#i kind of like how this turned out (except for the messed up tile spacing)

[delulluart]

Another piece for @writingjourney's newest chapter, go and read it. No Plushia version here (DA) and here (AO3, new!).

[lexosaurus]

Going Angst Week 2021: Birth

I wrote a short five part fic for this year’s Going Angst Week! Fair warning as the event suggests, no one in this fic will make it out on top.

Chapter One: Birth

---

“Don’t think of it as a death, think of it as a sort of rebirth.”

That’s what Vlad had told him anyhow, after he discovered who—or rather what—Danny was at their college reunion. 

“Who were you before this? A nobody, right? Just some little hormonal fourteen year old from the weirdo family, unpopular and bullied. No real hobbies or activities to speak of, aside from…” Vlad’s red eyes pierced down at him. “Video games, am I correct?”

Danny diverted his gaze to the floor. Vlad’s aura only increased in amusement.

“But now,” the ghost continued. “Now you’re something else. Something different, more powerful. The world is your oyster, and all you have to do is reach down and take it.”

“I don’t know,” Danny finally spoke up. He had been hoping that speaking to the older halfa would begin to patch things up between them, but so far every word out of Vlad’s mouth seemed coated in poison.

He knew that deep down he shouldn’t trust a damn word Plasmius said, but Vlad was the only person in the world who he could relate to. And according to the Vlad, there was no one else like them in the Ghost Zone either.

“What is there to be afraid of, Little Badger? You’re a half ghost, you can do whatever it is that you want and nobody, nobody can stop you.”

“It’s not that I’m afraid.” Lies, lies, all lies. “It just doesn’t seem right, is all.”

Plasmius leaned down, forcing Danny’s eyes to meet his. He grinned, bearing his fangs at the boy, as if he could see through all the fear that Danny was desperate to mask.

“Oh Daniel,” Vlad said. “Your parents will never accept you. No good you do in your ghost form could ever convince them that ghosts aren’t all evil, that some are good, that you are good. Don’t you see?”

“No, you’re wrong. My parents will accept me. I just have to—”

“Oh, will they?” Vlad laughed. “Your parents? The same ones who’ve dedicated their careers, their lives to developing ecto-weaponry meant to kill our kind? The people who have written countless academic papers as to the dangers of ecto-life on Earth?”

“If I can show them that we’re not all bad, then maybe they’ll see.”

“Ah, so I bet that explains why you haven’t told them about what really happened in the lab, right? You just wanted to wait for the ‘right time’ to tell them. Foolish boy, don’t you know?” Vlad’s cocky tone died down, as did the power of his aura. In the first moment of sincerity Danny had witnessed from the older man, he turned to Danny and warned, “Your parents are too blinded by their ignorance to ever see the truth.”

---

Danny had been alone the day of the accident. He wasn’t sure why he did it, why he strapped on the hazmat suit (not before ripping off the Jack sticker), why he stepped in the portal, why he tried to figure out how to turn it on. Was it boredom? Teenage rebellion? Curiosity?

But delving into his reasoning was too little too late. Because the moment he tripped over the wire and hit the misplaced power switch, his life ended.

Literally.

Dying hurt. It was terrifying, waking up as something else entirely, and passing out all over again.

At first, he could almost pretend that he was okay. But then he woke up the next morning and felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

And then he fell through his bed, hitting the wood floor below his bed frame.

And then he dragged himself out and saw the extensive scarring on his arm.

And then he knew. That what had happened in the lab wasn’t just a fluke, that whatever the portal did had changed him forever.

That he wasn’t okay.

Still, he tried to carry on as normal. Eventually, the lightning scars snaking across his arm faded (even though they remained when he transformed), and the aching of his muscles subsided (but the coolness in his chest never went away), and his relative anonymity at his school meant that people hardly noticed a change in him (even though his two best friends seemed to hover more now than before).

Everything was going to be normal. Even if he wasn’t okay anymore. Even if he wasn’t human, even if he was...some monster.

What even was he?

“Danny?” Sam poked his shoulder. “Hey, space case? You haven’t touched your food. Are you okay?”

The world snapped into focus, and he realized that he was in the cafeteria at school with his untouched lunch tray splayed out in front of him. He couldn’t even remember getting out of bed this morning, much less making it all the way till lunch.

Regardless, he picked the cardboard excuse for pizza from his tray and took a bite, chewing slowly, and tried not to choke as he forced the food down his parched throat.

“I’m fine,” he said.

He’d been saying that a lot lately.

“We’ve been trying not to pry, but…” Sam looked helplessly at Tucker. “Danny, is...is something going on with you? You’ve just seemed off lately.”

“No, nothing happened. I’m fine.”

“You sure dude?” Tucker asked.

Danny set his school-issued pizza back down on his tray. “Guys, seriously. I’m your best friend. If anything happened, I promise you’d be the first to know. I’ve just been stressed about school, it’s nothing.”

Sam and Tucker exchanged a glance, evidently not looking too convinced. Regardless, Sam gave him her best fake smile and a, “If you say so. Just know we’re here if you wanna talk.”

But he didn’t want to talk. They were human, he...wasn’t. They wouldn’t get it. They’d think he was a freak, they’d stop talking to him, they’d tell Jazz who would tell his parents who would kill him trying to save him.

No one could help him.

They finished lunch in silence, and then it was back to class where Danny managed to fall out of his chair twice and drop his pencil too many times to count. In biology class a glass microscope plate flew past his fingers, shattering against the tiled floor, and in English class when Lancer handed him papers to pass out he dropped those too, sending them scattered along the ground.

He saw the way Lancer peered at him as he stumbled to the ground, hands shaking as he desperately tried to grab the papers while everyone laughed at him. He felt cold—he was always cold since the accident—and he was sure that he looked just as much of a mess as he felt.

Mr. Lancer sent him down to the nurses office after that.

But he couldn’t go to the nurse because his heart rate was slower than a human’s and he didn’t need to breathe as much and he was so cold.

And he was fine.

So he took the hall pass and hid in the bathroom for the rest of the class period.

“Think of it as a rebirth,” Vlad had told him. 

Except Vlad was wrong. Danny wasn’t stronger now, he wasn’t more powerful. In fact, Danny Fenton had never felt more powerless, lost, and alone in his entire life.

If this was the start of a new life, then he was terrified to see what would follow.

---

next chapter>

[the-broken-truth]

Can you do yandere bully damian wayne with fem reader how is a 🐺🔥🥋 🛡 🏹 🏠 she is like demon Hunter in Gotham and sometimes batman call for her help with joker/villains and goes to Gotham academy

They Heated each other guts and she tolerated him for her best friend Jonathan Kent

Damian was dating raven how was using him as cashcow

one day in park damian get drugged and kidnapped and reader saw all the and follow there car to save him after killing his kidnappers and heal him she comfront him and tell him everything is going to be alright and give him her jacket (which he will keep it for eternity) she dropped him to his house after buying him something to eat when damian get to his father house he sees the no-one care of what happened to him they saw the he got kidnapped and they didn't care at all but reader did and the how the obsession began

*STATIC*: An Obsessive Love Born From Loathing Hate? A Golddigger, as well? Quite an interesting request we have here, Broken.

Broken Truth: That we do, so let's see what words weave together from this.

Quick Note: The name of the reader shall be Kacela - The name means 'Huntress' and is of African Origin. Just like Damien, she is a rich kid but not because her parents are rich - her human parents abandoned her and she started her own business; it's well-known but not on the same level as Wayne Enterprises.

Broken: SORRY IT'S LATE! I'VE BEEN BUSY!

- THE RUNED HUNTRESS -

[On Top Of Gotham's Rooftops - Across from a besieged Research Facility]

[The Joker was at it again but this time he wasn't working alone - he enlisted the aid of Clayface, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Killer Croc, Riddler, and Penguin to take hold of a Research Lab that contained something each member of the crime group wanted; how Joker knew this and managed to use to persuade the villains into working with him is something The Dark Knight couldn't quite figure out. What he did know was that he was going to need some help.]

[At the moment, Damien (Robin)., Dick (Nightwing), and Barbara (Batgirl) were the ones of the Bat-Family that were with him at the moment but the 4 of them weren't going to be enough and - as much as he hated it - he needed aid from a power beyond what his gadgets and training could do.]

Damien (Walks over to Batman, who is standing on the edge looking at the facility): Father, why are we still waiting while those criminals are making a mess of the place?

Bruce: Because we're waiting for someone.

Damien: Who? We have enough people, we can take them.

Bruce: Don't be foolish, Damien. It's the four of us up against seven of Gotham's Worst, plus they have hostages and have access to unknown tech or substances that could put us at a disadvantage. The person I called has abilities unlike our own and can help us a great deal.

[Damien opened his mouth to protest when a smell hit his nose - it smelled like something was burning.]

Dick (Sniff-Sniff): Does anyone else smell something burning.

Barbara: It smells like brimstone.

Bruce: She's here.

[Nightwing opened his mouth to question who 'she' was when a burst of red light from a ball of fire came shooting upward from the edge of the building before falling and landing in the clear space. The ground was scorched from the fire impact and cinders flowed around the air and lined along with the black marks up everyone looked at the person - or creature - that caused it.]

[The creature was large and muscular the body of a wild canine - a wolf - but it stood on 2 legs; except, wolves didn't have 2 horns on their foreheads. The forearms of the beast were scarred with runes that were glowing red against the black fur. The creature began to stand on 2 legs - its height towered over Bruce - and opened its eyes to reveal eyes made from hellfire. The humanoid wolf opened its jaws - letting the hot smoke out - as it began to speak to the Head of the Bat-Family.]

Wolf Creature: Dark One (What she calls Bruce), I'm answering your persistent summons. Why have you decided to bother me this time?

Barbara: Summons? (Looks at Bruce) Bruce, what is that thing?

Wolf Creature (Glares at Barbara): I am not a 'Thing', I am a Wolf Demon while you are the daughter of a cop - playing dress up just to spite him and stick your pointed head where it doesn't belong.

Barbara (Points at the Wolf Creature): Hey, don't call me a...

Bruce (Raises his hand): That's enough. (Looks at the Wolf Creature) Runed Huntress, I know you told me that you're not interested in helping me but this is important. Those criminals have many innocent people captured and are trying to access some very dangerous information and products. Our gadgets can only get us so far but your power is limitless. We need your help.

Runed Huntress (Snorts - making smoke shoot out her nose and blow in Bruce's face): Very well, I shall aid you once again but - as I said before - do not make a habit out of this; you are this city's protector, not me.

Bruce (Nods): Noted. (Turns back to the building) Now, let's get a move on.

[The Bat-Family & The Runed Huntress leaped across the building rooftops until they reached the last roof that sat at the edge of the street that separated the distance of the buildings and the facility. The Bat-Family watches as the large humanoid wolf clapped her hands together and slowly brought them apart - bring a bow that looked as if it was forged from hellfire itself. The Runed Huntress took the bow in hand and did the motion of drawing back an arrow - Damian's eyes widen as an arrow materialized in her clawed hand before she releases it. It goes soar across the street and crashes into the glass dome but doesn't shatter it - it melts it away and forms a large hole, big enough for the rescue party to get inside.]

[The villains looked upon the hole of melted glass as the Bat-Family glided in and stood before the corrupted 7. The Ringleader - The Madman known as Joker - began to chuckle and clap his hands.]

Joker (Clapping): Bats! I knew you would be here! A little late to the party, don't you think?!

Bruce (Glares at Joker): I don't have time to deal with your demented mind, Joker. Release the hostages and turns yourselves in or we can do this the hard way.

Joker (Pouts and shakes his head): Oh, Batsy... Always the party pooper; no cake for you. But in case you have noticed, I outnumber you so...I don't think you can win.

[Just then - the monstrous roaring howl of the Runed Huntress echoed in the hall as she leaped through the giant hole and landed on all fours between Joker and Bruce. She glared at the villains as her jaws opened as lava leaked from the cracks of her fangs, making 2 pools on the tile floor that began to rise and form into 2 clones of herself.]

Runed Huntress (Rising to her feet as the lava clones did the same): Now...it's an even playing field.

[When Killer Croc let loose a hiss, Runed Huntress barked back at him and the two of them charged at each other - fighting as beasts knew how to. Bruce dealt with Joker, Barbara took on Harley Quinn, Dick took care of Riddler, Damian attacked Penguin, while the other two clones took on Clayface and Poison Ivy.]

[The fight ended with the villains in cuffs and loaded into Transportation Trucks, Barbara found the scientists locked in the safe - all accounted for and unharmed, but mentally scarred - Bruce was talking to Gordon while his family looked on. Damian looked off to the side and watched the large wolf walking away and ran after her as she turned into an alleyway.]

Damian: Hey, where are you going?

Runed Huntress (Looks over her large shoulder at the Wayne Family Heir): What do you want, boy? I have aided your leader, that doesn't mean I need to stay around for his talks with the Commissioner.

Damian: Just what the hell is your problem?

Runed Huntress: My 'problems' are none of your concern, Rich Boy.

