanta would commence and she dreaded it. 

Who was she even saying goodbye to? An empty grave? 

She let out a scoff, storming off to a burned house nearby. She could hear the wood groan underneath her feet as she stepped on the porch. The door as well as the side wall had been torn off. She waved her hand to let the dust particles from catching on her nose when she entered. 

Apart from the walls, floors, and furniture being covered in ash, the building seemed like it was once a beautiful home. She ignored the burned dead that quietly let out a hoarse moan, being trapped underneath furniture as she made her way to the back where it was only slightly burned. 

Entering a room with a bed, TV, drawer, closet and a bathroom, she rummaged through anything that could hide valuable stuff. She threw some clothes away as she checked the walk-in closet and checked the drawers inside. 

She moved to the bathroom, opening the sinks cabinet luckily finding painkillers. She figured they must be decent since the bottle was hidden behind the mirror despite being opened. She placed it in her bag, deciding to bring it to Yawara so he could determine whether it was in good condition.

She then grabbed the remaining pills and zipped her bag up. She sniffled as she placed the bag on her back, “..I’m tired.”

She exited through the side wall that had been broken and walked further down the street. With the thanks of the map in her pocket, she remembered when Shota had reminded her of Tomura’s own community.

Of course she wouldn’t dare to enter it, though curiosity peaked her mind as she wanted to scope the place and maybe find the opening that the older male had mentioned. Maybe then she would storm the place some other time, only by herself and possibly rescue Shoto.

Speaking of him, she seriously hoped he was alive and well.

The walkie-talkie on her hip turned on, a static was heard first before she could faintly hear Izuku’s voice, “F/n? Are you there?”

She had forgotten Momo had given it to her before her departure. She wanted to ignore it, but she could hear the male's voice being frantic and she did not want to worry him any further, “Yeah, I’m here.”

She scratched her cheek and sniffled, waiting by a trash filled dumpster for him to speak. “Where are you? You need to come back.”

“I can’t do that right now.” She scratched her eyebrow, “I’m busy.”

It was quiet for a moment and she thought he had given up, but as she put the radio back on her hip the static once returned. “..Please don’t tell me you're leaving.”

Her eye twitched and she wondered where he even got that idea. She took a deep breath, “...What are you on about?”

It was quiet for a short moment, until a cut off sigh was heard, his tone being laced in worried, “...I feel like you’re trying to leave me. I haven’t been here for a day so I don’t know what  you're thinking about  and when I try to talk to you only shut me out. I can’t help but worry about you when you haven’t been acting like yourself lately.

“Seeing you in such a state that I’ve never seen is frightening. We’ve all lost someone important, and…losing you is something I don’t need. Not now, not tomorrow, not any day. So please, just come home.” 

With his last comment, she swallowed a gulp and lifted the radio to her lips. She hesitated, a bead of sweat rolling off her as she finally spoke, “...Okay, I’m coming.”

“Thank you, F/n.” She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. His voice filled her heart with sorrow. Maybe she should think before speaking so she doesn’t have to hear his worries for her. She should also be less hostile considering he did lose both of his teachers and had to witness such a gruesome sight. 

She took a glance at the dumpster beside her. Nothing but crumpled up papers, empty water bottle, ripped up products and lastly a final touch of ash covering parts of it. The street she stood on seemed to be burned down. Someone either messed up on trying to get rid of the rotters that lingered or possibly a maniac thought it’d be a good idea to let their inner arsonists out. 

She rolled her shoulders as they ached and continued down the street where she would soon see the walls of Sorston. From where she stood she could faintly see the rusty walls, but only barely as the trees helped to cover it up. 

Despite seeing a few rotters slowly coming at her, she glanced at them while continuing her way with her pistol at her side. She thought back to when Izuku had mentioned that the dead seemed to be slow and docile when they haven’t eaten in days. 

To her that meant a good sign as no human was near, meaning there was no threat. But a part of her was itching to let her anger out on someone who could fight back. A thrill of adrenaline coursing through her. 

Seeing a man on the watchtower, he signaled those below where they opened the gate to where only she could fit. She closed it behind her, giving them a nod to acknowledge them and soon pursued her way to her shared home where Izuku would be. 

She had been out since morning, idling around the neighborhood so she wasn't extremely dirty, as only her shoes and the end of her jeans were splattered in blood and covered in grime. 

She stepped up on the porch, ignoring the floorboards creaking and let out a low sigh before she entered the home. It would have been quiet if it weren’t for Izuku mumbling as his pencil grazed the notebook on his lap. 

A small smile appeared on her lips. Before she made her way to him she dropped her bag and took her jacket as well as shoes off. He still hadn’t noticed she was there, even when she sat down next to him as he appeared to be fixated on writing. 

It reminded her of when they traveled together. If she wasn’t talking to him, he would be stuck in his notebook and she didn’t blame him as she was a boring person. She hasn’t seen him like this for so long considering their minds had been too busy staying alive. 

She looked around the living room, a feeling of content yet shy embracing her, “I’m home, Izuku.”

His pencil stopped moving as he looked her way and without haste, he dropped everything to hug her, ignoring the way she jolted when he snaked his arms around her neck and let out a sigh of relief. 

She could feel him slightly shaking so she wrapped her arms around his waist and let him ball his eyes out while she comfortably patted his back. Her brows twitched and her eyes wanted to squint but she had to maintain her composure. She’s supposed to be strong, ain't she?

“It’s okay to cry.” He softly said as he sniffled and that made her jaw clenched as she let her head fall on his shoulders, her own grip tightening around him as she tightly closed her eyes all the while he dug his face in her neck. 

Everything felt so right.

He wanted to hold her forever, so when he felt her shift he hugged her tightly as to not let her leave, his beautiful forest eyes staring at the view in front. His brows furrowed as the collected tears from his lids dripped, staining the girls cloth shoulders. 

He sniffled as he felt the girl's grip tighten on him and he swore he could feel her heart beating at an unbelievable pace. His neck had shivered as he felt her move her lips and he would have been in a blushy state, but he was caught off guard as his pupils dilated to her soft voice.

“..I love you.”

He blinked, then blinked again and again, wondering if he heard her wrong until he pulled away, his large eyes staring at hers, “..What did you say?”

“I-” Suddenly she felt timid, her eyes looking at him. 

Why the hell did she even say that? She didn’t actually love him, right? Her heart running, having her eyes on him, and feeling like she was always on air when he was around meant nothing. She just liked having him around her because he brought out the good in people.

“F/n..?” He noticed her tense figure and carefully held her hands. As much as he wanted to jump in joy, he needed her to say it again so he knows where he stands, where they both stand. It’s not everyday where he actually gets the girl he wants and not to mention them making the first move. 

She let out an awkward airy chuckle as her brows furrowed. It’s not like they haven’t spent months together, both growing closer to each other. She’d admit that she did like it when her stomach would do flips when he was around, though she blamed it that she only liked him as a friend. 

She wanted to say that she only said it in the heat of the moment and she didn’t know how else to help him. Letting it out did feel good, but considering he was the first person she ever liked—romantic wise—made her feel insufferable.

Maybe she only said it because Hanta’s no longer with her and she’s using Izuku as a placeholder. 

He squeezed her hand again and tilted his head to grab her attention, “Please, say something.”

Well it was now or never, right?

“I-I,” She cursed herself for stuttering. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, wondering what her father would say to her mother, but she remembered just how terrible his love was. She had to be better and she had to take the lead. 

She took in a deep breath, grasping his hand in hers. Her brows narrowed as she made eye contact, ignoring the fact her heart was going at an incredible speed, “Since I first met you, I didn’t think I would harbor these feelings that I have when I’m with you and let myself drown in it. I want to cherish it forever, hold it in my heart and let it fill me up until I can’t breathe and I can only think about you. To have myself lost in your gaze is something I want to do everyday, it makes me want to spend the rest of my life with you. Only you and me.

“You are an addiction that I want everyday.” She leaned in closer, her right thumb reaching to wipe Izuku’s glossy eye, “I have never felt like this for anyone. So if you could, please let me have your heart.”

He leaned into her hand, his lips opening to let out his soft voice, “You already do.”

With that, she closed the gap, letting her lips fall on his. She soon closed her eyes and had both of her hands holding the sides of his face as his eyes widened but then closed, following her movements. He held her wrists, wanting her to slow down the rush kiss and she obliged. 

She half opened her eyes to see Izuku’s reddened face. He looked at peace even with his eyes tightly closed. She felt happy, incredibly happy. Despite all she's lost, she still had Izuku. 

Izuku; the one who it will always be. 

[grimmweepers]

𝐁𝐘𝐅/𝐃𝐍𝐈

✦ i’m sfw and n.sfw but i'd just prefer if everyone was 18+. i’ll block you if you have no age indication, or if you’re minor who has interacted with any of my posts. minors do not follow me

✦ just be a decent human being. dni if you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic, a gatekeeper, a blank blog, hater, you kinkshame, anti-ageing up, pro-israel etc

✦ i will not engage in discourse or drama. i come on here to be delusional about 2d ppl and have fun so let’s not ruin people’s spaces

✦ i’m a self-shipper and i also create ocs with extensive lore. if you get bothered by that, bye!

✦ i might not write dark content but this blog is dc-friendly and i’ll tag accordingly

✦ i will not be taking requests. chats, thirsts and casual suggestions are welcomed tho! i’m just trying to avoid burn out.

✦ i’m slow with responses.

✦ i also only write for myself and as a hobby. if you don’t like how i write or characterise, i promise it doesn’t take that much effort to ignore me.

✦ introverted as i am, please don’t ask to be mutuals. it feels awkward and forceful. also mutuals, if you want to break the mutual, please hardblock me bc i will most likely think its a glitch and i don't want to cross any boundaries

✦ and please don’t ask when i will be posting something next. inspiration comes and goes and this question will put unnecessary pressure on me

✦ topics i will not interact with: cheating/infidelity, anal, heavy gore, spiders, mc replacement, one sided love, heavy angst, sebaciel

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

[levieske]

(𝟑) 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐞

In which Yuji Itadori accidentally spoils Hana Akiwara’s plans by ingesting Sukuna’s finger, and Satoru Gojo is constantly humbled as a result.

satoru gojo x ofc x suguru geto

[ canon divergence, fix-it au, everybody lives, no kenjaku, no shibuya incident, jjk s1, slow-burn, aged-up characters, age gap, questionable relationships, mentor-student relationships, unresolved sexual tension, more mature and graphic in future chapters, crack heavy for now, tvd references if you squint ]

previous - ao3 link - masterlist - next

After lounging at home and ruminating on her nagging thoughts for some hours, her day unfolded in its typical rhythm. The black-haired curse user got ready for her shift, quickly redoing her signature braid and grabbing her tote bag. After completing her usual ritual before work, she approached the door, her hand hesitating on the cold metal of the handle. She scanned her organized room and her gaze fixated on a particular floorboard slightly askew. With practiced ease, she pried it open to reveal the object of her recent dread: the finger.