[Damian opened his mouth to speak but the large beast was engulfed by a flammed vortex that erupted from the ground around her feet and covered her until it exploded into cinders - leaving Damian alone in the alley, looking at the charred circle in the ground.]

- RAVENS LIKE THINGS THAT SPARKLE -

[The Next Day: Gotham High School - Courtyard]

"I gotta go to the library to do some last-minute reading before class starts but before I forget, can I get some cash, Bae?" The Indigo-Eyed Girl asked as she looked upon the Wayne Heir.

"More? I gave you $700 just last week." Damien said as she looked at his girlfriend.

"I know but there's a sell on some rare spell tomes and I didn't want to risk someone else getting their hands on them. o, can you give me some cash?" Raven asked with a tilt of her head like a cat; making the heir exhale.

"Okay, I send another $800." Damien exhaled, earning a kiss on his cheek from the girl how had his heart before she turned and began to walk away.

"Hey, Damien!" Damien turned to see his friend Jonathan Kent walking up to him, but he wasn't alone.

Beside Jonathan was a dark-skinned female around the same height as him with golden eyes in a constant glare, She had short black hair in an undercut - only on her right side. She was wearing the Gotham High School uniform but the man one - she wasn't in comfortable skirts and she had the money to allow this. On her wrists there 2 golden bracelets - long ones that start at her wrists and end further up her forearms - that had some kind of writing on them that Damien didn't care to translate. Why didn't he care? Because he didn't like her.

"Hey." Damien said as he looked in the direction of his friend and...tolerant.

"You good, Bro? You seemed stressed out." Jonathan said with concern in his blue eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine - Father was telling us that there is some large event tonight and he wants all of us there; no questions asked." Damien said.

"Large event? What's that?" Jonathan asked.

"He talking about Gotham's Angel Award - it's when all of Gotham's CEOs and Walking Wallets gather in one room to see who's been recognized as the most giving and kind." Kacela said as she looked at Jonathan with her arms folded.

"Funny the stray (That's what Damien calls her began she doesn't have parents, relatives, or even a surname.) knows what it is, even though you would never step foot in that place, much less get to hold an invitation." Damien said with a smirk on his face. Imagine his shock as Kacela pulls an invitation to that event from her pocket.

"You were saying, Bird Brain?" Kacela asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Damien began to get mad and Kacela glared at him when Jonathan stepped between them.

"Whoa. Whoa. No need to fight! Just relax, guys." Jonathan said as he looked between her friends. Kacela exhaled and stepped back.

"Fine. I won't fight because Jonathan asked me to." Kacela said as she glared at Damien.

"Same here, Stray." Damien glared at her too before turning back to his phone.

"Whatcha doing, Damian?" Jonathan asked.

"Sending some cash to Raven's card." He said.

"More? Didn't you send her a lot just a few days ago?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, but there was a book sale and she didn't want to miss out on the rare tomes that were for auction." Damian explained.

"Is that the song she sang to you? For someone so brilliant...you can't even see when you are being played." Kacela said as she placed her hands in her pockets and began to walk away.

"What's that supposed to mean, Stray?"Damian glared at her.

"Just remember - Ravens are fond of things that gleam and shine but they are also creatures that sing songs of deception." Kacela said before she entered the building, leaving Damian and Jonathan standing there.

- THE RAVEN'S DECEPTION & TRAPPED IN THE LION'S DEN -

[After Highschool]

Damian wished his friend a good evening before getting on his motorcycle and driving out of the school's parking lot. He knew that the normal route he would take was going to be caked in traffic for the event tonight and decided to head the long way. He was coming up on the red light at the intersection of 4 famous restaurants/cafes sat at the 4 Corners. He was the first vehicle in line when a familiar voice was heard from the right - he looked and the eyes under his helmet widened when they landed on his girlfriend sitting at an outdoor table with shapeshifter of the Titans - Beast Boy a.k.a Garfield. They were sitting at the table, holding hands and smiling at each other - as if they were in love.

"So, what do you want to do this weekend?" Raven asked.

"I wanna go to the new exotic animal show but tickets to that places are stupidly expensive." Garfield said.

"Don't worry, babe; I got the money from that walking piggy bank, Damian." Raven said.

"You got more? I thought he gave you some a few days ago." He said.

"Yeah, I just told him I spent the money on tomes and he gave me $700 more. All I have to do is pout and he'll give me whatever I want." Raven smirked at the notion and Garfield laughed.

Damian felt so bad about what he just heard - when the car behind him hooked their horn to let him know the light was green, he floored it and began driving down the main streets before the tears in his eyes began to blind him and he stopped on the edge of the park, took his helmet off and hid his face in hands - sobbing; showing the weakness of the Al Ghul.

His heart was broken - the one he loved was using him for a wallet for the shapeshifter and he was too blind to see it. The words Kacela said before she left that day - she was warning him that Raven was disloyal to him. The one he hated was the one who warned him.

He was so caught up in his crying that he didn't see the hooded figure sneaking up behind him and smacking him off the bike with a metal pipe in the back of his head. His world got dark when he heard the words.

"We got Wayne's Brat - we're in for a huge payday, boys." the fading voice chuckled until Damian faded into nothingness of mind.

[Around 2 Hours Later]

"Wake up, pretty boy!" someone commanded as he slapped the Wayne Heir wake - he was tied to a chair in the center of an unknown warehouse with 6 Thugs surrounding him - all of them with weapons in their hands.

"What? What the hell do you want from me?" Damian demanded as he glared at the man who slapped him - only for the same man to punch him in the face; Damian could taste the blood on his tongue before he felt it flowing out of his mouth as he tried to shake the daze from his head.

"We don't want shit from you, brat; we want a payday from Wayne and I know he'll pay huge racks to get his little boy back." The leader said.

"Boss, we've been calling Wayne but he ain't answering." A good said.

"Then keep calling! The sooner we finish this, the better." The boss order. Damian hung his head down - he was done for: his father wasn't answering the phone, his love breaks his heart...just what was he to do

The answer came as the window of the warehouse came crashing inward and a familiar Lycan-Shaped Figure came crashing into the room and landed on the ground on all fours before rising to its hind legs with a very pissed off glare in its eyes - the runes on its body shining in the light.

"What the hell is that?!" One of the Goons said as he tried to get his gun - only to have his head bitten off by the creature's jaws, letting his body hit the floor.

"Kill that thing! Fucking kill it!" The Boss said as he made Damian get to his feet and used his as a human by holding his arm around his neck and hold his gun at the creature that jumped around, slaughtering his men before turning to face him.

"Don't come any closer or I'll blow his brains out!" The boss said as he held the gun against Damian's head.

The Runed Huntress looked at a long metal nail that was sitting between her feet and reached down to gather it in her large clawed hand. Damian and the boss watched as the large wolfish creature twirled the nail between her fingers before flicking it on its head and sent it flying like a bullet - hitting the boss in the center of his head, making them lose his grip on Damian and slump to the ground. The Huntress ran over to Damian before he could fall and gathered him tenderly in her large arm before using the other one to cut his ropes - even free, the boy didn't move, he was too...cold.

"Damian, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" The Runed Huntress asked him as she looked at him with concerned eyes. Damian opened his mouth to speak but he noticed the bracelets on the creature's wrists - he saw them before, he saw them every day during school.

"K...Kacela?" Damian questioned as he looked into the creature's eyes again - there was a sparkle, a smile, then a small vortex of fire that revealed the human face of the one he hated at school.

"I always told you that you were brilliant, just weren't wary of the right people."Kacela said as she took off her jacket from her shoulders and placed it over Damian's, "Wear this, you're freezing." She said.

"You... You saved me? I thought you hated me - after everything I said and did to you." Damian said as he looked into her eyes.

"I never said I hated you, Damian; I said I hated the way you acted. As for saving you, I may have a beast's soul and form but I'm not a heartless monster to just let someone get hurt; not even someone who tries to me." Kacela explained before she turned back into the Runed Huntress, gathered Damian in her arms, and rose to her feet, "Now, let's get you home; you are too cold, you might be sick." she said as she turned on her heel and leaped back through the window she came through with the Wayne Family Heir in her arms.

- THE ONE YOU HATE IS THE ONE WHO CARES THE MOST -

[Wayne Manor]

The Runed Huntress landed in front of the door to Wayne Manor, using one of her hands to knock heavily on the door - it was soon opened by the Wayne Family Butler - Alfred Pennyworth.

"Hello, Madam Huntress, is there something I can help you with?" He then noticed Damian in her arms, "Is that Master Damian? Did something happen?" He asked.

"He was attacked and held for ransom but Bruce never answered the phone and he was harmed." Runed Huntress said.

"That's understandable - Master Bruce and the others are currently getting ready for the event and have asked not to be disturbed." Alfred said, making Kacela's eyes widen in anger.

"What?" She growled out. She pushed past the butler and followed Bruce's scent up the stairs to a meeting room - she barged in and - sure enough to what Alfred said - Bruce, Dick, and Barbara were all there, dressed in elegant attire; they all looked at the large wolf who barged into the room.

"Huntress? Is there something you need?" Bruce said.

"Are you serious, Bruce? Your son is in my arms, beaten & possibly sick, are you're asking me if I need something? Why didn't you answer the calls from Damian's phone?" Kacela asked.

"As Alfred told you, we're busy getting ready for the event." Bruce said.

"He's your son, Bruce Wanye - he was attacked, held for ransom, and beaten up and all you care about is this event? He could be sick, he's as cold as a block of ice." Huntress growled.

"Well, you got to him and saved him before he was hurt too bad, but since he can't come to the event, take him to bed and we will deal with him in the morning." Bruce said as he began walking do the door, past the wolf and his sick son, with his other 2. Kacela growled at him before looking at Damian.

"Where's your room?" She asked, her eyes widened when his hand grabbed her fur and held her close.

"Please... Please, don't leave me here." Damian pleaded - begged - as he tried to hold more tears while shivering.

"There's no way in hell I'm leaving you here. I need to get you some warm clothes." She explained.

Damian told her where his room was and she when there - placing him on the bed for a moment as she gathered pajamas and a new school uniform into the bag before closing it, picking Damian back up, opened the window, and the two of them disappeared into the night.

[Kacela's Loft]

*BEEP - BEEP - BEEP*

"Yeah, just as I thought - you're sick." Kacela said as she pulled the thermometer from the boy's lips and looked at the numbers. Kacela placed it on a napkin on the nightstand that was beside the bed Damian was laying in and the chair she was sitting in. "It seems to be a simple head cold - some medicine and rest should get you and running again, not to mention a good night's rest." Kacela explained.

"How come...you didn't go to the Gotham's Angels Award?" Damian asked as he looked at her with a warm feeling on his face - it must have been the cold.

"That place is full of people who just wanna get seen, not for doing right." Kacela explained before she reached on the nightstand to her phone, "You have to eat something before taking your meds and I don't feel like cooking tonight, so I'll order something. What are you in the mood for - Pizza or Burgers?" Kacela asked.

"What? You're letting me choose?" Damian asked.

"Sure, I don't usually have guests, so why the hell not?" Kacela gave a smile...and the warm feeling returned but it was stronger this time.

When the pizza arrived, Kacela helped Damian sit up, and the two of them ate while having conversations - turned out they had a lot of things in common, from their love of books to their outside activities. Damian asked Kacela a few questions about her knowing Raven was cheating on him and why she didn't tell him directly - she explained that it wasn't her place to speak on another person's relationship, plus he made it very clear that he had a dislike for her so what reason would he have to believe her? Damian apologized for his words but Kacela said she heard worse and wasn't bothered. Just before bedtime, Kacela gave him cold and sleeping medicine so he would be alright in the morning; she stayed with him until he fell into slumber before she went to sleep herself.

When the morning sun rose - Damian woke to the smell of pancakes. Kacela made them breakfast and even made sure Damian's phone was placed on the changer. Damian got dressed in a fresh outfit and went to eat with Kacela; who informed him that she got his bike and helmet from the park after he went to sleep; he thanked her, finished his breakfast, and left out the door...with her jacket.

- NOT SO BLIND ANYMORE -

"What do you mean we're over?!" Raven yelled as she stood before Damian.

"Just as I said - I'm done with you, Raven. You're nothing but a gold-digger and a liar, and you only see me as a mess to keep that green boyfriend of yours happy. I'm not giving you anything else but a hard time if you ever show your face again." Damian glared at her, causing her to huff and march away to the school building.

"Whoa, Damian." Jonathan said as he walked over, "You really broke up with her?" He asked.

"I don't have time for gold-diggers and liars." He looked around, "Where's Kacela?" he asked.

"She called and said... Wait, did you just call her by her name? I thought she was a stray?" He said but swallowed when Damian glared at her.

"Never. Call. Her. That." Damian growled.

"Okay. Okay, man - sorry." He said.

"Now, what did she tell you?" Damian asked.

"She said she couldn't come today - there are some major investors that are interested in her company and want to make a partnership, so she won't be in today." Jonathan said.

"Really? Then, I'll speak to her later." Damian said.

"Talk about what? Wait, isn't that her jacket?" He asked.

"Yes." He said, 'But it's more than just that. It's the start of what Kacela and I shall be...together.'

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Nat and the House: Jameson

CW: Pet whump survivor, collar mentions, references to past pet whump, referenced ptsd flashbacks

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

“Okay, well. Here we are.” Nat opens the door for him, swinging back the heavy wood and stepping inside. The sun is warm on his back, but it drops away into a chill as he steps inside. His eyes shift back and forth, trying to bury his curiosity under a tight jaw and narrowed eyes.

The house is big, although not as big as Jake Stanton’s. It’s old, and creaky, and feels alive in a way that newer houses don’t. It’s a place that has seen so many lives move through its halls, felt so many hands on doorknobs and walls, that it’s taken in some of each person who has slept here. They’ve left something behind, and it’s the breath inside the house.

It’s the whisper of air against the back of his neck, slightly chilled, that tells him that a hundred voices have bounced off these walls, with their own pain and fear, long before his added to the chorus. 

Jameson swallows, lingering in the doorway and staring ahead at a carpeted staircase that winds up and disappears around a 90-degree turn, at the coat closet just beside it. There’s a built-in shelf on the landing he can see the bottom half of, lined with photographs in small cheap dollar-store frames. 

Off to one side of the entryway, there’s a big double-door-sized opening into a gigantic living room - to the other side, a dining room with a large table covered in boxes, paperwork, books, and some flannels hung from an empty china cabinet, looking still damp, drying. Beyond that, a small kitchen, he can just see the corner of the oven.

This is a house with breath. This is a house with a voice.

The house tastes like a crackling fire, the mix of heated air and chilled, melted marshmallows inside s’mores, the crunch of graham cracker and chocolate bar underneath. 

This is a good house.

“Sorry,” Natalie Yoder says over one shoulder, moving ahead of him to flick a light switch. Jameson flinches, just a little, when a warm yellow bulb inside a false chandelier lights above his head. Her braid thumps against her back, a deep chocolate brown with strips of silvery white running through it. “I haven’t had anyone here in a long time, so the house is a mess. Just me these days.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. Natalie Yoder has a good voice, too, it’s full and warm, it tastes like hot chocolate, the kind that goes light on the sugar and is just a little bitter and spiced with cinnamon. Her voice feels smooth on his tongue. He can trust people who taste like this, he thinks, and he takes another step inside.

“H-How… how long?” His voice croaks a little, it rasps. Long-term damage to his vocal chords, they said, from screaming so often for so long. 

She stops and looks back at him, and there’s a gentleness in her tempered by the steel he’s already seen. She gives him a slight smile. “Long enough to speak to Dr. Berger, get you on your meds, and give them time to settle in your system. Could be a month or two to figure out exactly what’s going to work for you. Then see what happens with a couple of controlled interactions.”

He nods again. She speaks like an expert - she is the expert, he guesses, because she’s seen a hundred people like him in her life and Jameson has only ever known himself. 

Not that he’s even sure he knows himself that well, most days.

He has his collar on, buckled tightly around his neck, a comfortable constriction. A reminder that he isn’t in control, someone else is, and what happens from here isn’t his fault. It’s not his responsibility, because a pet can’t be responsible for anything.

He left Jake Stanton lying on a couch’s pull-out bed because he can’t go up the stairs, pale and unconscious, and he left Allyn crying in their shared room, curled up in the closet, running their fingers over the names that Jameson carved into the wall there.

He lost control, for just a minute, of where he was and who was with him, and now…

He’s safer with the collar on.

He’s safer, controlled.

They were right - he can’t do this on his own, and he never could. 

“You can choose whichever room you like, except that I keep Chris’s room for when he stays over just the same, so not that one. But there’s another three bedrooms you can use.” Nat smiles at him, moving to the stairs and gesturing for him to follow.

They creak under his feet, and the house is speaking to him, whispering here, you’re here, you’re here now in bursts of smoke on his tongue and sweet just after. He licks at his lips, looking down at ancient brown carpeting there, almost long enough to be shag.

For just a second, he sees a flicker of a bright red shag carpet in a large shared loft bedroom, a face very like his own but older, laughing as they threw balled up pieces of paper at each other. Sparkling brown eyes-

Gone-

Jameson shivers and the moment is lost, and he lets it go happily. Whatever happened to him, he has too many other problems right now to dwell on something he’s already chosen to leave behind. 

“I’ll take, uh, whichever-... whichever room is closest to the bathroom,” He says, seeing an open door with the telltale tile floor and pale painted walls. She nods, gesturing to a closed door on her left. He pushes open the bathroom door and just stares, for a few long beats. “You have-... dinosaur shower curtains?”

“Oh, Chris loved that,” Nat says, looking over his shoulder briefly. She’s as short as he is, more or less, and somehow her leaning over behind him doesn’t feel quite as unsettling as when Jake Stanton does it, or anyone else.

Shit, maybe they’re all right. Maybe he’ll be safe here… and everyone else will be safe from him.

“I just kept them after he moved out. We can get new ones if they bother you, it’s not a big deal.”

“Uh, no, they’re… they’re fine. I’m going to-... put my stuff down now.” Jameson backs up and she moves away to give him space. The floor creaks softly underfoot as he moves along the hardwood in the hallway, to the closed door of the room he’s chosen sight-unseen.

When he opens it, it’s plain. Just pale walls and two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, side tables with lamps, blankets and pillows. A single framed portrait of a bird on one wall. 

He looks out the window to the branches of a tree outside.

“I’m going to go downstairs and make some coffee. Want me to call for you when it’s ready?” She speaks from the doorway, calm and quiet. He loves her hot chocolate voice.

“Sure. I could… I could use some fucking coffee,” He whispers, without looking back.

“No doubt. We’ll figure this out, Jameson, I promise.” 

Before she can close the door, he asks, all at once in a rush, “What if I do it again?”

She’s quiet, for a minute. Quiet for long enough his heart starts to pound, he starts to wonder if she’ll lock him in the room, or even kick him back out and tell him to start walking and figure it out on his own. He can’t go back - the last time he was on the streets, he got picked up by Robert, the time before that by Brute. His pulse beats against his collar, and he’s safe with the collar, but only if he’s kept by someone who takes care of him, who won’t hurt him worse. “To Jake?”

“Or… or Allyn. Or you, or-... fuck, anybody. What if they-... made me so I’ll do it again?”

More quiet. He hates the quiet. He wants her hot chocolate voice back. He turns, finally, to see her looking him over with a calm that goes so far beyond his own anxiety and fear, a steady surety that makes her seem more like she’s part of the house than someone who simply lives here.

She’s seen a hundred hands, too, learning not to hurt or be hurt. She’s heard a hundred voices learning to speak up, remembering how to do something other than beg for it to stop. Maybe she is the safehouse, and the building is just… an extension.

He can kind of see why the big guy likes her so fucking much.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to give you the tools you need to keep yourself and everyone around you safe.” She smiles at him, a little, lifting the corner of her mouth just the slightest bit on one side. “It won’t be easy. And it won’t be simple, or immediate. But you aren’t irredeemable, Jameson. Even if you fucked up. Does it help if I tell you I’ve had others hit me, or grab at me, when they’re in a panic and forget where they are?”

He breathes, shallow but slow. “R-Really?”

“Yeah. A half-dozen or so. I caught Chris lost in a nightmare once and he cracked me across the face with his forehead so hard I had a bruise for a week. I’ve been kicked, I’ve been hit.” She exhales, not quite a sigh, and steps inside the bedroom, moving over to one of the beds and sitting down, crossing her legs at the ankles and leaning back, resting her weight on her hands. “I ended up in the ER with a concussion once, early on. One of the ones I lost.” She looks away from him, and he sees the wrinkles in her face suddenly settle deeper, as if the weight of that old grief ages her even now. “He didn’t mean to, the poor guy. He was so scared, but I couldn’t-... I couldn’t keep him. He was so scared of himself he went back to his captor. Never saw him again.”

Jameson takes one step towards her, and then another. It’s unconscious, and he tells himself not to, but he can’t help it. “I’m-... I’m sorry for him.”

“Yeah, me too. I hope he’s doing all right, but… I suspect not. It’s… it’s hard, Jameson, to do this, and sometimes the hard feels like it’s never going to end. Sometimes, they think there’s no choice, no other way.” She looks up at him, and he sees the faintest glimmer of tears that don’t show in her voice, don’t fall down her face. “You’re thinking that, too. That maybe you were better off kept.”

The echo of his own thoughts in her low husky voice sends him reeling, and he can’t find his voice to speak at first. Finally, he manages, “Y-yeah.”

“It’s a lie. I understand why it feels like-... it’s inevitable. But I want you to know... I’ve seen this before. And you’re still better off healing than being sent back to shatter. We’re going to help you, and Kauri-... Kauri’s right, I think. You’ll be safer here for a while, and then you’ll go back and be safe there, too.”

“What if I’m not? Safer there?”

Nat Yoder’s smile softens, and she holds out her hands. She must expect him to sit next to her, because she jumps in surprise when he drops to his knees instead, and lays his head on her thighs, across her lap, feeling the rough denim of her blue jeans against his cheek.

Her hands hover, and then slowly she lowers one, and rests it, gently, over his hair. 

“Then you’ll be safe here,” She says, and her voice pours over him, honeyed, deep, the hint of cinnamon and the texture of the thick liquid of his grandmother’s hot chocolate, made always with whole milk and a touch of cream.

Jameson doesn’t question the knowledge of how his grandmother made hot chocolate, and he doesn’t push it away. He just lets it exist, there and then gone a moment later. 

 “For how long?” Her fingers press just slightly against his temple. Her fingertips are slightly roughened, calloused from hard work. “How l-long am I safe here?”

“The same amount of time I give everyone, Jameson,” She says. “As long as you need.”

“But you said-... you don’t take in anyone anymore-”

“I’m making an exception, and I don’t do anything halfway.” She leans over, and he feels her shadow fall over him. He turns his face to press against her leg, feeling the tears start to well, clenching his eyes shut only to have them fall without his consent, to dampen her jeans.

He shudders. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him-... I thought he was Brute, coming b-back, I didn’t know-”

“I know. I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

“I know I sh-shouldn’t fucking cry-... I’m the ass-asshole who stabbed him, I shouldn’t c-cry about it, I shouldn’t-” He hitches back a sob, feels his collar catch on his Adam’s apple. It’s not enough to keep him safe. It was never enough to keep him safe. 

Her voice washes warm over him, and she runs her hand through his short hair, over the filled-in bald spots shorter than the rest. “You should, if you need to. Go ahead.”

Somehow, once she says he can, he can’t stop himself at all. 

Jameson kneels on the floor in a house that has seen a hundred or more people exactly like him, his body wracked with guilt and horror at what he did, what they made him, and his terror that he can’t ever take it back, that he can’t become anything other than what he was made to be.

And through the tears, she keeps one hand on his head, and when he starts to talk to her, she listens. 

Outside a bird sings, a mourning dove, calling hoo-hoo, hoo, hoo.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump @burtlederp

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Silva Lining (Saul Silva x reader) Chapter 2

Warnings: Swearing?

Word count : 2.1k 

This chapter was a little longer, I really get hooked on all of the details and before long the chapter keeps getting bigger and bigger. It’s gonna be a whole story so bare with <3 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night before starting at a new school you thought was supposed to be exciting, or you were meant to feel nervous, it was not supposed to be spent crying in Tara’s arms after explaining to her what had happened between you and the man you now believed to be your soulmate. You don’t know how long it had taken you to get to sleep in the end, all you knew is that you woke up as heartbroken as you were the night before. However, today is the first day to the rest of your fairy life, so brave face, and deal with the pain after hours.

Technically you didn’t have to go down to the courtyard to see everybody coming in, part of you was just interested, nosy, sick of being surrounded by only like 3 people for the last two months? Let’s just say you had your reasons. So there you were standing by yourself like an idiot, Tara was helping some of her friends move their things in, you noticed a girl with bright blonde hair, stunning, popular no doubt, she had the heir about her, not to mention there was already a group of Fairies crowded around her. Then you noticed another girl, flaming red hair, looking a little lost, part of you wanted to walk over to her, say hi or whatever, then you realised Sky had already clocked her too and was making his way over. Sometimes it was good to fade into the background, it just meant you could see everything happening without seeming too nosy. Like when you notice Blondie shoot daggers towards Sky and the girl he was speaking to, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Dramaaaaa. The conversation ended quickly when another guy, dressed in dark clothing with brown hair snuck up behind Sky interrupting. From the way they messed around you knew they were good friends. Maybe it was the guy River… no.. Riven, Sky had told you about. You looked away, starting to feel a little lonely as you watched friends re connect after time away. You only had one friend so far, and no doubt she had friends already here too, it was only a matter of time before you were on your own again. 