Her anxiety remained a constant companion throughout the afternoon. Hana's intuition screamed that Gojo's sudden departure was more than it seemed, but she couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why. As a precaution, she fashioned the finger into a makeshift amulet, tucking it under her shirt. She arrived swiftly to the coffee shop and the hours slipped away as she took orders and handed baked goods. Her worries were dulled by the constant buzz of the machines and chatter of the customers’, something she was thankful for.

As the sun began to set, Hana continued pushing her thoughts in the backburner, trying to focus solely on completing her tasks until her shift ended. She didn’t want to dwell in any of it and she had been able to do a pretty decent job at it, scrubbing the L-shaped counter, until a wave of strong cursed energy hit her. The recognizable aura made her stop her movements. She heard the chime of the closing café door and footsteps approaching her. Akiwara didn’t need to turn around to know who that was.

“Great.” Her voice was filled with sarcasm, trying to hide the waver in her voice. Her heart pounded, in a rhythmic panic. “You missed me that much?” 

Akiwara tossed the rag in the sink and finally turned around. Gojo stood there, wearing the school’s characteristic navy blue uniform, just like earlier that day. He seemed deep in thought as he inspected the pastries displayed. One lonely daifuku, a pair of matcha mochis and a taiyaki Hana had planned to take home were all that remained.

“Something like that.” He replied after a while.

The curse user stared at the sorcerer, in plain disbelief. He was seemingly less irritating than usual, which kind of alarmed her. Satoru continued to scrutinize the baked goods in silence. Hana expected him to say something, anything really. Her heart beated faster inside her chest, uncertainty filling her head. Hana toyed with the hem of her apron, her fingers tracing the fabric as she gathered the courage to break the silence.

“What brings you here, Satoru?” She asked, her voice steady despite the unease churning within her. “I’m sure you weren’t just passing by.”

Gojo lifted his head. “There’s no easy way to go about this.” He began, his voice heavy with a sigh. Akiwara noticed his stiff posture, hands buried in his pockets. “Itadori’s dead.”

His response took her off guard. She gripped the counter for support, her head felt dizzy. She must have misheard. “What- How?” Her voice was coarse, stammering. Hana blinked a few times as her vision turned blurry.

“I’m sorry.” His tone was sincere, but Hana could feel his gaze avoiding hers behind the blindfold. His features were covered by guilt.

“What happened, Satoru?” Her confusion quickly morphed into anger, spitting his name filled with venom. “What did you do to him?”

She felt a surge of resentment overcome her. Whether or not her anger was misplaced, he was responsible for this. Gojo was supposed to look after Itadori. After all, he was the reason why her friend had gone to Jujutsu Tech. She tried to steady her breathing, concealing the lump in her throat. She should at least hear him out to know what happened.

“I need you to come to the school with me, so you can see the body.” He said, his request sounding more like a plea than a demand. “I want to test something.”

Hana was dry, containing her tears with each breath she took. “Why would I do that?”

Inhale. Exhale.

“I have a feeling Itadori’s not truly gone yet.” Satoru remained stiff as he explained himself. Hana had a feeling he still wasn’t looking at her, that damned blindfold. “Your clan’s connections with Sukuna may give him another chance.”

It was no surprise for her that the man knew that piece of information. Her clan didn’t have a great name for itself.

“You’re going to have to tell me what happened.” Hana demanded, firmer.

Satoru seemed to deflate slightly. “He was sent on a mission. It was a trap and Sukuna ripped his heart out when he took over.” Before she could protest further, he continued. “I wouldn’t be asking you this if I wasn’t sure you could fix this situation.”

“How do I know this isn’t another trap?” The curse user frowned. Yuji’s death wasn’t enough for her to forget the target on her back.

“Because it isn’t. If I were to kill you, I would be upfront about it.” He simply stated it, his voice sending chills down her spine. Hana stared at him, conflicted. “The only people we are going to meet are the same ones willing to keep Itadori a secret if he comes back.”

“What do they know?” Hana's question was a flicker of vulnerability surpassing the walls she tried to contain her emotions with.

“No one in Jujutsu Tech knows much about you and your brother, aside from me. I mostly avoided telling them you have this .” Gojo admitted, his hand briefly grazing the spot where she hid the finger around her collarbones. “Think of this as me trusting you, Hana. I see your potential.”

Akiwara lifted her eyebrows in a skeptical manner, her eyes meeting his blindfold. “Potential or not, why are you so sure I can resurrect Yuji?”

“Oh, I don’t think you can.” Gojo’s reply was nonchalant, his laid-back tone taking her off guard again. “You’re going to contact Sukuna.” Akiwara’s features twisted into a frown, her eyes narrowing at his words. “You felt there was something wrong with him,” he gestured to the finger, “don’t try to deny that.”

The curse user rolled her eyes, but didn’t acknowledge what the sorcerer said. “Let me grab my things. I’ll be right back.”

After she collected her belongings and stepping out of the café, she noticed Satoru had taken the leftover baked goods with him. She decided against asking him, choosing instead to walk alongside him towards his car in silence. The ride was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of the paper bag containing the sweets. She didn’t utter a word during the ride and he didn’t try to make conversation, allowing her to stare at the passing landscape as she continued thinking about what she had just decided to do. It wasn’t like she could jump out of the speeding car, although she had a feeling her brother would have preferred that.

Jujutsu Tech was located in the outskirts of Tokyo, hidden in the mountains. The campus was filled with traditional-style buildings and the amount of cursed energy felt a tad overwhelming for Hana. There were just too many sorcerers in one place or, maybe, she was just on edge. Before even the thought of fleeing crossed her mind, Satoru had already led her to the morgue. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the faces of Shoko Ieiri and Kiyotaka Ijichi, the two sorcerers that stood by Yuji's body. Their entrance didn’t go unnoticed, her presence intruding in the sterile room. Hana felt the weight of their stares on her, both strangers ignoring the fact that the tall sorcerer entered munching on the sweets of the cafe. She didn’t think she’d be able to stomach them anymore.

“You brought the curse user?” Shoko's voice was calm, cutting through the silence. Hana expected her to use a judgemental tone, but the medical-gown-wearing sorcerer didn’t seem to bother.

Gojo's reply was matter-of-fact. “Yep. This is Hana.”

Ieiri's eyes narrowed in her direction. The curse user in question fidgeted, aware that the woman had just noticed the little trinket she had with her. “You forgot to mention she was using one of Sukuna's fingers as a channel.”

“Didn’t think there had to be a problem.” Gojo retorted, meeting her gaze unflinching. “She’s here to help, right?”

Hana shifted uncomfortably by his side, sighing. “Of course. Yuji is my friend.”

“See? It’ll be fine.” His cheerfulness seemed to come back for a brief second. 

“You know I don’t doubt it.”

Akiwara watched the exchange in silence, concluding that they were close. Ieiri and Gojo, at least. The other sorcerer stood quietly in the room, trying to blend into the background until Gojo engaged him in conversation. The curse user drowned out the sound of their voices, her attention drawn to Itadori. Her heart ached as she saw him, his body lying lifeless on the autopsy table. She had avoided looking at him at first, trying to maintain her composure until Satoru would tell her what he wanted her to do. But now, her gaze was inexorably drawn to him. She walked towards him, her steps slow and hesitant, when she noticed Gojo had moved closer to Ijichi.

His eyes were closed, his skin a sickly pale, almost white. There was a gaping hole where his heart should have been. His hand was cold to the touch, but she held onto it, her fingers wrapping around his. She held it tight with her two hands, closing her eyes as she exhaled. “I’m so sorry.”

Hana bowed to the body of her friend for a few seconds and her eyes opened to meet… Yuji’s? The world seemed to stand still as she held his gaze.

“Hana?” The sound of her name startled her, her grip on his hand loosening as she straightened her back in surprise. Itadori sat up, his eyes scanning his surroundings. The hole in his chest was gone, his skin regaining some of its color. It felt like watching Bella turn into a vampire in real life. Blissful, but oddly off-putting.

Hana distantly heard the voices of the three other sorcerers in the room, but she disregarded them, focusing on Yuji only.

“Yuji…” She mouthed his name. Her arms instinctively found their way around him, pulling him into a tight embrace as she shook off the initial shock. 

Yuji hugged her back, his voice weak but filled with warmth. “Hana, what are you doing here?” He looked down at himself, realizing his… lack of clothing. Hana noticed, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she hastily broke the hug. She averted her eyes, a respectful distance now between them. “Wow, where are my clothes?”

Ieiri, quick to diffuse the awkwardness, handed him a shirt as Gojo approached them. “Yuji. Welcome back.” He extended his hand for a high-five, which Itadori returned with a small, disoriented smile.

As Gojo spoke with Itadori, Akiwara tried to steady her breathing, feeling her eyes water once again. She stepped out of the morgue with a shaky breath, not stopping until she reached the outside of the building. She knew it would be best to stay with Gojo, but she needed to calm down. She wasn’t going to break down there, in front of those sorcerers. She’d process her emotions at home, with her brother, where she felt truly safe.

Inhale. Exhale.

Leaning against the wall, Hana wiped away the stray tears that had escaped, careful not to smudge her eyeliner. It wasn’t waterproof. Thankfully, she had successfully regained her composure when Satoru and Shoko exited the medical building. Hana was perched on the railing, observing the deserted campus. The absence of people at this late hour brought her a small measure of comfort, but she was still acutely aware that she was in enemy territory.

The white-haired sorcerer's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Here you are. I thought you had already left.”

Hana chuckled, turning around. “And walk down all those stairs alone? I'd probably get lost before I even reached them.”

Satoru's smile widened at her response. He seemed pleased with the outcome, and she shared his sentiment, to an extent. Yuji was alive, which was great news, but she had set a foot in Jujutsu Tech. Hana grimaced at the thought; it was a line she had never intended to cross. She had no desire to mingle with sorcerers, yet here she was. She sighed, feeling overwhelmed by the night's events. She hoped Yuji wasn’t mad at her for leaving like that. The two sorcerers started walking and the curse user followed them, not wanting to get left behind.

“Should I update the records?” Shoko asked, glancing at the tall man.

“No, leave them as is.” He replied instantly, already having made his mind up. “It’s safer this way, I want him to be able to defend himself next time they set a trap.” He explained further. “I’m sorry, Shoko, but could you leave him as dead in the records?”

The doctor shrugged, casting a brief glance at Hana. “So, you plan to keep Itadori and the curse user hidden away?”

Hana stared at Satoru expectantly. “No, she is going to join the school soon .” He emphasized, turning to face her. The curse user raised her eyebrows in disagreement. “I’ll have Itadori make his comeback in time for the Exchange Event.”

“Why?” Ieiri asked, plainly.

“It’s pretty simple. No one is allowed to take youth away from young people.” Gojo turned to Akiwara. His smile tinged with gratitude, he was being sincere. “Now, now. Your job here is done. It wasn’t so bad, see?”

“I guess…” Akiwara shrugged. Aside from her little breakdown, there wasn’t much to it. “I still don’t know if I even did anything- I just held his hand.”