It wasn’t long before the final students had come through the gates and they began to close, you were one of the last ones outside, some stragglers lingering, when you felt someone come up behind you. You could tell instantly who it was, you wanted to be pissed off, but you couldn’t, his presence making you feel more at home than ever. He was close enough that you could feel his breath fanning the back of you neck, but far enough away so that if anyone saw you both it would just look like a private conversation. 

“You should be mingling with others, not standing here on your own.” You could tell by the tone of his voice he was frowning. It angered you. He was the one that decided what you felt for each other ‘wouldn’t work’ and now he thought he had an opinion when it came to your social life? 

“Saul, I mean, Mr Silva, you made it pretty clear yesterday that what we have.. had, wouldn’t work, so why are you concerned about what I do.” You moved away from him as you heard him sigh. You could tell he was frustrated, you didn’t care. In the two months you’d got to know Silva, you realised that he was a pretty dominant figure, he wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, or having someone talk back to him. 

“Listen Y/N, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He gritted out, it was paining him that he couldn’t touch you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed, turning to look at him, raising your eyebrow in a kind of ‘are you done?’ attitude. His jaw clenched. “Just stay out of the woods, there was another sighting of a burned one, it’s not safe to be out there at the moment.” With that he brushed past you, his skin brushing yours lightly enough to leave your whole body tingling, he faltered as he felt it too but carried on walking away. You headed off the the Fairy hall, looking back watching his re treating figure, you thought you had been the only two out there, but just before you rounded the corner you caught a glimpse of Headmistress Dowling, staring at the both of you from the top window of her office. 

The hallways were bustling, students squealing and hugging friends, luggage being hauled through the crowds, you had to push your way past, noticing on the way, a lot of people staring at you. You could hear people chattering, whispering, getting bits and pieces of sentences here and there like “Changeling” ‘Burned one” “multiple powers”.. You rolled your eyes, how the fuck did the news spread so quickly. You were grateful when you reached the door to your halls. You pushed the double doors open wide and took in your surroundings. Tara was there, sorting out all of her plants, she looked up and gave you a wide smile. 

“Oh Y/N there you are! I was just telling the girls all about you.” She rushed out and came to stand next to you. The noise attracted a few girls from the rooms off of the main dorm. Blondie from earlier sauntered out, you don’t know why it hadn’t clicked before that she was obviously the princess. Then followed a girl with headphones, a girl with funky looking hair, bits of blue were braided through it, and then the girl with the flaming red hair you’d seen in the courtyard. You stood awkwardly, your Doc Martens kicking the tiled floor. It was easy to see you all had different styles, you were no exception. There seemed to be a colour theme going on. 

“You don’t have to be so worried you know, we don’t bite.” The voice came from the girl with the headphones dressed in purple. “I’m Musa, i’m a mind fairy, that’s how I know what you’re feeling, also the reason you’ll see me with these almost every single minute of the day” she said while holding up the bulky headphones that were around her neck. 

The girl with the braided hair was next to introduce herself as Aisha, Water Fairy, explained why she had the blue theme going on. Next was Bloom, the girl from the courtyard with the Fire like red hair, which was suiting considering she was a Fire fairy. She was the other girl from earth. 

Lastly was Princess Stella. A light fairy, her hair funnily enough as you mentioned earlier, a bright shade of blonde, her clothes weren’t yellow, matching the whole light theme, but you did clock that the majority of her room and clothing choices were shiny. She gave you a smug smile, you knew girls like her back home, you’d been friends with a girl like her back home, she gave off a vibe of “I’m better than everyone else” but it’s probably just so she can hide her own insecurities. There was hope for her yet so you gave Stella a smile, which shocked her. You looked down at yourself, taking in your appearance, heavy Doc Martin boots, black ripped skinny jeans, plain white top and black leather jacket, okay so if they all had colour themes yours would definitely be black. 

“You’ve obviously met Tara, she didn’t shut up about you since we all got here, interesting that you’re from earth too like Bloom, two earthlings in one year, how exciting, and you killed a burned one on your arrival, isn’t that something.” You glared a little at the girl dressed in Green as it seemed she had already spilled some details to the girls in your dorm. Stella mocked surprise, oopsing at the fact that she’d brought up what Tara had obviously babbled out. 

Tara mouthed a sorry from across the room, the earth fairy was harmless and you knew that anything she had said would have been accidental or came out in excitement. “Yup well, I’m Y/N as Tara has probably already told you, born in England, Silva found me, killed a burned one at the barrier in the woods, apparently I have multiple abilities andddd i’m a changeling. Any more questions? I thought not.” 

You laughed and walked over to your room. You shared the space with Musa, just like her mezzanine, you had one directly above, sort of like a bunk bed but it was more like a bunk room. You’d mastered the art of not falling over the railing when getting up in the night to pee which you were happy about. You heard the girls below all talking about what a changeling was, how you’d killed a burned one, what a burned one was, all riveting stuff. The only thing you could think about, the only person you could think about, Silva. Musa looked at you and gave you a side smile. You were going to have to get used to someone around you knowing how you felt all the time. 

“So Y/N, are you going to the party?” Your head peaked up, a party? You didn’t know there was going to be a party but you were sooo going. You needed to let off some steam, do some flirty flirting with the boys and for once be a normal teenager. “I say party, it’s not gonna be some total rave but it’s like a welcome party.” It surprised you that Stella asked. You flopped onto your stomach on your bed. 

“Count me in, i’m gonna go for a walk first though, clear my mind and get some air before. Anyone want to join?” You watched as 4 of the 5 girls shook their heads no, it was yet again Stella who surprised you saying yes. Maybe she wasn’t going to be awful after all. 

Stella was surprisingly easy to get along with and you could already tell she liked you, maybe you’d already become friends even, you didn’t want to push your luck. You found yourself walking by the pond near where the specialists train. You hadn’t realised that that’s where your feet had led you until Stella tugged on your arm a little. “See that guy there, the one with the blonde hair, that’s Sky, we used to date.” Stella linked arms with you. You nod your head and explained how you’d met Sky when you first arrived here. You tensed as you heard his voice, you heard him before you saw him. 

“So, after your classes, you’re all mine.” It made you choke on nothing but air and your cheeks flushed. A few heads turned to look at the interruption and you ducked before Silva saw your red face. He’d seen you though, hiding beside the Princess, he tried to conceal his grin of amusement and then went back to teaching. You looked to Stella, the awkward moment hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. Before you could explain you heard shouting, you and Stella sat down on a near by bench and watched as Silva roasted the living daylights out of a first year specialist for being disrespectful. You could pick up pieces of their conversation, Stella filling in the blanks you didn’t catch. 

“The shield is to protect us from the burned ones”….

“Have you ever seen a burned one.” Silva was pointing his sword at the students face. 

“That’s the thing no one my age has, isn’t that all over now?” The first year specialist didn’t seem so confident now and you scoffed. Wrong, you’d KILLED a burned one, without even knowing what a burned one was at the time. You still don’t remember how you did it, that moment blanked out completely in your mind, the only thing you remember, Silva finding you haunched over the body.

“That’s where you’re wrong, one of the fairies here, was attacked by one on the way in, luckily, something was in her powerful enough to kill it before it could kill her, so no, it’s not all over now.” You could tell Silva was gritting his teeth, stopping from going any further, sometimes his anger slipped away from him. A few people that had obviously heard the rumours turned and looked at you, shock crossing their faces as if they were all thinking the same thing… so it was true, not a rumour after all. You’d finally had enough of the stares, you jumped up, catching the attention of Silva, Stella following behind you as you walked away and towards the woods. 

The very place Saul had told you not to go to. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 3 ---- CLICK HERE 

Tag list :

@kingunder221b

@anreeixcobra

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 4]

<- Part 3

Frederick Chilton x Reader 

Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only! Suicidal thoughts. Nonconsensual blowjob, dubcon smut with reader (gender-neutral). None of the smut in this chapter is healthy! Two messed up people falling in love, only one is a lot more abusive than the other (Chilton. It’s Chilton). Reader is not in the healthiest of mind states to interpret their relationship. Everyone more or less gets what they deserve by the end.

6,400 words

Red morning light flooded into the bedroom through expansive panoramic windows that gave a spectacular view over the bay. Dr. Chilton—no, Frederick—was still beside you, rolled onto his back, snoring lightly. The bed was warm and smelled like him. A spicy, timeless fragrance. Expensive and a little off-putting at first whiff, until it melted into something complex and beautiful.

You felt hollow. Numb. Like you could float away or sink to the bottom of the ocean and never claw your way back out again. But calmer, at least. The impulse to hurt yourself was gone.

The negativity that had been devouring you from within had been washed away by a flood of tears and joy—crying until your eyes burned and your throat was hoarse, fucking your boss, going home with him, and then falling asleep crying again while he held you.

This morning, you had nothing left except static.

And there was Frederick Chilton, asleep beside you like a dreaming titan—the silhouette of his body beautiful and ominous. You resisted the urge to cuddle up next to him. He reacted badly to being touched without warning, and besides, you dreaded waking him up. What if he wasn’t happy? What if everything from last night was a mistake?

It all seemed surreal. That he had wanted you all along was too good to be true. Now that he had you, you were certain to be a disappointment. Your chest heaved unexpectedly, and you bit back a fresh sob. Suddenly your face was wet again.

Your nerves were so raw.

The peaceful static buzzing through your mind was fragile. Any sudden movement or loud thought might set you spiraling back down that hole again. You’re just going to screw this up, just like you screw everything up. Maybe it would have been better if you’d just gone through with it—saved everyone the inevitable heartache.

But if you had gone through with it, you never would have found out that Frederick returned your feelings. That knowledge—that something wonderful happened after your planned date of expiration—was reason enough not to try again. Sometimes good things happened. Things could change. Things could get better, and you could be happy again. You had to believe that.

So you moved slowly, and thought quietly. You listened to Frederick’s breathing in and out, and remained wrapped in the warm cocoon of blankets.

***

On the spectrum of touch aversion, Frederick Chilton was hardly a dramatic case. There was a Mr. Walton in his custody at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane who was imprisoned for murdering his four-year-old daughter because she would not stop hugging his calves as he walked by. Restraining the man for treatment required four muscular orderlies prepared for him to kick and bite at the slightest grazing of his skin.

That was touch aversion. Dr. Chilton considered himself perfectly normal by comparison.

He was able to shake hands with an acquaintance, hug a close friend or relative when social normalcy dictated he offer one, and even engage in sexual intercourse when his libido overrode his discomfort. As a man with a very high libido and next to no dating life, sex won out at every opportunity.

Yesterday, the hasty, frantic encounter with you in the medicine storage closet had been almost fully clothed. His hands explored your body as he rutted into you, but yours were braced against the tile wall, passive.

It was impersonal, and he was in control.

This morning, he awoke wrapped in the warmth of your body heat after you spent the night in his bed. In his home. He fell asleep watching you and awoke to you watching him thrashing out of a nightmare, your eyes full of so much emasculating pity that he lunged forward at once to kiss the look off your face.

Fuck—he did not know what he was thinking. A muffled noise of surprise escaped your crushed lips and then melted into a moan as you reciprocated. You opened compliantly to allow his tongue entrance. He meant to bully away your perception of his weakness with the aggressive kiss—he had not expected you to coil your fingers deep into his hair and pull him closer. Your leg pushed between his, and as he pulled back, panting, you quickly closed the gap and kissed him again.

Your bright floral scent was everywhere, surrounding him, invading the familiarity of his sheets. Your hands were pulling at him, softly caressing up and down his back.

It was intimate.

And he was terrified.

You saw him freezing up, and your hands stopped grabbing at him. Some of his tension evaporated as soon as you gave him space. A worried smile thinned your lips.

“Sorry. I forgot,” you murmured. “Is this better?”

You remembered. This was usually where his bedmate would call him too cold, or roll their eyes in annoyance. There was the usual guilt trip: if he was attracted to them, he would want to be crowded with physical affection. But you asked if he wanted to stop—asked him what he needed. No one had ever done that for him before.

“I am fine,” he swore to your skeptical frown, and it almost wasn’t a lie.

Knowing that you would stop put him at ease. The sunny persona you used at work may have been a forgery, but your gentle kindness was not. With you, he almost was fine.

He kissed you again, this time as tenderly as he had while you were sleeping. Felt you breathe in as his lips met yours, and then melt into him as you breathed out. He caressed your hair, and when your eyes opened again, taking him in, his heart felt full.

***

As a general rule of thumb, it is not a good idea to fuck your boss. This rule goes double when you are in the middle of a mental health crisis, and increases geometrically when said crisis was precipitated by your boss’s callous, condescending, cruel behavior in the first place. Or—that is to say—when your boss is Dr. Frederick Chilton.

But when you wake up in your boss’s bed having already fucked him, he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and the twitching of his erection against your thigh makes you feel alive again, you might as well accept you’re in too deep and go for it.

Dr. Chilton’s cock was already slipping through the open fly of his pajamas, and your hand helped it the rest of the way out. You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him on your tongue, his salty taste filling your mouth. Bracing a hand on one of his thighs, you lowered yourself to the pink dome.

“N-no,” Frederick stammered. “You do not have to do that.”