Gojo eyed her. “You didn’t feel anything?”

The curse user rolled her eyes at his inquiry. “I felt light-headed, but I think that’s because this place makes me nauseous.”

Shoko laughed at her comment. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Gojo. I won’t update the records.” She turned to Hana, offering her a tired smile. “Until next time.”

With a wave and a cheeky grin, Satoru bid farewell to the doctor sorcerer. Hana just smiled back at her. The sorcerer and the curse user then set off towards the exit, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Hana fiddled with the straps of her bag, replaying the events in the morgue. She didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. As ridiculous as it seemed, the man was pretty sure she would be able to help. If she had done anything, she would gladly take credit for it, but she hadn’t. She couldn't even recall if she had felt Sukuna's cursed energy during their encounter.

As they neared Gojo's car, Hana decided to break the silence. “Maybe it was the power of friendship what helped Yuji.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged, and gave her one of his irritating smiles as he unlocked the car. “You still have to give me an answer. Did the power of friendship convince you to stay?”

“Yuji isn’t attending until when now?” She retorted, climbing into the vehicle. She fastened her seat belt and gave the man a pointed look as he mimicked her actions. “There’s no power of friendship to begin with to convince me to attend Jujutsu Tech.”

The sorcerer hummed, pretending to be deep in thought, then looked at her. “You could make lots of friends, heh.”

“I’m not a child, Satoru.” She frowned. How old was he anyway? She studied him for a moment, Gojo didn’t even look much older than her, six years tops. “I need to talk with my brother about this. Then, I’ll give you an answer.”

The answer would still be no, but she didn’t have the energy to fight him.

Satoru started the engine, nodding. “Well, remember, it’s either joining or being executed.” He continued smiling sickly.

You should really work on your convincing tactics.” Hana’s frown deepened, baffled.

“I can be really persuasive.” He replied, batting his eyelashes at her. She looked away, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

This man was really something. Hana didn’t understand what to make out of him, other than thinking he seemed a tad childish in his position of “the strongest”. He might as well just be weird, which wasn’t something exactly out of the norm in the curse users she had met.

As Satoru began to drive, the woman found herself stealing glances at him. The topic of Yuji remained an enigma for her. She didn’t know what he was going to do regarding that matter, really.

She broke the silence once again, the question already having left her lips before she could dwell into her thoughts further. “Will I be able to see Yuji again?”

“We’ll see about that.” His reply was vague. He glanced at her, his eyes twinkling. “If only you enrolled…”

“Oh, shut up.” Hana muttered, shaking her head.

He sighed, his expression turning serious. “He's safe in the school, and I don't think it's a good idea to let you see him. For now.”

His words didn’t do much to ease her. In fact, it only fueled her frustration. “Yeah, super safe.” Hana replied bitterly.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. Their playful banter had died down with her comment, and Satoru seemed to understand her need for quiet, which she appreciated. Maybe she had been a bit harsh, but hiding Itadori in a place full of sorcerers seemed downright stupid. When they reached her house, a wave of unease washed over her. How did he even know where she lived?

Sighing, she concluded it was probably Yuji who had given him that piece of information.

“Goodbye, Satoru.” She spoke, dryly, as she undid her seatbelt and opened the car door.

Gojo's eyes tried to meet hers, failing as she was already stepping out of his vehicle. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze behind his blindfold before it washed away. "Goodbye, Hana."

Hana walked towards her apartment complex, not looking back. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had just passed some sort of test.

˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ˚  ♡  ˚ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖

Less than a week later, Yuji was pretty much delivered to her home. Hana’s resentment towards the blindfolded prick had been growing in the last few days, aggravated by her lack of knowledge about her friend’s whereabouts. Her emotions were back in check and so was her perception of Gojo.

The curse user sighed at the vessel’s facial expression.

“He didn’t even tell you why I was there when you woke up?”

Itadori nodded slightly. He shifted in his sitting position on the couch, where both of them now sat. His legs stirred under him as he watched Hana rest her chin on top of her knees. The girl crouched in front of him, on the other side of her black couch. Her dark pajamas and colorful choice of socks would have raised a laugh out of him if only the last few weeks hadn't occurred. Yuji wished he could just erase them, he really did.

He kept his brown eyes on her gray ones as she spoke. “I thought you knew.”

“Gojo has explained little about you.” He shrugged.

His mentor didn't have any problem avoiding certain topics, despite his incessant complaints. Yuji knew he hadn't outright lied to him. He never denied the fact he wasn't telling him everything, but that didn't make it less annoying.

“What did he say about me?”

That got her full attention. Itadori didn't miss the way she lifted her brows at him. It was him who sighed this time. “He told me you're unpredictable and that makes you dangerous. That's all I needed to know.”

“Is that why you looked terrified when we met in the bakery?”

She openly smiled at him, just like she used to when she mocked him. Yuji Itadori was used to that smile, but that didn't mean he was immune to it. He started playing with the laces of his turquoise hood.

“No- Well, yes.” He rectified, almost stuttering. “To a point.” The vessel could feel his cheeks getting warmer under the curse user's stare. “You're still my friend.”

Hana needed to know. “What do you think about me, then?”

The girl lifted her head.

“You're a good liar.” Yuji was blunt. Ouch. “But I believe you had your reasons.”

Her head was on top of her knees once again. She turned her head to her left, deciding to avoid her friend’s eyes as she let the words sink in.

She had reasons. She used to have them, anyways. She wasn’t certain anymore.

“If I knew what was going to happen that night, I would have told you, Yuji.” She finally looked back at him. “You wouldn't have that thing inside you.”

The vessel had a frown fixed on his brows. “It's not your fa-”

“But it really is.” Hana was abrupt. “You know that.”

“I just… Don’t understand why you wanted it.” Yuji admitted, watching Hana’s features. “What were you planning?”

“Nothing evil.” The girl assured him and chuckled, as her heart beated faster on her chest. “It’s just a cursed object I wanted to try, you know my technique absorbs cursed energy, right?”

˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ˚  ♡  ˚ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖

The legend of Sukuna, the big, bad cursed spirit dating back from the Heian Era, had been etched into Hana’s consciousness from a tender age. His power had been fragmented into twenty severed fingers. Cursed objects were powerful and quite useful for her technique, cursed energy manipulation. 

Hana believed Yuji wasn’t asking the right questions. The reason why she wanted the finger and what she was planning on doing with it was simple: she wanted to channel it. Her technique allowed her to -quite literally- copy and paste techniques when she used others’ cursed energy. Just like she had when she had met Satoru Gojo. She copied his abilities and used Sukuna’s as a distraction.

Of course, understanding the techniques she used was as much of a requirement as channeling the energy of her opponents was. It didn’t come naturally to her using others’s energies.

Convenience was another one of her reasons. In reality, she could have just channeled any other cursed object. Many of them were singular and heavily guarded, hidden. The twenty fingers were scattered, some even serving as talismans warding off the bigger curses. The Akiwara’s intrigue in these fingers was sparked by their grandmother’s tales, although the passage of time had faded many of the details. Their nana, who had left Japan in her youth, introduced them to the intricacies of jujutsu. After all, their relatives hadn’t been able to use cursed energy and their matriarch was the sole source of knowledge for the twins.

It was only last year that the Akiwara’s path intersected with a curse user, a meeting none of the siblings cherished. Hana had been looking for information about her clan and the elusive cursed object, which resulted in drawing unwanted attention. This stranger’s interest mirrored her own, and he provided the twins with snippets of knowledge. Nothing worth the meeting, really. Kenji and Hana met a few more curse users along the way, but it wasn’t until recently that her brother found an actual lead.

Weeks before Hana found herself entwined with sorcerers, Kenji had caught wind of a potent cursed object rumored to be within the walls of their university. He betted it was one of Sukuna’s fingers and he was proven correct. In comparison to him, Hana had made little to no progress in her stupid occult club. Who knew actually looking for information would have achieved something, heh? Hana hadn’t been particularly invested in the search for the finger, focusing instead on having a little break from jujutsu for the meantime. Kenji, on the other hand, was relentless in his pursuit of knowledge. His break was quite short lived.

However, Hana's efforts weren’t entirely in vain. You see, there were few individuals who would listen to her blab about occult-related stuff and also want to partake in the conversation. Even though they weren’t actually knowledgeable in jujutsu, she believed they would serve some purpose as minions. It was because of Yuji’s insistence she joined the club. He was the first classmate to approach her, which kind of spoiled her plan of being the loner of the class.

Yuji seemed to be spoiling many of her plans.

Despite her initial reluctance to form close connections with others, especially as the older girl who had been held back a year, she gradually grew attached to her fellow club members. They didn't prove to be particularly helpful in her search, yet she began to develop genuine friendships with them. The only thing she regretted was ever telling them about the finger’s possible location.

The twins were no strangers to manipulation, having navigated a world that seemed perpetually against them. Despite her new friends’ lack of knowledge about curses, Hana believed they would make the task of finding the finger easier. She had no intention of just unsealing it on school grounds, knowing that such a powerful cursed object would attract even more curses, especially the stronger ones.

But those… idiots, just did it regardless.

It was supposed to be nothing more than a lighthearted joke when she talked about unsealing the finger, a bit of encouragement wrapped in humor. Hana was aware of Iguchi and Sasaki’s fascination with the supernatural, and Itadori seemed to be glad of taking part in the club’s antics. They had a great time when Akiwara, using a burst of cursed energy, knocked over Sasaki’s bottle during a ouija board session. Their screams amused the curse user, but she still brushed it off saying it had been her fault by being clumsy. It was harmless fun.

The day her friends found the cursed object, Hana was tied up at work. Iguchi and Sasaki forgot she’d be all afternoon at the café, and Yuji wasn’t even there as he was also occupied. Unbeknownst to her, the unsealing of the finger had unleashed a horde of curses that targeted her friends, wreaking havoc in their university. With the help of a sorcerer, Itadori dealt with the chaos and the night ultimately resulted in him ingesting the finger.

By the end of her shift, Akiwara had a few unread messages and a missed call from Itadori. It was more than enough to make her rush to the hospital, where her friend had informed her they were. A sense of urgency propelled her through the hospital’s sliding doors, as she skillfully avoided the few people that lingered around. She found Yuji at the reception, sitting down as he waited for her. Her gaze fixed on him as she strode towards him, her steps quickening. His usual bright demeanor was dimmed, replaced by a grim expression. Hana’s mind was clouded by her friends’ well-being when she sat next to Yuji, unaware of his recent change.

“How- how are they?” The curse user asked, trying to calm her erratic breathing. She fidgeted with her hands, her eyes searching in her friend’s ones for answers. “What happened?

“The ceiling in our club room just… collapsed.” Yuji’s reply was quiet. His gaze met hers, concerned. “They’re stable, but they got hurt pretty bad.” 

Hana’s heart sank. “How bad are we talking?”

“Mild concussion for both,” Yuji recounted, his voice barely above a whisper, “Iguchi’s arm broke trying to protect Sasaki, and she sprained her ankle. They were unconscious when help arrived, and haven’t awakened yet.” Hana nodded, begging him to continue. “They’ll be fine, the doctor assures they’ll recover with rest.”