“I want to,” you hummed, a seductive rumble to your voice.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward once in appreciation for your willingness, but his eyes kept a haunted dullness that told you there was more behind his refusal than politeness. There was a story there, and you knew better than to push it.

You couldn’t have known it was his conscience intruding.

Taking control, he pushed you back down onto the mattress. The sound of lube squeezing from a bottle shortly preceded a cold slickness spread between your legs. You reached for him instinctively, trying to make it romantic, but he pinned your hands down by your side. The crown of his cock pushed against your tight entrance, which burned at the penetration it was unprepared for. It was cold, rushed—but as he canted his hips forward, his fingers laced through yours.

“Oh god,” he moaned as if he were kneeling in prayer, whispering his sins in confession—guttural, yet barely a breath.

You grit your teeth to cage the pained cry that leaped in your throat, stifling it into what passed for a whimper of pleasure. The stretch of his unceremonious insertion was the punishment you deserved for being so dramatic and causing so much trouble yesterday. For making him bring you home, worry about you, feel like he had to take care of you. For being weak. For all the incompetent mistakes. You didn’t complain that your body screamed in protest at being forced open too fast by such a large implement. It wasn’t that bad, and the sensation was mixed with pleasure. Satisfaction of seeing the handsome doctor’s face contorting with lust warmed your stomach, and soon your body relaxed around his cock, warmth pooling and coiling in your lower back.

Chilton’s first thrusts were controlled, experimental, rocking forward by slow inches and then retreating until the crest of his cockhead was barely hanging on to the tight rim of your opening. Then he rocked forward again while his analytical green eyes studied your reaction.

After a few of these slow strokes, the pain was gone. Perhaps he had been cognizant of it, waiting until you were letting out soft moans, your pelvis tilting to meet his, before continuing. Then his leg muscles tightened, and his next thrust slammed his hips into yours, filling you completely. You cried out in unison—his a satisfied growl, and yours a wail like you’d been punched in the gut but got off on it.

He lost his thin facade of control after that, rutting into you with force, pressing sloppy wet kisses over your mouth, down your neck. Your fingers clenched his tightly, your knuckles turning white, and he gripped back just as hard. He only slowed to arch his back so he could tease your nipples into hardened peaks with his tongue, releasing new yelps and whimpers from your throat. A possessive bite drew a more resounding cry of pleasure and a dark bruise.

The only thing restrained about his performance was his voice. After his first shout of pleasure, he grew silent except for a few strained noises that told you how hard he was working to strangle back the others. You wondered what wild howls Dr. Chilton hid within him.

“I want to hear you,” you panted.

His face was a mask of effort, already covered in a sheen of sweat that betrayed his poor physical shape. He stared down at you like an enemy soldier in a trench—a spy picking at his weaknesses—and gave no reply.

A strange sort of bravery born of lust came over you. “I want to hear it when you come inside me,” you challenged.

The rhythmic motion of his hips stuttered, and a moan slipped past his defenses as if by your command.

“That’s good,” you purred. “That’s a good boy.”

Something shifted in his suspicious eyes at your praise. A wall came down. “Yes,” he rasped. “You want to hear it—” his voice was punctuated by a powerful snap of his hips and a wet sound of flesh “—when I fill you with my seed.”

“Fuck—yes. Please. Fill me, come inside me!” your voice shook as you moaned your assent. You were so hollow. You needed him—needed him to fill that emptiness inside. Needed his thick cock splitting you open, punishing you, claiming you.

“When I make you mine.” His eyes were wild, almost frightening in their focus upon you—perfect green tunnels into a soul as volatile as yours. He pounded into you deeper.

And he was loud. He had been loud yesterday when he took you fast and hard against the wall, but that encounter was a blur in your memory. Now his voice was the only music filling your head, replacing the static. He spoke continually in filthy promises and eloquent details of what he wanted to do to you, but his words were punctuated by inarticulate grunts and moans. An aching need built with each primal noise that was so unlike the repressed, cynical Dr. Chilton you knew at work.

Every trembling declaration of your name, every prayer to god that passed his lips sent a shock of arousal to your core, and when he half-begged, half-demanded, “Mine… you are mine,” you couldn’t help but agree.

“Yours!”

You were close, all of your senses lost to an overwhelming need. Chilton released one of your hands and slipped between your legs. Every nerve in your body came alive as he stroked you. Your back arched as you went rigid beneath him, crying out.

His head fell against your shoulder, hips bucking wildly, and he sobbed, “Oh god… yes… yes. Mine… mine… mmm—!”

He shuddered as his warmth flooded you. Though his hand became lazy as his own climax overtook him, you eked out an orgasm from the friction between your bodies. It was enough. Enough to leave a slippery mess on his bedsheets, and enough for the resulting crash.

Your emotional high popped like a soap bubble and left you just as hollow—somehow emptier than before—even with Dr. Chilton’s cock still inside you and his seed filling you. You felt wrong. Guilt churned in the place arousal had been occupying. You almost started to weep as he pulled out of you.

Chilton didn’t seem to notice, glowing with the opposite effect of his completion. He ducked between your legs, grabbed your thighs, and began sucking your overstimulated flesh with renewed enthusiasm.

“Ah! W-wait,” you squirmed in his grasp, but it was firm. “What are you doing? I-I already came!”

The sloppy wet noises paused. His chin was soaked and he took sadistic delight in your distraught whimpers. “Therapy,” he smirked. “I have a theory you have another one in you, and that it will benefit your health.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Be a good little subject for me and try,” he answered, “or we shall be here a long time.” Then he buried his face between your thighs.

It felt sickening at first, like swallowing a cup of sugar—too much of something good that becomes painful. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as his tongue worked mercilessly. Then his fingers pumped inside you, his slick cum serving as a lubricant, and that aching need began to return. Choked cries of misery dissolved into ones of pleasure. He didn’t stop until you came again in his mouth, legs quivering and bruised under his grip. This one was more powerful than the first—you could feel it through your entire body, in every limb, and when it finally passed and his mouth popped wetly off of you, your body was too leaden to move.

Chilton smiled, quite satisfied with himself, licking your release off his lips.

***

Work was less stressful when you returned to it on Monday. Dr. Chilton was suddenly understanding of your mistakes. Though you were terrified he would decide he was wrong about you—you were too much of an idiot and failure for a relationship—things at least improved to the point that you could pretend to be cheerful again. Fake it until you make it was your mantra.

Everyone could tell something had changed.

Shifts were rationed out fairly without the express aim of frustrating employees. Patients received actual treatment. Dr. Chilton’s mood was so much less spiteful that a new hire unironically called him nice.

“He must be getting laid,” was the rumor around the hospital, though no one could decide who in their right mind would sleep with him. Your grin dropped at an orderly’s suggestion it was a prostitute.

You were gathering up your keys and jacket from your personal locker in the staff room when the sound of expensive leather shoes clicking on the stone floor signaled the doctor’s approach. It no longer made you flinch.

Chilton glanced in from the hallway and, seeing you were not alone, politely said, “Good work today,” and continued on, his step lighter than usual.

“You didn’t,” Nurse Clerval said flatly.

“What?”

“You didn’t,” they repeated. A raised eyebrow caused worry wrinkles to erupt beneath a hairline steadily turning grey.

“Of course not!”

“Then what is all this about?”

Your entire body was shifted in the direction Dr. Chilton had gone as if straining to follow, and a tell-tale smile shaped your lips into a fawning curve. Oh, you were so busted.

“We happened to talk the other day, that’s all. In private.”

“How private?” Another brow raise.

Your cheeks burned. “It’s not like that! He’s shy. When we talked one-on-one, it turns out we get along. He apologized for always singling me out, and he’s just trying to be more supportive. As a management style.”

Clerval stared at you hard. Your chest puffed out, really proud of that lie. The older nurse had seen enough within the hospital walls to know the administrator suddenly adopting a kinder, gentler management style was horseshit. But their jaded heart had not lost all compassion. A young nurse caught fucking the boss would get ripped to pieces by the gossip mill in this vicious place.

“OK. Fine,” they surrendered. “Just don’t go around making googly eyes, or people will get the wrong idea.”

***

A timid knock sounded on Dr. Chilton’s door, although it was still open from his last meeting—a junior psychiatrist who hurried out fuming and near tears. Perhaps that was why the next appointment was hesitant to come in.

He looked up from his computer, and the crankiness entrenched in his bones shook off at the sight of your face. You were his eighth performance evaluation that day, somewhere in the middle of the pack, and he’d lost track. Now his demeanor shifted, and he did something he hadn’t done for the others by rising from his desk to greet you.

“Close the door, if you would,” he said before you got too far into the room.

The latch clicked shut.

You were nervous. Though you had been dating for months, you remained distant during the workweek to avoid scandal—if news of a relationship got back to the board, you might be transferred to another hospital. Alone in his office, it was unclear whether Dr. Chilton was your boss or your boyfriend. Letting you dangle in suspense sent a thrill of excitement up his spine.

“Take a seat. Let’s get started, shall we?” he said, sitting back down behind his computer.

His massive desk was known as “the moat” by his staff, and it created an impersonal distance between you. He eyeballed you from across the moat, tapping his fingers together as he sank into his tall-backed leather chair. You sat on a small wooden chair, feeling very much like a specimen, and focused on the space between his eyes.

“You have been late five times this year and had to have an ID card replaced,” he said in clipped syllables, launching right into the review with one “needs improvement” after another.

Your stomach twisted into a familiar knot, but you managed not to spiral into an attack of self-loathing and anxiety. If you were going to cry, you could hold it until later.

Talking to someone helped.

Even Chilton admitted it was unethical for your boyfriend to be your therapist, and recommended you to someone with more expertise. You had been seeing Dr. Bloom for three months, and the dark fog was slowly receding. She taught you how to beat it back. Finding another job, for example, was not an outrageous, impossible idea if your current one was making you miserable. And most of your mistakes were no worse than the mistakes of your coworkers whom you very much wanted to keep living. She started you on a bupropion prescription that helped stabilize your moods, and you found yourself able to focus better because of it, too.

It also helped not being bullied at work every day.

The more your self-esteem improved over the months, the more you came to resent the shameful way Frederick used to treat you. Yet, as those same months went by, his actions drifted further into the territory of Past Frederick. That man was a stranger now—you could hardly hold Present Frederick accountable for his actions. Present Frederick was attentive and warm, always surprising you with lavish meals from Baltimore’s finest restaurants, spa days, and quiet nights at home. And as your boss, he was aloof but polite whenever he had cause to speak with you.

Why was he acting so cold now?

Dr. Chilton’s green eyes bore into you over the top his computer screen. “Tsk tsk… I am afraid your performance has not been exceptional, nurse. Perhaps there is something you can do to improve what goes into my report…” A thin lecherous smile spread over his lips.

You weren’t sure what he meant until he beckoned you to his side of the moat, and his hand slid under your shirt.

“What are you willing to do for a better evaluation, my little pet?” He winked mischievously, a hint of playfulness lighting his eyes, though his desire was deadly serious.

“We said never at work.”

“Yes, but now we have reason to be locked in my office, alone. Nothing that would raise suspicion. You are all mine for the next twenty minutes.”

A gasp rushed from your lips as his fingers expertly found a nipple and pinched. Your skin prickled with need.

“In that case, doctor… what will it take? I’ll do anything!” You added a desperate tremble to your voice as you got into the role he wanted you to play.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to bend you over this desk?” Frederick growled with lust, his breath hot in your ear as he grabbed your arms and spun you to face it. It had been a fantasy for far longer than you had been dating. His erection pressed against your ass.

You twisted your neck to catch the side of his mouth in a sloppy kiss. He smirked against your tongue before shoving you down.

The flat of his hand trailed up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades to push your cheek into the polished mahogany.

“Good… very good,” he said. His breath shook with excitement.

Pulling your scrubs down, he rubbed the thickness of his cock over your opening. You shuddered at the cold sensation of lubricant and moaned as he reached between your thighs to stroke you.

“You are always ready for me to take you whenever I want it. To do anything I ask. It is my favorite thing about you—did you know that, my needy little pet?”

His hips rocked, the blunt head of his cock circling, pushing at your tightness. You let out a strangled whimper that almost sounded like a, “Yes, Doctor Chilton.”

“Be quiet now, remember,” he chided as his strong fingers dug into your hips and drew them against his in one fluid motion.

A gasp erupted from your throat—you fought to comply as he stretched you open, biting down on your fist. You were so tight around his cock, but it was the rush of power that drove him into a frenzy. He felt so in control, gripping your hips as he pounded you against his large desk. The desk was his own furnishing, and he was proud of how substantial it was—too heavy to scrape across the floor even as he fucked you. No creaking to indicate cheap construction. The height of refinement. Silent. No one would know what was happening just behind the closed door of his office—his domain. He had control here. It was something he was desperate for after two near-fatal attacks left him weakened and helpless, and his office was one of the few places he could exert his will absolutely. His office was his safety. And you. You completed it.