“I hope so…” She mumbled as a response. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You couldn’t have known, Hana.” Yuji consoled, offering a comforting touch on her shoulder. “I didn’t even…” “

“You didn’t see anything… strange?” Hana inquired, her voice trailing off as she averted her gaze. Yuji looked at her, frowning. “I mean they said they were-”

“I didn’t.” Yuji interjected, but Hana wasn’t able to decipher the conflict in his tone. “They told me they were waiting for me before doing anything, and… the ceiling had already collapsed by the time I got there.”

Relief washed over Hana, mingled with a twinge of disappointment. The chance to obtain one of Sukuna’s fingers had slipped through their fingers, quite literally.

Despite feeling a twinge of guilt for putting her friends at risk, she reminded herself that it was their own idea. Kind of. She merely shared a rumor with them, without giving any specific instructions. Yet, the guilt lingered, weighing heavily on her conscience. Normal humans and their stupidity weren’t something she could control, but Hana had grown fond of them. She shouldn’t have gotten them into this mess.

As she was deep in thought, Itadori battled with his own inner turmoil. It was probably going to be the last time he saw her before going with Gojo and Fushiguro to who knows where. The boy, now a vessel, hadn’t really thought about the consequences of his impulsive decisions. He acted on instinct and it somehow worked out. His friends were alive and the powerful curse he now housed wasn’t in control of his body. The only thing he could ask for was Hana's presence in his life, even though it was probably for the best that they remained apart.

Neither of them wanted the other to be entangled in the world of jujutsu. It was quite ironic.

Yuji’s voice broke the silence. “Hana, I… I wanted to say goodbye. I’m transferring to another university in Tokyo.” Hana looked at him in shock as she processed his words. “My grandpa passed away today. He always talked about that uni… I think it’s what he would have wanted.”

Hana reached out, her hand finding Yuji’s as an offer of comfort. “I’m so sorry, Yuji..”

Yuji's only parental figure, Wasuke Itadori, had played a significant role in his life. Hana had met him when she accompanied Yuji on one of his visits to the hospital. He was a stubborn old man, but his mood lifted dramatically when he took notice of Hana. She laughed at one of the man’s jabs at his grandson, not fully comprehending the inside jokes the family had. It was endearing and, sadly, Hana understood all too well Yuji’s need for a change of scenery now that all he had was gone.

She would miss him, truly. The bond between Hana and Yuji was evident, despite the existence of certain unspoken topics. Hana believed that as their friendship blossomed, she would have eventually shared more about herself. Anything related to jujutsu was off the table, though. Hana recognized her friend's innocence, and didn't want to burden him with it. The danger of getting the unwanted attention of sorcerers or curse users was enough to stop her from telling him anything. Kenji and her had cut ties with cursed users many months ago for that very reason.

They embraced and parted ways with a heavy heart. As Hana made her way home, her thoughts were already on visiting Sasaki and Iguchi once they awoke. But as the weeks went by her friends remained unconscious, Hana and Kenji resumed their search for the next finger, which you already know how it ended.

˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ˚  ♡  ˚ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖

previous - ao3 link - masterlist - next

comments and suggestions are highly appreciated!

ty for reading <3

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Invisible, tugging strings, Pt. 1

When - chronologically after souls stripped bare, which means the Chupacabra episode of Season 2.

What - Daryl is hurt and hallucinating at the bottom of the ridge, while you are at the farm, wondering why you are overcome with really insistent dread that he’s hurt.

Relationships - why do the two of you feel like there’s a string tugging at your chests? (slow burn Daryl x Reader)

Perspective - Him 3rd, You 2nd

Pronouns - they/them neutral

TWs - language, description of pain and injury, and those signature crappy screenshots from the episodes the Slowpoke Series tends to have, and one poor pic from the internet of Patricia

What stories should I read first? - souls stripped bare! A measure of reverence Parts 1 and 2 came before it, but definitely souls stripped bare so you get what went on

Will reading this one take me all day? - no, slowpoke, about 15 minutes :)

Can I check out the Masterlist? - please do! There’s the official one here in purposeful nonlinear publishing, and the purely chronological one here. They both have the same Slowpoke stories, just in a somewhat different order. (Reader Requests are in the official one)

There’d been that damned snake, so the horse reared, and down Daryl went.

His neck should’ve gotten snapped, tell you what. For real, he should’ve broke a few fingers or something on his way slip-sliding down the world’s most painful fucking waterslide that was the rock ridge he’d tumbled down before finally crashing into the water below. Maybe he did break some shit on the way down but just doesn’t notice yet?

Whatever, he’s just grateful Y/N ain’t here with him. Because if they’d fallen too, with the injuries they already got going? The two of them would be in this shit instead of just him, and he has no idea how he’d be able to get Y/N out of it. He can’t even get his own damn self out of it.

All his lazy-ass has gotta do is just—fucking—ow! He can’t seem to get any higher, come on! He’s halfway!

It’s because the bolt notched in the top of his crossbow decided to move out and notch its damn self in his left side while he was busy careening his way down the goddamned ridge. Least he was able to fish out his crossbow from the pool at the bottom. And most importantly, he has the doll.

He found her doll! Yeah, that’s right, the one that little Hispanic girl—sorry, ‘Lila’ or ‘Liza’—the doll she gave to Sophia.

He’s seen it from the top of the ridge and was trying to figure out a way down, was walking the horse along the top to find the best spot to climb, when bam. There was a rattler, it scared the poor nag, she fucked off to who-knows all while Daryl crash-banged his way down the slope in record time.

And now, he can’t get any higher. ’Cause he’s a damned pussy.

Son of a bitch, and even now, he’s glad Y/N isn’t here to hear him call himself a ‘pussy’ because they wouldn’t like that shit. At least that invisible string that felt like it was tied to Y/N, whatever the hell that was, either snapped on his way down or he can’t feel it as much right now because everything else hurts so damned much.

Okay, Darylina, all you need to do is buck up and prove your balls dropped and get your ass up the rest of the way and get back to the farm.

He groans in pain and wills his nausea to go down.

“Oh, come on. You’ve done half. Stop bein’ such a pussy,” is his version of a pep talk, and with one final “Come on,” he uses all his strength to lunge himself up closer!

Yes!

Only — it’s the dizzy part he isn’t expecting, along with the way everything in his stomach lurches up, and the way the soil is far too loose and he can’t find a decent grip. Panting to help curb him from upchucking right then and there, he feels himself fail to find a root or branch to grasp.

Next thing he knows, his world is spinning again.

There’s a snapping sound, a searing pain in his side that spreads everywhere, and before he can think, his breath is gone an—

................................................

You

Daryl is hurt just jumped into your mind again and you have no idea why.

He’s gone out on his own before, why are you filled with dread all the sudden? Whatever happened late this morning to you two is really throwing you for a loop.

This morning, you don’t know, but after all happened with him, you feel like you’re welded together. You know it sounds weird.

Still, you do not like that he’s not here, that he’s alone. You know the feeling will ease, but it really sucks right now and you’re really not liking how that sudden dread just appeared in your brain, and loudly, way more loudly than when it happened the first time, like 30ish minutes ago? And the invisible string is still tugging away.

Maybe it’s just the caffeine crash after the espresso incident early this morning. That, combined with latent worries about the blood transfusion and how thoroughly exhausting today was. How the past few days have been…

“Carl, baby, how do you feel?” you ask to distract yourself.

“Creeped out that blood is going into my arm.”

Lori kisses her boy’s hand and shares a quiet laugh with Patricia. Rick cracks up, Hershel smiles politely from his chair.

“Does your back hurt or do you feel itchy? Cold?” Those are the things Patricia said to be on-alert for.

“Nope.”

“Are you out of breath?” Heck, you’re out a breath…

“Y/N, you’re making me nervous.”

Okay, fair, you need to get out of this room, you feel like you can’t breathe enough.

You stick your tongue out just in case Carl notices there’s something off with you (that punk notices almost everything). “Doct—Mr. Greene, would you like me to get more sweet tea?” you check, hoping you seem normal.

Genuine concern for him aside, it can’t hurt to be extra polite after Jimmy went on the search with Glenn today without consulting Hershel or being clear with his mother about it, turns out. And how Daryl…stole a horse.

Mr. Greene nods from the chair he hasn’t left since donating a pint of blood about 40 minutes ago. “I wouldn’t mind, in fact. Thank you.”

Slightly unbalanced from having your injured arm slung and tied to your side, you take his glass from the crocheted coaster with your free hand. Once in the hallway, you close the door behind you and start to hyperventilate. You aren’t really aware of walking there, but you end up at the kitchen counter pouring tea into the glass while tears pour from your eyes and you gulp down air.

Your hair’s still wet from the shower, so riddle you why it feel like it’s 105º in this place? What the hell is going on, dude? Why are you panicking over Daryl, he’s fine, he’s always fine! Just say a prayer and get on with it, you got shit to do.

Wipe, sniff, swallow. Okay.

With a final wipe for good measure, all you need to do is poke your head back in and put the filled glass on the counter. You’ll be nearby to help if anything happens to Carl or Hershel. Nothing should, but you never know.

After delivering the iced tea, you begin to make your way to the porch—but then pause, because don’t want Shane seeing you right now. Every heaving inhale makes your sore stitches burn and your shoulder/chest injury pinch, but you can’t seem to stop! This isn’t cool, this really isn’t cool.

There’s a side-door in the kitchen, you’ll use that. You need air.

two hours ago

“Sweetie, what happened to you two?”

“I don’t know.”

You couldn’t and still can’t shake off the feeling you’d gotten a glimpse into Daryl’s very soul. You didn’t want to take your eyes off him as he ran to—you weren’t sure, but probably to the stables.

There was a tugging in your chest as you watched him hurry away. You didn’t want him to go far.

You didn’t want him to go, period. It felt wrong that he was alone, that you weren’t going with him.

Carol asking you “What do you mean?” got interrupted when Maggie called from inside the house, “Y/N?” and ran out to the porch where Carol was escorting you in.

“Hey,” you panted, finally dragging your eyes from Daryl and looking at her frown. Her coloring matched her last name as she stared at the bloodstained part of your shirt.

“Did one of the infected people do that, Y/N?”

“No, it’s the stitches. Don’t tell your daddy? He already thinks I’m an idiot,” you asked, nervous.

Letting out an exhale and nodding, she said, “I’ll get Patricia,” before jogging back inside.

“This is why I changed my shirt before comin’ back, didn’t want no fuss,” you muttered to Carol.

She was crying softly as she continued to guide you inside. “Well, it looks like you bled through it.”

“Shane and Rick ain’t come back yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

“Good,” was all you could respond to that. You were in too much pain to be in any patient mood.

One, Shane not being back meant he and Rick might have come back with Sophia in tow, and two, it meant that you could get cleaned up before your brother saw what a mess you’d made of yourself.