“You’re mine,” he grunted. “So submissive for me, bent over… God, yes—”

The one thing Dr. Chilton desired in life more than control was to be adored, and you adored him. The most pleasant ray of sunshine to grace the BSHCI was secretly broken like him. Was secretly his. All his. He had everything he wanted—your obedience, your affection, your strangled cries as you fought to stay quiet, your body writhing in pleasure beneath him—

He shuddered and came.

He finished sooner than he intended, and awareness of being old and weak came flooding back as his release dripped out around his cock and dribbled down your thighs. Fuck. He fucked it all up. But you turned and wrapped your arms around him anyway, kissed him like you weren’t even disappointed, and made him forget he wasn’t good enough. God, he could get lost in you.

Every day, he was a little less self-conscious. More comfortable having you close. He learned to trust you.

After a life of suffering, you were his happy ending.

***

“I love you.”

You hadn’t said it yet, but you were going to today.

Frederick Chilton’s hand was always in yours wherever you went—under the dinner table, on your thigh in the car, on the couch while the other hand typed away on a laptop. Soon he wouldn’t be able to hide his affection at work. You already caught him nearly slipping up and calling you “pet” in front of another nurse. It wouldn’t be long before it all came out. And it would be alright.

You were already looking at jobs at other hospitals in Baltimore. Most even came with a pay increase. Then when your relationship went public, there would be no scandal, no dating your boss, just the two of you together. A real couple. He was going to invite you to move in with him so you could still see each other every day—you were sure of it. The thought sent thrills of goosebumps tingling up your arms.

For once, when you looked to the future, you saw something bright.

“Hey Clerval, have you seen Dr. Chilton? I tried his office, but…”

The old nurse sighed heavily. Swinging their feet off the breakroom table, they set aside the yogurt cup they were halfway through and gave you a tired look. You hadn’t exactly told Clerval about your secret relationship, but they knew, and so far, no one else did. Not that they approved. In fact, you had never seen Clerval so worn down as when the topic of you and Dr. Chilton came up.

“His schedule says he’s in his office, which means he’s probably in one of his ‘unorthodox therapy’ sessions.”

Your head cocked. “His what?”

Clerval pinched the bridge of their nose, giving yet another sigh at your naivety. (At this rate, they were going to run out of air.) “Experimental procedures. Things the good doctor doesn’t want on record.”

There was a bitter bite to their words, yet at the same time, resignation. This hospital sucked the soul out of everyone who entered it, and Henry Clerval had been a nurse here longer than anyone. Longer than Frederick Chilton had been a doctor.

“Oh,” you said. “Well,” you scuffed the white rubber sole of your sneaker on the stone floor. “I’m sure he has a good reason.”

“I always see those hypnotherapy lights flashing around Ward A when no one is scheduled for therapy. Try there,” Clerval suggested with defeat.

“Thank you!” you called, sneakers already running down the hall in the direction of the women’s ward.

“Are you sure you want to interrupt his session?”

“I want to surprise him! I’ve got something important to say!”

***

If anyone had been outside women’s wing cell 4B on any Wednesday around noon, they would have heard a wet choking sound, but the staff was too jaded to care. If the guards had any idea what was happening, they got off on it, and didn’t try to stop it.

“Am I good girl, daddy?”

“Yes… yes,” Dr. Chilton hissed between his teeth, biting his lower lip to keep his breath from exploding out in a tortured moan. “A good girl.”

It was an accident the first time a hypnotherapy session regressed Julianne back to a sexually abusive childhood. She grabbed for his belt, and he froze. He almost yelped out in terror and called for a guard, but then she had his cock in her warm, wet mouth, sucking it to fullness, and moaning for him (or rather, for the memory of the father and brother she eventually murdered).

This wasn’t therapy.

When you became a soft part of his life, he stopped trying to justify his actions as anything other than more exploitation in her long life of being exploited. He let it happen because he was lonely, and he continued doing it because he did not care who else got hurt. There were no possible therapeutic benefits for the patient. He himself noted an exacerbation of dissociative symptoms, if there was ever any doubt that he was not thinking of her care. He only wanted a warm mouth to service him, even if it was not the one he longed for.

Then you became more than a daydream, and he recognized how deeply he hated himself. Because he had you—not only your body, but your heart.

But he never stopped.

Every week, like clockwork, he continued the hypnotherapy sessions and left Julianne confused with the bitter taste of his ejaculation in her throat.

You could have been his happy ending.

It wasn’t too late. You filled his lonesome days with affection and understanding he never thought possible. You taught him that he wasn’t too old and broken to love. In forty-five miserable years, he hadn’t ruined things so badly he could never find happiness.

You could have been his epilogue if he only loved you as well as you loved him.

It was not your fault what happened next.

But of course, of all the nurses and orderlies, doctors and guards in the BSHCI, you were the only one kind enough to want to surprise him with lunch. The only one who would have a sinking feeling about the rhythmic squelching coming from cell 4B. Anyone else would have said it was someone else’s business and walked away before seeing something that might obligate them to fill out paperwork.

You were too kind for this place. Too kind for the scarred doctor whose heart died a long time ago.

He watched your eyes widen from the other side of the bars. Saw your face turn from confused to nauseous, then crumple into tears as an involuntary groan escaped his lips—Julianne kept sucking at an unwelcome, now painful pace.

Then you turned and ran.

Julianne never stopped until he finished, though he was no longer in the mood. He never touched her, but he tried to back up, wanted to run after you. She stayed with him. This time he broke his rule and placed a hand to her forehead to push her away. Grasping his thighs, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder. Blood hammered in his ears. If he ripped her away, she could become violent or wake from the hypnosis, and he did not know how much was she aware was real. What her reaction might be. She was surprisingly strong as she held on, teeth grazing threateningly along his shaft the more he struggled.

She never stopped until he finished.

He was trapped.

He whimpered, cock going soft even as she bobbed faster. He tried to close his eyes and think about you, but that was ruined. You were gone forever. There was nothing he could say to explain himself, unless he drugged you with the right cocktail of psychotropics to make you suggestible, your memory malleable…

Solutions he knew would never work raced through his mind as the throbbing between his legs became an agonizing burn devoid of pleasure.

Panic rose and tightened his chest.

***

An anonymous call was made to the board of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The subsequent investigation found “no conclusive evidence” of Dr. Chilton’s alleged breach of ethics, owing not to the lack of such evidence existing, but the board’s desire to sweep the incident under the rug. He was, however, summarily fired and replaced by Dr. Alana Bloom. A forward-thinking move—if the truth ever came out, the hospital would have a friendly feminist face for public relations.

He never went to jail. Never got what he deserved.

Within a month, his book Hannibal the Cannibal became a national best-seller, and he was on tour, raking in wealth and acclaim. He probably would have left his position at the hospital anyway.

There was only one thing he lost, and he used much of the book’s royalties hiring a private investigator to keep tabs on you. It was the only way he could be sure you were safe when you would not return any of his calls.

As much as he was terrified of you becoming suicidal again, the truth hurt more.

You were doing well.

You resigned from BSHCI. Within a month, you had a new job as a graphic designer of all things. He never knew you were an artist. There were so many things about you he never asked, and now he never would.

Every so often, he would drive by your house and slow down, trying to catch a glimpse of you. He imagined seeing you hanging a rope, and rescuing you just in time. A thousand versions of the confrontation played in his mind—you screaming, “Stay away from me!” with disgust. Tears streaming from your puffy red eyes. Him pleading, “Do not hurt yourself because of my mistake.” The bark of your sardonic laugh at the realization that he cared.

In a few, precious few, of these fantasies, you would throw yourself into his arms and forgive him.

But he never saw you in danger, and he rarely indulged dreams as unlikely as reconciliation.

Eventually, he didn’t even get to hear your voice directing him to leave a message—only an automated recording that the number has been disconnected. Sometimes, however, you were sitting on the couch in your living room near the window, and it was enough to justify the forty-minute detour through your neighborhood.

One day, your silhouette was not alone.

***

Nurse Clerval quit two days after you left.

They couldn’t forget the shock on your face when you burst into the breakroom and nearly collapsed. It was the most heartbreaking thing to see someone so innocent crushed.

“Ch-Chilton… he—”

Sobbing and stuttering, you told them what happened, and Clerval took care of it. You were in no state to get on the phone, be put on hold, and fill out the miles of paperwork that went with everything in a government-funded hospital. It was a pain in the ass, and nothing would get done anyway, which was why no one ever bothered… but they couldn’t ignore the look on your face.

“You’re going to get through this,” the nurse said when you hadn’t moved for a long time. “Just breathe. It’s going to be bad for awhile, but you just keep breathing, keep surviving, and one day you’ll wake up, and… you’ll be through it.”

You rubbed the tears from your eyes to look up at Clerval with new appreciation. The jaded nurse had been haunting these halls for too long and it hardened them, but they were always watching out for you.

When you tried to throw yourself at them, desperate for stability, they turned you down, patting your head like a child. “You’re not in a clear mental state.”

***

A brown paper takeout bag sat on your kitchen counter. You’d missed your own “congratulations on the new job” party, and Clerval got worried, hiding their relief when you answered the door. Your eyes were lifeless.

“I couldn’t face everyone. If any of them knew I was… seeing him”—you shuddered and avoided saying his name—“they wouldn’t be caught dead with me. How could I be so stupid?”

A calloused thumb wiped a tear from your cheek. “I miss your smile.”

They gave you a small, sad smile of their own. It was the first time you’d seen Clerval smile. Their face looked like it was made to smile, you decided—like it used to a long time ago, but forgot how.

“When you were dating Dr. Chilton... fuck that bastard, but you were happy. I loved coming to work and seeing you smile like that. It brightened up the gloom. I’d like to see you smile like that again someday.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked. “I don’t know if I can anymore.”

Suddenly you were wrapped in a hug, with a comforting voice in your ear. “You can. You will.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Shut up, I’m clair-fucking-voyant, and I goddamned know you will. Now go on and live your life like you believe it too. Don’t you dare turn into an old cynic like me.”

***

Frederick Chilton thought his lungs would burn through his ribcage—that his throat would close up, and he would die. Seeing you with someone else was more than he could stand, and he drove home with a death wish, gas pedal to the floor. He would rather be wrapped around a telephone pole than make it back to his empty, too-large house.

But the universe does not dole out fair consequences.

He deserved to die in a jealous rage. To be arrested. You should have thrown wine in his face in a dramatic public confrontation. Screamed at him. But you never did.

There was no satisfying comeuppance or divine punishment.

There was only the memory of your heart breaking, and knowing three things in that moment: You loved him. It was over. And it was his fault. There was a time in his life when he was happy. When he had you to hold in his arms, kiss away his nightmares, and fill his days with love.

And then he didn’t.

All he had left was the smell of you on his sheets and a hoodie you had forgotten. He laid it out on a pillow beside him and inhaled until even your scent was gone.

Years later, lying in his own charred remains inside an oxygen chamber, he wondered if you would visit and start to cry at the sight of him. Forgive him.

He never saw you again.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:

@beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie​ / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​

[shoyokuto]

-work for it

pairing: bokuto kotaro x reader 

summary: while stumbling around at a college party you have no desire of being at, all you want is a white claw. in an attempt to find one, you run into a guy who happened to steal the last one. after leaving the kitchen, you had no clue you were going to have a much closer interaction with the same guy later that night.

wc: 4.1k

warnings: some fluff, some smut/implied smut, drinking/mentions of drugs, drunk bokuto and kuroo, high kenma and suna, bokuto being bokuto 

author’s note: what’s a better first fic than a hot bokuto college au one? wellll here’s my first fic!! i had lots of fun writing it. it’s definitely not perfect, so please leave any constructive criticism/advice in my asks!! i would really appreciate it. also, picture campbell however you’d like, she’s my beautiful irl bsf who is obsessed with suna, so i just had to make her his gf in this. i will most likely be making a part 2 to this + other fics very soon! thank you so much, and i hope you enjoy<3

...

Goosebumps by Travis Scott blares through the speakers that line the hallways of the huge house made small by the hundreds of college students that filled it. The red and purple combination of the lights that ran across the corners of the walls of every room washed over you, making it difficult to focus on one thing, let alone find the person you’ve been searching for in the mess for an hour.

You’re only a few shots and one half cup of beer in and you’re already dizzy. The way you stumble through the crowds of people, pushing away the feelings of embarrassment and solemnity, looking lost as a puppy. Trying to find somebody- anybody. Your brain is fixated on finding a person- you don’t know who, or why this sudden jolt of the longing for someone suddenly sparked within you- you hadn’t seen your best friend Campbell since she got trailed off in a game of cup pong earlier with Suna. You hadn’t seen Kuroo or Kenma either. The only three people you knew at this party are somewhere in this damn house, having the time of her lives, while you’re wandering around, being the light weight you are. The sound of the music is muffled and the bass shakes the floor with every step you take, each footstep you take lands to the beat of the song playing. You step on the shoes of couples making out right in the middle of everything and have no feeling of remorse. The splash of someone’s drink hits your shoulder covered by your light sweater, which causes you to whip your head to the side and look the person up and down, vision blurred and streaked.

You stumble into what you think- think- is a kitchen. The purple lights no longer flooded the atmosphere; your weary eyes trying to adjust to the change in lighting and space. Your eyes trace the shiny marble counters that ran along the back of the tiled wall until they met the silver- probably super expensive- fridge. You guide yourself by putting one hand on the island in the middle of the kitchen, the other hand at your side until you meet the fridge door. You sluggishly raise it and grab the handle, slowly pulling it open. The light of the fridge almost blinds your intoxicated eyes, as you squint and blink and blink and blink.

As your eyes fix, they dart in different directions looking for the White Claw you’ve been longing for. All. Night.

Your desires are interrupted by the sound of liquid pouring into a cup behind you. The sound turns your head around slowly, your eyes still squinted and shoulders hunched. Your hand still grasped the handle of the fridge.

“Are you okay?” a voice sounds from the island of the kitchen behind you. It took a second for you to realize you had turned the wrong direction of the pouring noise you heard. You quickly turn the other way, finally meeting the gaze of a taller guy with spiked hair, dipped in grey highlights over black roots, accompanied by a pair of amber, owl-like eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I was um,” you swallow and scratch the back of your neck, “lookin’ for a White Claw.”

The guy raises his grey, thick eyebrows and makes a “tsk” noise with his tongue and taking a sarcastic, deep breath in. “That is really unfortunate because I actually just took the last one.”

He says, leaning against the island with one arm, as the other one is occupied with your White Claw in a red solo cup.

“You’re fuckin…damnit. Damnit Kenma,” You respond, turning back around to face the fridge. “and Kuroo and Cam.” You mumble shortly after.

“You know Kenma?” the guy asks, lifting his arm up from the island and straightening up.

“Yeah. Why do you?” You don’t turn around to answer, instead you grab a water from the freezer. You close the fridge and attempt to open the water bottle, but fail a couple times as your hand slips over the cap and your fingers start to hurt. You hope the guy doesn’t notice.

“Dude. He’s Kenma. Have you seen his fuckin keg stands?” he replies, walking towards you.

You hold the water bottle in both of your hands, staring straight into the doors of the fridge. You aren’t sure what’s happening completely, but you know you feel the footsteps of the guy approaching you. “I’ve seen them more than enough. He’s my friend’s roommate.”

“You mean Kuroo? You are one lucky duck there, aren’t ya? Your friend’s a stud.” The guy says. You think his footsteps have stopped; you can’t tell if you're just feeling your heart beat in your legs from the nerves or if it’s the steps of the guy’s feet towards you. “At least you seem to be enjoying yourself.” He says sarcastically. You shrug, absentmindedly starting to attempt to open the water bottle again.

“Want me to get that for ya?” the guy asks. And he might as well not have even asked, because he immediately takes the water bottle out of your hands and opens it as easily as he started the conversation. “Damn. How much have you drank, scrawny?”

“Did you just…I’m too fucked for this.” You said waving your hand in the air and starting to walk off.

You get to the entrance of the kitchen before the same voice you heard a few seconds ago- that called you scrawny- sounds again. “You forgot your water.”

You look down at your hands, and in embarrassment turn around and fidget with them as you walk back to the guy, who is now leaning back on the marble countertop. He had your last-resort water bottle in one hand, and your wanted White Claw in the other.

You grab the water bottle from the guys hand, not breaking eye contact with him. You did have to admit, the guy’s eyes were pretty mesmerizing. Maybe it’s just the shots talking, though.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around. What’s the name?” he asks, as soon as you had turned around to head for the exit a second time.

You hesitate as you turns back around again. “y/n.”

“Alright, y/n. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for more White Claw. Except I don’t think you need any.” He says smirking, proceeding to take a sip out of his solo cup just to spite you.

You squint again, trying to process his words. “Yeah…” you respond in a confused tone, dragging out the word. You slowly turn around, still feeling the heat of the guy’s eyes burn through your back.

And now you’re back in the purple, hazy, crowded room you came from a few minutes ago. However, the trip to the kitchen for a delicious White Claw felt like hours, and you came back with an ice water that you couldn’t even open yourself. In fact, a hot stranger opened it. Your mind races as you slowly approach the cluster of people once again- an atmosphere you did not miss when in the kitchen.

If only you had a fucking White Claw.

You stand surrounded by frantic jumpers and dancers, the light of your phone shining onto your face. The line of text messages you sent to Kuroo and Campbell reflect onto your glossy eyes as you scroll up and down on the messages absentmindedly, waiting for a response like: “where are you?” or “let’s head back”. But still nothing. No vibration, no call, no nothing.

Your heart pounds, no longer in sync with the beat of the music, but speeding up as you hear the increasing volume of shouts and screams of encouragement from one of the rooms around you. Except you can’t tell where the noise is coming from, as the screams mold together and create a halo, surrounding your head. You squeeze your eyes shut as you pinch the bridge of your nose, until you realize you’re being run through by a crowd of eager partiers rushing past you. You feel the grazes of people's arms against yours, causing you to turn around, facing the direction of the room the people are so excited to get to. 

Again, like your brain still hasn’t told you to give up, you whip your head around for Kuroo, or somebody, eyes widening despite the bags under them and your throbbing headache.

After a failure of search, you decide to head the way everyone else is, following whoever the random boy was in front of you. He had dark brown hair that was slightly combed down and raised in the back which absorbed the fluorescent lights that shone from the ceilings. He wore grey Nike sweatpants, if you were seeing correctly, some dirty air force ones, and maybe a…brown crewneck? Familiar looking, but you couldn’t tell under the obnoxious lights.

The mass of people in front of you come to a stop slowly, lining up in the shape of a circle on the inside of the group; too far for you to see in the conditions you were in.

You’re too caught up in your racing thoughts that you bump into the guy you were examining in front of you.

“Watch it.” He says as he whips his head around to meet yours. His hair was parted down the middle, definitely brown now that you could kind of see. He had snake-like eyes, the whites of them a little bloodshot, followed by a dark shade under them.

Wait.

It’s Suna. Your best friend’s boyfriend. You’re too drunk to recognize him?

“Hold on…Suna? Where’s…where’s Cam?” you ask, scratching your forehead.

“Oh, y/n. She’s up there.” He says, pointing his finger towards the inside of the large group of people.

“S-sorry,” you mutter, putting your hands behind your back. Your tired eyes look over and behind Suna, as you push yourself up and down on your tippy toes in an attempt to see over him.

“Do you know what’s happening right now?” you asked, finally giving up and resting the heels of your feet down.

Suna looks over to where he was pointing, his lips parted and his posture slouched over. “Keg stand.”

Your eyes widen as you put two and two together.

Kenma. Kuroo. Keg stand.

You take a heavy step towards the unknown mess in front of you, sliding past Suna. You didn’t realize how many layers of people you were going to have to push through in order to reach the inside of the crown, your heart speeding up along with your mind as the anxiety of not knowing what was on the inside of this circle fills your tight chest.  

Is Kenma going to be doing the stand this time, or Kuroo?

You try to remember which one of them was holding the other up last time. Your mind flashes back to last weekend’s party; one that wasn’t near as crowded as this one. You try to retrace the sight of one of them holding the legs of the other, an extra cheering on whoever was downing the alcohol from the straw that extended form the keg as people shout one of their names. Which one was it? Did it sound like: “Ken-ma! Ken-ma! Ken-ma!” followed by a hooray and bursts of shouts, or was it “Kur-oo! Kur-oo! Kur-oo!” followed by the same type of celebration as Kenma’s. And for what? Just doing a handstand on a bucket while drinking? Sounds miserable to me, you thought.

You finally push through to the front and stumble when you accidentally step a little too far, as you end up in front of the people that lined the circle around the lives of the party. Kenma, Kuroo, and-

Wait.

Neither Kenma nor Kuroo are the center of attention this time.

It’s that hot guy from the kitchen.

The cheers start to finally enter your muffled ears which cause you to cover them, still looking in shock at the kitchen guy. His legs are straight up in the air, slightly bent and wobbly, but he somehow managed to keep them there. And even more amazingly, Kuroo, Kenma, and Campbell were just standing there. The kitchen guy didn’t even need to be held up.

What the hell, you thought, rubbing your eyes.

Finally, after hours of being left in the dust by him, Kenma’s eyes finally meet yours.

He’s high again. I wonder how much he smoked tonight.

“y/n!” Kenma yells, pulling on Kuroo’s red, long sleeved shirt while also tapping on Campbell’s shoulder. “Get your ass over here.”

You look around and hesitantly take heavy steps even farther into the center of the circle, the light fading into a reddish-purple as you got closer to them- and the kitchen guy, who was still going on the keg stand.

“Can you believe this guy?” Kenma says, laughing and pointing at the kitchen guy.

“I met him earlier.” You responded hoarsely.

“Yeah, Kuroo’s taken a strong liking to him. They’re like besties already.” he snorts, rolling his eyes sarcastically and shoving his hands into his pockets of his jacket. 

With that, the guy props himself down from the keg stand and stands up straight, wiping his arm against his mouth and raising his fists into the air. Like he was some God, everyone in the crowd cheers and throws their hands up, yelling: “Bo-ku-to! Bo-ku-to! Bo-ku-to!”

Bokuto.

Kenma pats Bokuto on the back and Kuroo gives him a noogie. Bokuto pushes his face away and laughs, as he runs his hand through his spiked up hair. Campbell gives him a high five, and Suna finally makes his way over to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek and wrapping his arm around her waist.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until Bokuto meets your gaze; his eyes widen.

“y/n!” Bokuto says, throwing his arms up. “Did ya see me? I mean, look how entertained a bunch of drunk college students can get. I’m uh-maze-ing.”

“Y-yeah.” You say, your mouth parted open. “How did you even-“

“I have something for you!” Bokuto interrupts, walking over behind the keg stand and bending over to grab something. He turns back round towards you, hiding something behind his back. He stumbles a bit with an attempted smile on his face.

“Huh?” you let out, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Ta-da!” Bokuto says, revealing a White Claw out from behind his back, water dripping off of it. “Found some upstairs.”

We’re not upstairs already? You ask yourself.

The drink starts to make its way to your empty hand, when suddenly Kuroo interrupts, jumping in between you two.

“What the fuck? You found a Claw?” he asks, slapping Bokuto on the back in a friendly manner.

“Yeah. It was pretty fuckin’ easy, too. Bunch of light weights.” Bokuto responds, proceeding to hand you the drink.

Kuroo interrupts again by resting his hand on the White Claw and pushing it back towards Bokuto’s chest. “Hold on hold on hold on. You’re gonna give it to her that easily?” he says, laughing.

Bokuto looks at Kuroo, to you, then back to Kuroo. “Huh?” he says, his upper lip lifting along with his eyebrow.

“I meeaaannn,” Kuroo rests both of his hands on one of yours and Bokuto’s shoulders, “she has to work for it. White Claws don’t come that easily.”

Kenma, Campbell, and Kuroo are all staring at the three of you, and you soon come to realize the whole fucking party was staring at you guys, too.

You look at Bokuto with a very confused expression spread across your face, however, Bokuto’s seemed interested.

Kuroo gets on top of one of the tables near him, almost falling over as he pushed himself up. He cups his hand in a microphone manner so he could project his voice throughout the house for the crowd. “Who here had to go through war to get a fuckin White Claw tonight?” he yelled.

The crowd of people screams back at him, causing his eyebrows to raise and his head to nod. “Right, right. So,” he looks down at you from the table, and his finger is pointed at you while his other hand remained as a sound booster, “who here thinks y/n needs to work for the last one?” he proceeds to yell, throwing his hands up.

The crowd screams again, and you can feel sweat trickle down the back of your neck.

“Want me to do pushups or something?” Bokuto says, smirking.

“No. I want you guys…” Kuroo looks over at you, a smirk forming at his lips. “come here, Bo.” He says as he motions Bokuto over.

Bokuto walks over to Kuroo hesitantly, still holding the White Claw in his hand. “What the hell are you scheming right now?”

“Dude. Make out with her. You can’t just give her that precious thing.” He said in a loud whisper. “And you probably haven’t had action in weeks.”

“Seriously? Girls fuckin love me.” Bokuto replies, raising his eyebrows.

You can see Bokuto’s eyes widen as you watch them have the conversation, making your mind go in circles trying to find out what he could possibly be so surprised about. As your thoughts are racing, you see them both look at you, Bokuto crossing his arms. He starts to slowly walk over to you, the White Claw still in hand.

 “Oh shit,” Kenma says, eyeing Kuroo who stayed in the place he and Bokuto were talking,his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. Looking at Suna and Campbell, Kenma says, “I know that look.” With that, Campbell and Suna giggle as they watch Bokuto flirtishly walk over to you.

Your heart pounded out of your chest; what was about to happen? Why were your friends laughing? You couldn’t think straight as Bokuto’s eyes fixated on yours as he walked towards you. There seemed to be a certain glare in his eyes, the yellows and ambers burning with lust as he stared straight into yours. You look over to Campbell and see her hands over her mouth as she stands next to Suna whose eyes are wide as well.