If he saw you like this, he’d get angry, use it as proof about how you all shouldn’t be out there, then would go off about how there’s no point in searching anymore because statistics say that the little girl’s dead.

And you didn’t like how you were tiptoeing around him. That in itself was a red flag, he’s better than that, and yet…

 A final, exhausted glance to see if you could still see Daryl, and Patricia was there as you and Carol entered the farmhouse. “Come into this room to your left, let see what the damage is,” she directed, kit in hand.

“I’m sorry, Miss Patricia,” you whispered.

Carol took your backpack off carefully and murmured that she’d wash your bloodied shirt(s) and grab you fresh clothes from the line. Patricia has her take off your soiled top right then and there, Carol also takes Dale’s watch off you to return.

It was only Patricia in there, so it was okay, you didn’t feel too exposed without a shirt.

She sanitized the area and snipped the sutures. You did need new ones. They hadn’t popped, but the skin around them tore and pulled and bruised.

That her now-dead husband was the one to so expertly do the original ones hurt more than the actual physical pain, believe it or not. Maybe you were feeling too much elsewhere or simply felt too drained and numb from earlier to have that strong a reaction to more?

“Sweet pea, you didn’t do anythin’ wrong. Ain’t no need to apologize,” you heard her tell you. “Otis wouldn’t want you to be.”

There was a brief pause in the suturing process because you broke into a cold sweat and she worried you were about to get sick. “Once we’re finished, I’m going have you head upstairs to take a nice, warm shower again. There’s plenty of fuel left in the generator. Don’t worry, we won’t be shy about sending y’all out for more when the time comes.” She handed you the small emesis basin for you to hold with your good side, and continued.

Halfway into resuming the stitches you ended up needing to use it. As you did, Patricia made motherly shushing noises and cooed how it was okay, then took away the container and put it on the tiny shelf near the door.

You like how she talks, she’s twangy like you are.

“Alright, what happened to you out there, Y/N? Didn’t you go searchin’ with the, uh, Dixon—Merle Dixon from the prescription bottle—his younger brother? I heard the bike drive back.”

“We had a rough morning.” You stifle a sigh in relief and pain in as you felt her make the final suture. The snip of the scissors cutting the excess surgical thread was music to your ears. “Daryl d-drove me back ’cause I hurt too much.”

Daryl. Just the thought of him out there, alone, made your chest tug again and a lump grow in your throat. And you really hoped nobody noticed that he most likely stole a horse 10 minutes before.

“How’d it happen?” she pressed. Finished cleaning up what she used for the stitches, she stood to check your shoulder. “You weren’t like this this morning, Y/N, this mornin’ you were the energizer bunny.”

The front door opened, and a knock came on the door of the room you were in. “It’s me,” Carol spoke from outside.

“Come on in.”

She opened the door and slipped inside, carrying a complete change of clothes for you, and promptly moved to take away the container you’d just vomited in.

“No, Carol, leave that, I can do it. I just need my shirt on.” Having so much skin exposed isn’t your usual.

Granted, that’s when Patricia requested, “Let me get a look at your range of motion and all that first before puttin’ a shirt back on, it’s easier when I can press against the skin directly.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t taken care of before, Y/N,” Carol softly reminded you, and took the container away.

To be polite, you asked Patricia to grab the hand sanitizer from your backpack before she did her thing. Smelly underarms are caused by bacteria and sweat; you knew you’d gotten sweaty. You already felt so humiliated and raw, you didn’t have a damn shirt on, you just threw up in front of her, you were crying; smelling less offensive was something over which you still had some control.

Patricia then started to do similar movements to what Mr. Greene did last night. Everything ached worse than yesterday, so much worse.

“Now, how’d this happen? It weren’t this bad before, certainly not this morning.”

“I overdid it,” you mumbled.

“I’ll say.”

The pictures of the family you’d just buried started to pop up in your mind. The image of them in their grave, that big blanket over them, popped up, too, as did the sensation of carrying them in your arms to get them there. The tears fell harder. “I-I had to.”

“Sweet pea, I’m sure you had a very good reason,” the woman soothed.

Really, if you had a dollar for every time you’ve cried in the past four days (not that you could do much with it, but), you’d probably have a $50 bill.

The door opened a second time.

You were grateful it was just Carol again, not Hershel or Shane. She brought you a small glass of sweet tea, which you held in your free hand but didn’t drink.

“Y/N, I wanna make sure that Daryl didn’t hurt you or try to.” Patricia was blunt.

You weren’t offended on his behalf; that she asked meant she was concerned and wanted you safe. “The opposite, ma’am,” you responded softly.

“Hm?”

“He picked me up and carried me when I couldn’t get myself up.” You tried a sip of tea to help swallow back more tears. It was very sweet tea, you gagged at first. “He dug when I couldn’t no more.” A sob worked its way up as you coughed out “God, I r-really wish he weren’t all alone out there right now.”

Carol took the mostly full cup from you and placed it on the dresser, while Patricia’s hands slowed where she was examining you. “Why’d y’all dig?” she asked.

You slumped where you sat. “The family who’d boarded up their house, the ones from Mexico?”

“The Bardales?”

Your lips wobbled and you could only nod to tell her yes, that was them, then shake your head back and forth to try and relay what happened to them.

She understood. “All of them?” she whispered.

“Th-there’d been a break in, and they’d,” you had to wait until your voice stopped shaking, “they all caught the fever, besides.”

That’s when her hands stopped and you could feel her go rigid. “Was they dead or infected?”

You had no idea what she meant and were too tired to get clarification. “Both.”

“Patricia, I’m going to get you a glass, too,” Carol murmured, and stepped out.

You and the woman sat in silence. When you tried to put your shirt back on, she put a hand on your arm to stop you.

Carol came back and handed Patricia the glass filled with iced tea.

“How did you know they was infected if they was dead?” she finally voiced.

You looked to Carol because you didn’t know what to say or what Patricia meant. She returned your concerned expression and spoke up. “I think she’s asking, um…in what way you found the family.”

Patricia nodded.

“Turned.”

And the words “Infected doesn’t mean they were dead,” cursed from Patricia’s mouth in a tone of voice you’d never heard her use before.

Talk about feeling humiliated and naked and having your soul bared, you literally did not have a shirt on.

“That is what infected means,” Carol disagreed out loud, to your surprise.

Patricia countered, angry and quiet. “Infected means sick.”

But Carol remained gentle and even. “I know it hurts when you’ve lost a loved one to it, but there’s no cure because the person dies first.” She looks down and shrugged in her shy, unsure way. “That’s the one thing we can’t cure.”

“But they come back, we see it.”

“Not alive,” you were able to verbalize as your stress stutter decided to make an appearance. “Not even the CDC c-could fix it. All they found was that infected people die, and the virus takes over.”

“They ain’t found a cure yet,” the woman spat. “A lot of things can look like dyin’, the heart rate can slow—”

“—They die and you know it. What we see walkin’, it-it-it’s just their bodies, ma’am, just the basest part of the brain. The soul is,” there you went swallowing back another sob and failing, “gone because they died and are still dead.”

“We were there, Patricia,” Carol spoke up again. “At the CDC, we talked to the only man still there, we saw proof. There’s nothing left.”

“Don’t lie to me in my own home,” she warned her.

“Don’t insult guests in your own home,” you hissed back, furious that she’d accuse Carol of lying. You clenched your teeth, held back your groan as you stood, wiped the hot tears from your cheeks with your good arm, and tried to put on your shirt so you could walk out with Carol—who stopped you.

She hadn’t lost an ounce of her gentleness yet. “Y/N, don’t get angry. This family hasn’t seen what we have.”

“Well, w-we seen one who’s head got sliced off and it still tried bitin’, but they still think we’re stupid, heartless murderers for laying their bodies to rest!”

“Look what they’ve done for us.” Carol gestured to your stitches. “Look at what they’re doing to help us, what they’ve already done.” She then gestured outside to your group’s campsite, then toward where Carl’s room is.

You still fully expected to get thrown out, but Patricia sat there, lost in thought. She inclined her head to where you’d been sitting by way of inviting you to stay. You remained by the door anyway, you felt too absolutely-fucking-like-garbage to have sat down then.

“You saw one with their head cut off still tryin’ to attack?” the woman then asked, staring at nothing with her brows drawn close. “Wasn’t no nerve reflex, or, or…” she trailed off.

“They’ll keep attacking unless their brain is damaged,” Carol replied. “That’s where the virus, um—you know.” Her eyes turned wet again and she bowed her head as tears of her own fell on her lap.

After more silence, you whispered to Carol for help getting your shirt on. “I just want to lie down before Mr. Greene expects me.”

“No, sweet pea, come back. I wanna help you get some range of motion back, come on.” Patricia, who apparently could hear your whisper just fine, waved you over and patted the spot on the bed. “I’m sorry. Thank you for sharin’ with me. There’s some…things I’ll need to think more on, discuss.” To herself, she muttered, “I need to, I need to talk to Hersh about this.” She next locked eyes with the two of you. “But until then, any walkers you find on our property, tell us. Don’t do nothing, just tell us first.” Then, she pointed to you and made an apologetic smile. “And here,” she held out the mini tissue box from the far end-table. “You need one awful bad.”

The mood in the room improved. She gave an extremely thorough, long massage to your neck, shoulder, and arm muscle on your bad side. Homegirl must weight lift or something, because she gave you back so much range of motion that you created a false memory of having taken painkillers.

“You didn’t give me anythin’, Miss Patricia?”

“No, but I will before you head upstairs to shower off, maybe antibiotics, too, but let’s wait and see if you develop an infection first. Oh, and you’ll need a waterproof bandage, let me find one in here.” She rummaged around her kit, found one, and handed it to you. “Take it off the site once you towel dry.”

now

Daryl is hurt. He’s alone and hurt!

Use the walkie, brainless.

Those words snap into your (brain?) where you’re hyperventilating against the brick chimney in the back of the farmhouse. Carol has the pink one, Glenn has the yellow one; all you need to do is find one of them.

It crosses your mind that he might would’ve radioed if he was hurt.

Which in the next moment, flips into the idea that what if he’s too hurt to even use it?

Which then quickly devolves into wondering why you’re being such a dramatic idiot. He probably doesn’t even remember he has it, it’s probably turned off, and he would be too proud to use it, anyway…

…who cares, you still need to try, you need to know if your friend is safe.

You push off the wall you were leaning into and — ohh whoa.

What is — oh no, you remember this feeling.

You waver where you stand, then turn to press your forehead against the cool, rough bricks. Shoot, how are you gonna get out of this, how are you gonna get back inside?

Your body flushes with heat, your stomach turns cold, and a sensation in between pain and panic burns your chest and lungs as you try to catch your breath; you’re about to pass out for the dumb-ass mistake of not drinking enough fluids. Shittttt, why didn’t you drink that glass of tea, in the least?

“Y/N?”

Rick. That’s Rick’s voice.

“Ricky,” you slur, “don’t freak and don’t tell Shane, but I need f-faint for sec…”

................................................

Him

“Daryl, why aren’t you usin’ that walkie? This was the whole point of them, mangy hick!”

Y/N.

Y/N?

He tries to open his eyes. Did they get stitched up and have enough to drink? Is their shoulder okay? They probably have a sling again, he’d bet money on it.

“It’s okay, man, leave your eyes closed. I know you’re exhausted.” A nudge. “M’sorry, I should oughtn’tve chided you about the walkie.”

No, he wants to open his eyes, he wants to see Y/N! Everything hurts so fucking much but their voice makes him feel safer. The tugging in his chest is back full-force — Y/N is here!

“Dude, I ain’t really here, you know that.”

What? He tries to pry his damn eyes open so he can see them, he needs to see their face.

“But you do know that you’re gonna need to get up soon. Find the walkie if you can, call for help, okay? Please.” He feels their hand lightly touch his wrist. “I’m worried about you, so is Carol.” Their voice sounds like they’re smiling now. “And our Carl’s gonna want to see the doll you found. Daryl, you found her doll!” A giggle. “And you know I’m gonna wanna tease you about how you’ve ripped the sleeves off yet another of your poor shirts.”

He finally got his eyes open and saw…a blur. Green. Leaves, branches.

Y/N.  

Ugh, fuck, opening his eyes made his head hurt, though. “I can’t believe you were right about the damned walkie talkies,” he grumbles, cracking up as best he could but fuck, it hurt.

A strange static noise comes from his left. Is that the…that’s the walkie, isn’t it?

Y/N makes a face. “At least it’s nearby. I’m glad. It sounds funny, though, might could’ve gotten broken on the fall down. Maybe waterlogged.”

“I wish you were really here.” Hell, if they’re all in his head, he can be as big a pussy as he wants.

Their smile fades. As they trace their fingertips along his hairline, he could swear it felt real. “Daryl, you need to get up. I know how bad it hurts, and I’m so sorry you’re alone right now, but you need to get up. Please.”

He tries to lift his head. Pain and spinning and nausea.

So he tries to twist to his side instead and is met with more pain, that damn bolt is still lodged in there. Shit, he feels like he’s gonna hurl. “Y/N. I don’t think I can,” he admits, unable to hold back a groan.

“Quarter.”

He would have snorted, but it would make the pain worse. “Fuckin’ serious, I d-don’t—I don’t think I can—” Great, he’s starting to cry, which is making everything hurt worse because his breathing gets faster. “I don’t think I can, Y/N.”

“Bullshit. You can and you will. Now, honey — turn your head, you’re gonna get sick.”

Sure enough, he feels his mouth water, his stomach lurch, and there it comes.

Their cooing reaches his ears, just like earlier today when he was bugging out over some dirt.

It was only a second, and he was done. He turned his head back and rested it against the rock or whatever it was he was laying on. Just so damned tired…

“No. Daryl, you can’t do that, not now.” They sounded firm but still so gentle at the same time. “I-I think you need to get that thing out — I get leavin’ it in until you make it to help is the usual way of things, but it’s gonna do worse damage with it in there ’cause of where it is. You’ll be able to stop the bleedin’ better once it’s out.” They look him in the eyes again. “Do what you need to do to get yourself home to us.”

“Back there ain’t ‘home.’”

They huff. “Not with that attitude, it ain’t.”

He can’t help but smile. That’s how Y/N would’ve reacted, no damn doubt.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not so bad at this imaginary stuff,” they tease him. “Maybe you should imagine yourself a chupacabra, encourage you to move.”

When he wills himself to open his eyes again, hoping to see them smiling, they aren’t. Instead, they look like they got the wind knocked out of them. They’re sweaty, drained, like they’d been when he’d left them back at the farm.

“This is goin’ to be rough as hell and it’s gonna hurt like it, too. But ain’t that just like so much other shit you been through? Now, you listen good,” and their finger pressed against his chest right where the tether between them was. “Don’t die, don’t get bit. I told you that as you left, Daryl. But if you don’t get up and get that thing out of your side so you can wrap it tight and come home, you are gonna die. Even if there weren’t dead people walkin’ and making things ten times more dangerous.”

How was it that he was strong enough to dig and carry and do so much just a few hours ago, and now he can’t manage turning onto his side or lifting his head? Even talking hurts right now.

“Just—Y/N, how do I get up?” he groans and winces, trying and failing again to sit upright even a little. “Why am I bein’ such a pussy that I can’t I get past this part?”

After grimacing, then mumbling for him to not use that word that way, they point behind themselves with their thumb. “I think he’s gonna have to help you with that part. I wish it could be me, but you know. Stitches and shoulder.”

“‘He?’” he repeats.

“As lost as you’ve felt without him—when he bullies you, if-if you can’t stand up for yourself, please try not to believe the lies, okay? Cruel don’t mean true, a lot of the time it’s the opposite.

He looks again to try to see who was there. Didn’t see nobody.

Y/N included. They were gone.

Upset to be alone again, and zapped from trying to lift his head and strain to see who was there, he lowers his head back down and rests his eyes.

................................................

You

“He probably doesn’t even have it on. Asshole.”

“You’re like, really upset, Y/N.”

“I guess!”

Glenn rolls his eyes. “What happened to you guys today, why are you like this? And with a sling again? And you literally fainted, Rick said?”

He’d been trying to recover an escaped chicken when he noticed Rick sitting with you on the ground, against the chimney out back while you glugged down a glass of sweet tea and a bottle of water.

“We j-just,” you don’t know how to describe it, “it was heavy, a-and I just want him back safe at home, is all. With Sophia.” You make one last attempt to contact him, lightly blowing into the walkie’s mic… before finally giving in and whispering “Daryl, please answer!” After a few moments in expectant silence that proves fruitless, you slide the walkie back into Glenn’s pocket and reach with your usable arm to pat the successfully-caught chicken he’s got snuggled in his arms like a football.

You lean back against the brick chimney and picture a teapot being taken off the burner. “And I passed out for only a mite, nothin’ exciting. Didn’t hydrate enough.”

Glenn nudges you gently with his tennis shoe. “Day’s not over yet. He’ll be back when the sun goes down.”

You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. “You’re right.”

“Tell me about earlier?”

You shake your head. “Later. Now, um, n-now’s not good.”

“Okay.” Glenn nods and looks down. “Sorry it was a bad day.”

“Maybe Sophia will come home and it’ll be a good one,” you mumble, not really believing it but wishing you did. “But we are pettin’ a chicken, so it can’t be all bad. Tell me about your day before I head back in?”

“I…tried talking to Maggie this morning. I don’t know what I was trying to do.” He rubs his face. “I brought the guitar we found on the highway over to the porch, and, I don’t know, was hoping she knew how to play so she could teach me, or something?”

Oh my. “You walked up to somebody’s front porch with an instrument you can’t play in the hopes she knew how?”

He gets red in his cheeks, forehead, and ears.

Good Moses, your face is warming on his behalf, too. “Glenn, is that where you were while we were goin’ over the day’s plans?”

“It gets better. I tried to act all tough, too.”

“You are tough, though.”

He mutters a quiet “thank you,” then stops stroking the hen in order to scratch his neck. “But, like, I tried to act all confident.”

“Confidence ain’t a bad thing,” you offer, albeit 100% out of your depth. You can offer objective advice only, not really anything from experience.

“Cockiness is, though…”

“Oh no.” Glenn acting cocky? That ain’t kosher. Maybe he’s misreading his own actions? “At least you tried? You weren’t rude or pushy or nothing, right?”

“I don’t think so? I wouldn’t want to be.”

“Did you say anythin’ that if somebody said it to you, you’d feel unsafe?”

“Ew, no.”

“Good.” You have to rub your chest for a moment to get rid of the tugging. Leave it to you to dramatize a caffeine crash and dehydration as a sign from heaven that something bad happened to Daryl. “I’m gonna head back in, Hershel donated a pint to Carl. Best make sure both are doin’ well.”

“He what? Shoot, let me find Jimmy, I’ll do more stuff around here to help out.” He helps you stand. “And hey, if Hershel brings it up—dude, I had no idea that all Jimmy’d told his mom was that he was ‘gonna help’ us, and that he didn’t end up asking Hershel.”

“That was way more on Jimmy than on you and the rest of us. You kept him safe out there, that’s gotta count in our favor.”

“Except Daryl stealing a horse is definitely not in our favor.”

You sigh and feel that strange tugging again. “We’ll make it up to them.”

................................................

Him

It felt so much better to keep his eyes closed, but someone’s standing over him now. Must be whoever Y/N said would help him get up.

What was that they said about ‘missing’ and ‘bully?’

He strains to get his eyes open so he can see whoever is above him.

His eyelids feel so damned heavy, man, he just wants to close them again.

All he can see is the green of the treetops at first.

The outline of a person’s head come into view once his vision stops being blurry.

Then it clears.

A smile finds its way to the corners of his mouth. He’s missed him. Felt so lost and out of place without him. His own blood.

“Why don’t you pull that arrow out, dummy? You could bind your wound better.”

Yeah, that was him alright. He’s missed him so much. 

“Merle.”

................................................

next part > here! <

> Masterlist link here <  

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats @whistlesalot @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat @darylsmavis​

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here!) 

................................................

Bonus for those who survived til the end of Part 1:

This is why he doesn’t have any sleeved shirts left.

follow for more DIY shirt ideas #upcycle

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 3K

The incident at the church was never discussed, although the tension from the event still lingered. Gavin stared unwaveringly at his monitor, scrolling through the latest CyberLife testimonies. This had become a pattern over the last few days, with him trying to complete his work with as little engagement with Nines as possible. This had not gone unnoticed by his partner, who quickly grew resentful of being served the cold shoulder. It seemed equally content to ignore him back. If only out of spite. 

"Still fuck all coming from these interviews”, Gavin mused, finally breaking the silence. “If anyone knows anything about this Synthetic Reaper, they're keeping tight-lipped."

This was not a topic that Nines was interested in, evident in its painfully unenthused response. 

"Indeed." 

The detective bristled, knowing he only had himself to blame for the unsociable atmosphere. Turning his attention back to his computer, the menial task of report filing suddenly felt like a blessed escape. After a few minutes of typing, his phone reverberated from the side of his desk. He ignored the notifications at first until the persistent buzzing became a nuisance. 

Reaching over to silence the device, he was soon grateful he'd done so, as brightly illuminated on the screen was a series of incriminating texts. Outlining the embarrassing details of his most recent personal struggle:

Actually Decent (4)

[10:03am] Gav

[10:03am] hey

[10:04am] have you and Nines made out yet

[10:04am] or are u still planning on wimping out

Gavin pulled his phone closer, out of the view of prying eyes. He went back to scanning the information on his report, focusing on a section he had yet to finish. "You got anything for this new code? The one in the victim’s scripture?"

“No." 

Amazing. 

His phone shook again, and glancing down, he saw that Tina was diligently adding to the collection of unwanted messages:

Actually Decent (7)

[10:06 am] because if youre gonna bang a stranger 

[10:06 am] please pick one thats normal

[10:07 am] no more weird kinks

"No?" Gavin questioned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "That's a first for you, smart ass."  The tone was intended as jovial, but the reception was frosty at best. Nines shot him a sharp glare, huffing disapprovingly under its breath. 

Gavin’s fingers twitched on his keyboard, wondering if he should cut his losses and accept his looming termination. There were other jobs he could pursue, after all. Perhaps a career as the world's most surly birthday clown. Or a disappointing male stripper. 

Actually Decent (9)

[10:09 am] I still have nightmares about the pet-play guy

[10:10 am] I’ll never recover from the things u told me

Nines slid Gavin a slip of paper. "The message is nonsensical. Most of the text makes sense, but the ending appears to be gibberish." 

He peered down, scanning over the carefully penned digits. "...So what are we thinking? Another hidden code, like SL C?" 

"Might I suggest you take some time to determine that yourself." The android squeezed its mouse tightly. As if it were trying to crush it to pieces. “I am getting rather tired of you ‘copying my homework’." 

Gavin was caught off guard by this. While his partner was far from agreeable, it was unusual for it to lash out in such a juvenile way. There wasn’t a hint of care or remorse as it diligently scanned its monitor, refusing to look up. 

Once the initial shock had subsided, it transformed into something ugly. An instinctive urge to push back. Gavin balled up the paper indignantly, flicking it over the desk. “You got a problem with sharing notes, just say. You don’t have to be a little bitch about it." 

Nines laughed, although not in the way that he’d grown used to. It was a harsh sound, short and sharp, "I find it insulting that you have snubbed me this long, only to speak now when it seeks to benefit you."

The detective tensed uncomfortably at this before puffing out his chest defensively. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re working together. Hardly an effective partnership if we can't at least share information." 

“It is difficult to work with you in a professional capacity when there is something more pressing we need to discuss." 

"And what the fuck would that be?" 

There was a loud, crunching noise. Gavin looked over to confirm that Nines had, indeed, destroyed its mouse. Fragments of plastic littered the desk whilst others remained embedded in its hand. In the android’s eyes, there was a strange vulnerability intermingled with its usual intensity. Not so much confronting as it was pleading. 

"You know." 

A tight bind encompassed Gavin's chest and threatened to cut his breathing. His focus drifted from his companion’s eyes down the expanse of its smooth, pale skin. He followed the gentle slope of its nose, counting the freckles on the way, and ultimately found its lips. They looked warm and inviting—enough that he felt compelled to lean towards them. 

It was then that he realised he was utterly fucked. 

"I'm going for a smoke." He pushed away from his desk, shooting to his feet in a hasty motion. There were measured footsteps trailing behind him as he cowardly marched away, but he refused to turn around. Not wishing to cause a scene. 

Shoving his way through the fire exit, he hurriedly paced down the steps, caring little if he slipped on the ice. His hand found the cigarettes in his pocket, and he squeezed the box with such intensity that he successfully crushed half of its contents. Pulling out one of the smokes left intact, he had barely touched it to his lips when the heavy door slammed open behind him. 

"I would appreciate it if you stopped running from me," a stern voice chided. 

Staring vacantly into the parking lot and with nowhere else to go, Gavin glumly accepted the inevitable, surrendering to the demand. "I’m not running," he denied, in staunch contradiction to his previous actions. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"I’d think that is rather obvious. I wish to discuss what happened." 

While he tried to maintain a facade of composure, there was no hiding his racing pulse. He knew Nines would have to suffer a serious malfunction not to sense how panicked he was. "I don’t know what you mean."

“Then I'll have to enlighten you: I am referring to the reckless - and frankly deranged - behaviour you exhibited at the church the other day." 

Gavin was grateful for the harsh wind outside, as it gave him the perfect excuse to hide his face under the guise of preserving his light. He thought back to the day in question and the moments leading up to the assault on his partner. There had been no thoughts when grappling the man, just white-hot rage that scorched his skin and blinded his senses. The answer to what happened eluded him, and he was content to leave that way. 

“I’ve got nothing to say." He said, moving forward to descend another concrete step. 

His partner would not be so easily sated. It calmly closed the door and began its own descent down the staircase. Gavin stepped in time, seeking to maintain the distance between them, as Nines persistently charged forward. This carried on for a while, like some sort of surreal line dance. "For someone who despises androids so vehemently, you seem extremely keen to jump to my defence."

The run of the steps finished, and the two found themselves on the pavement. Unless they wished to carry their quarrel into the busy streets of Detroit, Gavin knew it was best to stay put. “I am not jumping to anyone’s defence."

"It isn't the first time you've done so for me." Nines ignored his protest, exploiting its looming physique to tower over its partner. "There was the man outside Mikey’s—"

"That didn't mean shit."

"I don't believe you." It sounded exhausted, as if it had been dwelling on the subject for days. "Please, I'm just trying to understand."

“There’s nothing to understand. You said before that I have some weird saviour complex. Call it instinct."

"Why would you seek to save something you so openly despise?" 

Gavin took a shaky drag of his cigarette, the smoke catching in his throat, "Because it's my job", he said plainly, though his wavering tone was far from convincing. "I wasn't going to let him hurt you like that. I would have done the same for anyone, human or android." 

"I do not feel pain, of which you are aware." Nines picked holes in the flimsy argument without hesitation. "What reason would you have to believe I was hurt?" 

The detective backpedalled, realising that he'd trapped himself with his own telling wording: 

"I didn't mean hurt; I meant break," he excused. 

"I assured you that my structural integrity had not been compromised." 

"Just let it go. I wasn't thinking." 

"I disagree. You have been thinking a great deal." The android pressed, toeing the line between firmness and aggression. "I needed no saving the night I stayed over, yet you showed me the same consideration. I find your continually shifting attitude towards me deeply confusing." 

This machine doesn’t know what he’s doing , Gavin thought to himself. Nothing good would ever come from the proverbial shitstorm that was beginning to manifest.  

Wait. He stopped, firmly correcting himself:

It. 

Not he. 

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“You’re one to talk”, he seethed, expunging his frustration like poisonous venom. “I don't know what's gotten into you, but this buddy-buddy shit is getting old. We aren't friends; we're co-workers. We don’t have to pretend we’re anything more." 

He tried to pull away, to which Nines reached out, grabbing him firmly by the arm. "Why are you so desperate to deny what you feel?" 

"What do you know about what I feel?" Gavin snapped. The proximity between them was dizzying, their faces inches apart. "All you are is a hunk of plastic pretending to be a person."

The cruelty of his words came with little conscious thought. Part of him wanted to stop, but he refused to back down. He had already made the fatal mistake of letting the android into his mind, and he needed to shut it out before things got any worse.

"Your views have changed; you no longer believe that." Nines attempted to sound assured, but its torn expression betrayed this.  

"You said you weren't interested in pretending, and I'm not interested either, android." The word was spat from his lips like an aggressive slur.

His partner’s temple shone red, and its grip tightened with mounting defiance. "I understand that I will never be human, but I do not lack the capacity to feel." 

"Don't delude yourself," he sneered, barking out a cruel laugh. "You try to get into my head, manipulating my feelings to serve your directives, and you wonder why I fucking hate you."  

Nines let go, recoiling fiercely as if the man burned to the touch. As it stared at him with wide eyes, there was no mistaking the raw heartbreak that blighted its features.

"I see." 

The voice barely registered above a whisper, but to Gavin, it could have been screaming. He found himself unable to look, to face the consequences of what he had done. A part of him wished to take it all back. To pull his partner into an embrace and hastily beg for its forgiveness. But he knew that he couldn't. At least not now. 

Once that line had been crossed, there would be no turning back.

The ash built up on his neglected cigarette, and he made no effort to flick it away. With the light extinguished, he allowed it to slip limply from his fingers. "I'm going to get a coffee. Be back in a few." 

"You can get coffee from the canteen”, Nines replied, words strained from its melancholic state. 

“Not that coffee, I want...different coffee...at home”, he cringed at the weakness of his excuse. "Just don't wait up, and don't follow me."

Gavin turned on his heel and made his way to his apartment, refusing to look back. Whilst walking, he looked through his phone, swiping away the messages from Tina and instead opening his USwipe account. Seeking a distraction from the disastrous interaction that had just transpired, he filtered through the matches, looking for someone of interest. 

He was pleasantly surprised to find a well-kempt man around his age with a bio that didn’t immediately scream ‘weird pervert’ or ‘serial killer’. He was reasonably attractive, too - with a mop of dark, curly hair and warm hazel eyes. Emboldened, he opened his chat log and fired off a quick message:

Alex

You: Hey

did u want to meet up? 

It wasn’t anything elaborate, but Gavin had never been one for making the first move, so he reasoned it was progress enough. 

Arriving at his front door, he hoped to find some time to unwind. While he knew he couldn’t hide out indefinitely - and would have to return to the station at some point - a fleeting escape was a small mercy that he would happily embrace. However, this hope was quickly extinguished when a distant yowl greeted him from the bathroom. 

"...Tiff?” There was an unpleasant lurch in his stomach, telling him that something was wrong. 

While his cat was usually vocal, there was something off about the noise she was making. It sounded weak and strained. Shaking off his coat, he charged through his living room and slammed the door to the bathroom open. He found Tiffany lying in the bath, half-turned onto her back and staring vacantly into space. Her chest was falling and rising rapidly, and it didn't take Gavin long to realise what was happening.

"Shit", He dropped to his knees, scurrying over in a dazed frenzy. Almost as soon as he'd leaned himself over the bath, Tiffany let out another long cry, and he tried his best to console her. Gently running a hand on her back and shushing softly. "It's okay, girl, I've got you." 

The cat continued to pant and strain, and Gavin wondered, with significant guilt, how long this might have been going on. Extending towards the door, he pulled a towel from the nearby rail and gently pushed it beneath her. At a loss for what else to do, he reached for his phone, preparing to call the vet for some much-needed advice. An incoming call thwarted his efforts, and he stared at the screen in disbelief, unsure how to react.

While he entertained the idea of rejecting the call, he found himself unable to do so. The phone seemed to vibrate endlessly as the called ID quietly mocked him. Slowly, he pressed accept, and the caller wasted no time in pleading their case:

"It was not my place to make such brazen assumptions about your emotions. I would like it if we could talk about this—"

While Nines babbled, the detective noted the faint speckles of blood that littered his bath, plunging him deep into a nervous spiral. "Not now. We'll talk later." 

Tiffany was straining a lot at this point, as Gavin recalled the vet telling him that this should be 'minimal'. He had no idea what defined minimal - or at what stage it was acceptable to freak out. 

"Is everything okay?" Nines pressed, picking up on the obvious tension. 

The cat's legs jerked violently, and he moved closer, pushing her back for a better view. He observed in horror the tiny head peering out from beneath her tail. "I need a fucking vet." 

"For what reason?" Its tone became frantic, as though it were sharing in his panic. "Is it Tiffany? Is there something wrong?" 

"Well, she's about to shit out a kitten. Other than that, she’s just dandy." He held his breath, watching nervously as the baby's head stalled in place. Tiffany brought herself forward, desperately trying to push, before flopping back down in defeat. 

Gavin reached out to support her, aware that Nines was still talking to him but unable to process what it was saying.

"Did you hear me?"

"Hear what?" he hissed back frustratedly, overwhelmed by the situation. "Seriously, I'm not in the mood to play games right now." 

"I'm not suggesting we play games. I'm suggesting I come over and help you." 

He slumped back, groaning deeply, and buried his face in his arms. "What part of 'I need the vet' did you not understand? You can't help any more than I can."

"I beg to differ. While I am not professionally trained, I have reviewed extensive resources on the stages of feline birth." Nines’ voice was calm and reassuring, pulling him back from the brink of a full-blown meltdown. "My assistance would be invaluable to you." 

Gavin paused, determining if he could set his pride aside sufficiently. If only for the sake of his pet. After some deliberation, he conceded, reluctantly accepting the offer, "Fine, just hurry up. This thing's coming out looking like a red Gusher, and I have no idea if that's normal or not." 

The concern soon resolved itself as Tiffany arched her back again and gave another firm push. The kitten’s head fully emerged, revealing a small, furry body behind it. The gentle twitching of its legs assured him that all was well, and his heart swelled with pride for his pet. 

Perhaps something good could come of the overwhelmingly shitty day.

[bellysoupset]

That story with Luke and Leo was SO GOOD! I can’t believe Bella and Like broke up omg, I adore your writing ITS LITTERALY SO GOOD

What if you do a story where Jonah comforts Luke about his break up with Bella? I know they have kind of a enemies/friends/brothers relationship and I think it would be so cool to see Luke actually get emotional and have Jonah comforting him.

I thrive with drama!! The Bella/Luke story still will have quite a few installments I think, Lucas is being particularly stubborn and we don't even know what happened or Bell's POV. Anyway, enjoy

--------

"You are cheating," Wendy scoffed, kicking Jonah's thigh as he turned his completed wordle around for her to see, thus completely ruining her chances of beating him.

"I never cheat," he deadpanned, biting down a smile and reaching for the mug of hot coffee. It had been a pretty decent day, class had been a drag but not bad, work was slow for once... Pretty good. Even so, he couldn't wait to go home, less because of being tired, more because of the company that awaited him.

He kept waiting for the dumb butterflies to die down, but truth was Jonah still felt pretty stuck in the honeymoon phase. Not that he'd ever say it out loud.

He checked his phone, while Wendy pouted and grumbled about him being a cheater. There were no notifications from Leo, despite the fact he should've been home already.

Jonah chewed on his lip, gulping the rest of his coffee down, "do you think I should call him?"

"Mr. Di Caprio?" Wendy said sarcastically, all but sprawled on the staff couch, her feet resting on his lap. He slapped her ankle.

"Wendy," Jonah rolled his eyes, "I haven't heard from him since morning and normally he texts me during the lunch break."

"He texts you?" Wendy squinted, "always? Sounds very unilateral, Jon."

He scowled, then drummed his fingers against her leg resting on his lap, "you're right, I'm calling him."

"That's not what-"

He ignored his friend in favor of hitting Leo's contact and pressing the phone against his ear. Jonah was not the calling type, he'd much rather text anything and everything, voice messages being his absolute demise.

It rang and rang and rang. Then went to voicemail.

"Uh..."

"He's probably busy," Wendy said, noticing Jonah's frown, "I mean, his shift ended what? Forty minutes ago? Maybe he's going home still."

"The apartment is literally ten minutes away from his firm."

"I meant... The dorms?" She raised a judgmental eyebrow, green eyes sparkling, "did you ask him to move in with you six months into dating?"

"Five," Jonah corrected her, cheeks burning, "no, I didn't."

Wendy didn't even bother answering him, only opened an amused smile, one that said very well how he hadn't her convinced her at all.

"I just - Shut up, stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you in any way," she smiled, sitting up straight on the couch, "c'mon, chop chop. The sooner we're done with the clinic hours, the sooner we can go home."

By the time Jonah did reach home - Nearly an hour and a half later - he was already anxious. He had tried calling another time and had even texted, only to receive no answer. The entire elevator trip up, he kept telling himself that maybe Leo had just fallen asleep. It wouldn't be the first time, the guy needed all the sleep he could get in between his hectic hours...

Except Leo wasn't in the apartment and this was when Jon fully catapulted into "he's mad at me" territory.

He called again, pacing around the place, telling himself that if Leo didn't answer another call then he was going to drive to the dorms-

"Hi," the call connected, except it was not his boyfriend's soft spoken voice, but Luke's energic one.

"Why do you have Leo's phone?" Jonah demanded immediately, "did you call him into another one of those stupid midnight practices? That's abuse of power, Atwood-"

"Leo's sick," Lucas interrupted him and Jonah could almost hear the eyeroll, "he called me by accident, he meant to call you. He's got the stomach bug that's going around."

"What- How bad is he? Put him on the phone, I want to speak with him."

"He's rest-"

"Get Leo on the phone Lucas!"

"He is in a pretty bad shape. I picked him up from work and brought him over to my place, he's resting."

"You kidnapped my boyfriend," Jonah squinted at his door, already making up his mind and crossing the room for his car keys, "why didn't you bring him here?! I'm going over."

"Because you hurl when people get sick, Jonah," Lucas' voice dripped with disdain, "or did you forget last week when we both caught it?"

Jonah scowled, "I don't care. I'm going over."

"Don't be an idiot, you can't see vomit. He's fine, I know how to take care of people, I'm not ten," Lucas argued back, "stay home."

"Don't tell me how to date my own boyfriend," Jonah scoffed, "can't I just talk with hi-"

"Ah shit, I have to go," Lucas suddenly sounded distant, clearly busy and Jonah could faintly hear the noises of Leo retching in the background, getting louder as Lucas walked closer, only to cease suddenly when he hung up.

Jonah sighed, being left completely in the dark. He decided to try and not do anything harsh. He could shower, change out of the hospital dirty clothes and then call back again. Hopefully by then Leo would actually pick up and then he could reason with the guy to come home.

It was a solid plan, so he got on to it, only to find himself in the exact same position forty minutes later: pacing the living room, calling and getting just the voicemail.

Fucking Lucas Atwood and his hero complex.

Rationally Jonah knew that it probably just meant he was busy and that he would not actually be any help there. However logic wasn't the dominating part of him recently, so before he could think better of it, he was rushing out of the door.

For his credit he didn't stop at a pharmacy on his way there, for as much shit as he gave Luke, he knew the guy actually knew damn well how to take care of people.

His building didn't have a doorman, just the electronic panel to open the metal gates and Jonah, like anyone in the team, knew the password. He was buzzing with anxiety during the elevator ride up.

Lucas left the key inside of a fake rock on the huge fiddle leaf fig that sat near his apartment's door, and Jonah let himself in without a second thought.

"Leo?" He called, shutting the door behind him. The living room was empty, so Jonah moved further in, already expecting to find the whole party in the bathroom.

The door was shut and he immediately he heard a groan, followed by the noise of sick hitting water. A retch.

"Leo? It's me, can I come in...?" he knocked on the door, sympathy nausea be damned. His stomach already churned with the idea, but he simply couldn't just let his boyfriend be all by himself, "Leo?"

"Not Leo," Lucas scoffed, opening the door while wiping his mouth, "what are you doing here?"

"Where is Leo?" Jonah glared at him, concern flying out of the window.

"Asleep, he just passed out," Lucas rolled his eyes, pointing the guest room door and Jonah turned his back on him, rushing to the room.

It eased his heart just a little bit to see Leo tucked under the blankets, one pale hand poking out, as well as greasy blonde hair. He looked frail, which wasn't like his athletic built.

"When did he call you?" Jonah asked, leaning on the doorway.

"Around the time his shift ended, I think. Almost six."

"Did he say if he was sick since morning?" the idea that Leo might've been sick since that morning and that he had completely missed it made Jonah wince.

"Nope, he didn't start puking until I got there," Lucas rubbed a hand over his face, "like I said, he's fine."

"I'll be the judge of that when he wakes up, I'm the only one here who's qualified to say this," Jonah scoffed, but he couldn't help a small smile. Then he crossed his arms to look at Luke, "so you don't get sympathy sick, uh?"

"I don't."

"Then why the fuck were you throwing up?" Jonah frowned and Lucas' ears turned red, but he shrugged.

"Just the remains of the bug, I guess."

"We caught the flu a week ago. Actually, nine days ago," Jonah raised his eyebrows, "you're not still sick."

"I'm fine," Lucas pushed past him, moving towards the kitchen and Jon followed, unable to drop the subject now that it had piqued his attention.

He watched as the other man opened the fridge and fished out a gatorade bottle, starting to drink it. Jonah squinted. Lucas' hands were shaking.

"Lucas."

"I said I am fine."

Jonah rolled his eyes, leaning against the opposite kitchen wall, "what happened?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lucas shrugged, taking a large gulp. Jon studied him up and down. He could drop it, but something in the horrible energy around Luke was making him uneasy. It reminded him of the last year of high school.

"Lucas," Jonah tried again, "is your dad ok?"

"He's fine, nanna is fine, everyone is fine," he rolled his eyes, sounding pretty pissed off.

"Okay..." Jon stared at him, not buying it for a second, "where's Bella?"

Lucas shrugged, gesturing vaguely and Jonah's eyebrows met in a frown, before it fully dawned on him why his friend was acting like that.

"Shit, Luke-"

"It's fine," he cut him off, not in the mood to get any sympathies, "it's been weeks, it's fine."

Jonah didn't believe him. He had never seen Lucas be "fine" with anything close to his heart.

"Alright, you're fine," Jonah raised his hands in a fake defeated manner, voice dripping with sarcasm, "clearly, because fine people get sick from nerves and can't hold a glass without reenacting parkinson's. Sure."

"If I wake up Leo will you leave me the fuck alone?" Lucas' voice was sharp and cold, his normal friendliness all but gone, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Astounding work, captain," Jonah rolled his eyes, "I'm gonna go check on Leo and then I'll leave. I know the way out." He mentally kicked himself, what he actually wanted to do was not fight with Atwood. For all their bickering, they had known each other for an extremely long time, he was actually concerned over Luke's well being.

Whatever, he'd just tell Vince and let him deal with this.

Leo had turned around on the bed, kicked off the blankets, which probably meant the fever had gone down and he had started to feel just how warm he was.

Jonah sat gingerly at the edge of his bed, pushing the hair away from his boyfriend's sweaty forehead. He didn't have it in him to wake him up, even if the last thing he wanted was to leave Leo there.

Against everything in him, he leaned in and planted a kiss on his brow, then got up and left the room. Lucas was in the hallways, arms crossed and looking somehow worse than less than five minutes before.

Jonah sighed, "tell him I stopped by? And-" he cringed, "for what's worth I'm sorry about how things ended between you and Bella. I know that you-"

"I'll let Leo know you were here. Can you call in his work and let them know he won't be there tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Alright," Lucas gestured to the door, "bye Jon."