Interrupting your thoughts, you realize Bokuto had finally made it across the room to you. He stops only a couple inches in front of you, his hungry eyes looking down at yours. The White Claw in his hand was close to your chest, and you could feel the warmth of Bokuto’s body on yours.

“You want this drink, don’t you?” he asked, staring at your lips.

“Uh…yeah, I do.” You reply, looking back and forth between his lips and his eyes.

“Gotta work for it, pretty girl.”

Suddenly everything around you blurs: the shouts, the people, the purple lights, the music. All you could focus on was Bokuto’s presence and his need to want to be as close as he could to you. You two had just met, and he’s already like a magnet.

 His hand slowly raises to cup your cheek, and his face moves towards yours. His eyes do not leave your lips.

Your heart races as you watch him get closer and closer, his body inching towards yours.

He stops slowly, his lips just inches away from yours, parted. You could feel the heat of his breath, and it made you fill with excitement.

“You alright with this?” he whispers.

“Yeah.” You reply, putting your hands on his shoulders.

He smirks at the reply and finally leans in.

Your eyes close on instinct as you feel Bokuto’s lips meet yours. He starts slow, his thumb rubbing against your cheek. However, he picked the pace up as hid hand moved from your cheek to your neck. Your hands still rested on his shoulders, and the slip of Bokuto’s tongue made you squeeze them. This only provoked him more.

He pulled back for a moment, looking into your eyes. This time, they were even more list filled. “Can I keep going?” he asked softly.

You nodded in response, closing your eyes again as he met your lips again. He looked into your eyes still and smiled, his finger pushing a loose piece of hair back behind your ear. His eyes soon returned to your lips as he leaned in for a second time. He pressed his tongue against your lips and you granted him access to your mouth once again. This time the kiss was slower and deeper. Your heart was spinning along with your mind, with every stroke of his tongue you could feel the pool of heat and the knot in your stomach build up.

His long kiss was rough but passionate, every now and then pulling back and biting your lower lip. You let him take control, and his touch was the best feeling you’ve felt in ages. His hands slowly move down from your neck to your waist, his fingers sliding over every curve of your body. This softness of his fingers as they slid down made you shiver, but you were still distracted by the passionate make out the hot guy you met in the kitchen was granting to you. You could feel him smile through the kiss as he pulled back and went back at you over and over.  

The shouts and music suddenly get louder and less muffled as Bokuto slowly pulls back. Before he goes all the way back, he cups your face again and plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Campbell, Suna, and Kenma are all leaning against each other, bouncing up and down and pointing at you and Bokuto. However, your attention remained on him.

The kiss was so amazing you almost forgot a whole room of people were watching, and that you were only doing it for a White Claw.

You smiled softly as you looked into Bokuto’s eyes, then to the White Claw.

Bokuto raises his empty hand once again to hold your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, lifting your chin up. The heated eye contact remained as your head tilted back.

“Open up.” He said, lifting the White Claw up to your mouth.

You followed his command and opened your mouth. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool liquid hit your tongue: the taste you’ve been craving all night.

However, the only thing you are still craving even more is Bokuto’s touch.

He tilted the drink back down and gently pulled your chin down to meet his gaze once again. Following this, he gently presses his lips to yours for a few seconds. “Mmmm,” he said, licking his lips and rubbing his finger in circles around his temple, “mango!” he followed, pointing his finger into the air. You giggled at this and nodded your head.

Campbell runs over to you and puts her hand on your shoulders, jerking you back and forth and screaming in your face. “That did not just happen.”

“I honestly can’t believe it did.” You replied, rubbing your eyes. You looked over at Bokuto who was standing next to Kuroo in the middle of a fist bump. Kuroo catches you staring and walks over to you.

“You’re welcome.” He said smiling.

“Thanks, K.” you replied patting him on the shoulder.

You walked back over to Bokuto who still had the half empty White Claw in his hand.

“I think I deserve the rest.” You said scratching your head.

“Um, I practically just carried that whole kiss. I think I deserve at least half.” He said while raising his eyebrows and placing one hand on his hip.

“Wow.” you replied laughing. “Who said?”

“I said.” His expression turned more serious. “Maybe you can work for the rest later.”

This caused you to clench your fists and tug at the neck of your sweater. You could feel sweat run down your forehead and your cheeks flush red.

“Cute.” He said with a smile and a laugh, proceeding to take a sip of your White Claw.

“Excuse me.” You said, reaching up for the White Claw in his hand as he raised it as high as you could so you couldn’t reach. Your hand grasped the wrist of the Hand the drink was in and you were up against his chest, both of you laughing the little sobriety you had off of you.

The teasing was halted by the sound of sirens from outside of the house.

Shit. Cops.

“Oh shit,” you heard Bokuto say as he brought the White Claw down. With no warning, he took your hand and started off with you, pushing through the crowd of worried, drunk teenagers. You frantically looked around for Campbell, Kenma, or Kuroo, but had no sight of any of them through the rush of people. “Don’t worry y/n, I can take us somewhere.” He said looking back at you.You looked at him and your mind wandered. 

Bokuto seemed like a natural at everything- keg stands, making out, getting away from the cops. 

How are you so into him already?

[sidespromptblog]

If It Were In My Hands: (2/2)

One

Warnings: Janus gets angry during this chapter, mentions of possible violence, mentions of nightmare, past use of the dark used as punishment, mentions of verbal threats, angst, and hurt/comfort.

Summary: Virgil has a nightmare about what he said to Logan in a fit of fear and anger when Remus was making himself known, but was a nightmare all that it was?

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 2404

“What were you thinking?!”

It wasn’t often that Janus found himself both losing his temper as well as shouting, but when it came to instances like this… the only thing he felt that he could do in order to get his point across was shout until his voice went hoarse. At least he’d be listened to that way, and it seemed Remus very much needing someone to shout at him right now.

Especially after the stunt he had just pulled.

“What were you thinking?! Sending Virgil that kind of nightmare, and making him go through that kind of panic attack!” His coffee cup slammed against the counter so hard tat he was sure that it was going to shatter. Janus turned his blazing eyes towards Remus as he gave the creative side his full, but very pissed off, attention. “Are you fucking crazy?! We’re trying to get Thomas to LISTEN to us! Not to be scared off because you sent Virgil a nightmare about him fucking strangling Logan to death! If he finds out you made that nightmare and sent it to him it's over for all of us!” Janus raked his gloved fingers through his hair tugging angrily at the ends, forcing himself to take several breaths so that he wouldn’t explode again.

Remus clenched the fabric of his sash tightly, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to keep his eyes down and not looking at Janus’ freak out.

There wasn’t much he could say to make the situation better, he’d known the moment that he’d done it that Janus would be pissed beyond belief. But he had to do it, he just had to. Even if Janus didn’t understand his reasoning.

The sigh that came from Janus made Remus flinch, he already knew how hard Janus was working and all of this was just one more thing that the dishonest side would have to work around in order to get anywhere close to being accepted by Thomas and the others. It made his guts churn with guilt, to know that he had inconvenienced the other side in the way that he had, but… he’d had to.. he just had to.

“Tell me Remus,” The side in question couldn’t help but to flinch yet again and tense up at the cool collected tone of the other side, even if Janus had never hurt him in any kind of way… everyone had a breaking point. Virgil’s threat towards Logan was proof enough of that, and Logan was supposed to be his friend. “What exactly was your thought process when you decided to do what you did?”

Janus sounded calm now, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

It was like the calm before the storm.

But in the very least, Janus was giving him the chance to explain himself, that was more than anyone else had ever done. It ignited a little spark of hope inside of him, hope that perhaps Janus would understand where he was coming from and not immediately disregard his thought process as crazy or just plain wild. He had a method and he had a reason, it just… wasn’t a reason that many other people would understand without the proper context.

Janus’ raised eyebrow urged him to begin, for fear of losing patience.

“I didn’t make the nightmare,” Remus blurted out, desperate to make the other side understand all at once. Janus’ quick blink of surprise urged him onwards. “It was already a nightmare that existed in a mind space from one of the others, I had nothing to do with its creation. I swear! If I had made it I wouldn’t have sent it to Virgil anyways, I would have just kept it on my side of the imagination, or sent it to Thomas like last time. I promise.” Once the words began he couldn’t stop them, he felt as if he were begging Janus to believe him, as the words all came out in one heavy flow of ramblings. Screw whatever he had practiced saying…

It was true, and the chances of Thomas even remembering a dream like that was slim to none.

Janus slowly raised his hand, a motion for Remus to stop for just a second and to slow down, and without even thinking Remus slammed his mouth shut almost immediately.

“Then..” The dishonest side slowly began, his temper sinking into oblivion the more that Remus had been explaining himself. The knowledge that the other side hadn’t made the dream helped a little, but the fact that it existed at all made him more curious than anything. A dream like that… It needed trauma, and more than anything.. broken trust. “Who did the dream belong to, if you did not make it?”

That was the real kicker, and Remus hesitated to answer as his gaze once again shot down to his shoes. He chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, anything instead of immediately having to fess up to the truth. He knew that Janus wouldn’t like it, even if it was one of the light sides that the dishonest side had clashed with being the epitome of self preservation meant that Janus was always worried about their health.

Mental or otherwise.

Janus wouldn’t like what he had to say about who the nightmare belonged to, much less the circumstances of how such a thing could ever come to be. Remus usually didn’t involve himself in homemade nightmares, unless it was truly horrifying ones that he knew they couldn’t handle. The nightmare he’d seen was way more than that, just the fact that it had messed Virgil up as badly as it did meant that whoever else it was meant for… it would have made them end up so much worse. He knew this, and Janus knew this as well. Which was why...

Even he would have preferred the lie to what he knew for a fact.

Janus’ pristine shoes made an audible clicking on the tiled kitchen floor as he closed the distance between himself and the other side, his approach was carefully slow but also very determined. “Remus.” He gently asked worry coursing through his veins like a gushing river, as he placed his hand on the creative side’s shoulder. “Who did the dream belong to?”

Remus’ nails bit into the palms of his hands as his eyesight became blurry for a moment and his breathing hitched, for a moment he contemplated shaking his head at the question in order to deny it. It was unlike him to get upset about a nightmare, let alone one that he had no business in. But this one… this one had made him upset. Upset enough to the point where he’d acted without even considering the consequences that Janus had reminded him of. It wasn’t like he could hide his true emotions from Janus, he’d always told Janus everything that had gone through his head without so much as a mental filter to be found, and this.. this was no exception. Janus deserved to know, especially if he was going to be going back and trying to get Thomas to listen to them. He needed to know what he was going to be up against, especially when it came to Virgil.

His mouth tasted like iron, and the words laid heavily on his tongue.

But regardless… he spoke them.  

“It was Logan’s…”

The admission rang hollowly in the air, and on his shoulder he could feel Janus’ hand stiffen.

“What?” Janus rasped the single word out, a flurry of emotions passing over his face in an instance before finally settling on abject shock and horror. His eyes reflected more though, as his grip balled the fabric of Remus’ shirt. “Why?” He asked confusion flitting through him, “What on earth could have caused Logan to have a nightmare about Virgil taking his very life?!” He ranted to himself, shaking his head repeatedly until he was feeling dizzy. “What?!” Janus repeated again his confusion not alleviated in the slightest. His lips had curled back into a snarl revealing one fanged tooth that stood out among the rest, this time there was a layer of rage coating his voice that Remus had only heard in very rare occurrences.

This kind of rage didn’t even come close to the anger he’d felt when Roman had chosen for Thomas to go to the wedding.

But this time it wasn’t rage directed towards Remus.

It wasn’t directed towards anybody.

Remus caught Janus’ elbow as the dishonest side attempted to pull away, instead of keeping him standing though he directed him towards the living room where they could both sit down. Janus seemed to fold in on himself the moment that he’d seated himself, his fingers rubbing at his brows as he focused his gaze on the floor, keeping it there. Remus could tell that there was a cocktail of emotions stirring inside of Janus, after all, he’d felt very much the same way the moment that he had caught the nightmare before it had ever gotten close to Logan. At first he hadn’t been sure as to why he had stopped it, he’d caught it as if it were pure instinct. It had only take him a moment to realize…

It was thanks to Logan that Thomas had started to understand Remus, it was thanks to Logan that he was scary to Thomas anymore. Thomas could understand him, and understand what he did more thanks to the knowledge that the logical side had.

Without him… Thomas would still be pushing him away instead of letting him stay close.

Logan had made his step closer to acceptance that much easier, and he had even done the same for Janus. All by explaining their core, and how they worked to benefit Thomas, instead of hurting him like he’d been led to believe.

Logan had helped them.

Even if said side didn’t realize it yet.

So it had been almost instinct to protect the logical side in the very same way that he constantly protected Janus from his own nightmares. But to see just what the nightmare was about… it had made his blood boil with the kind of rage and righteous anger that he hadn’t felt in several years. So…

He’d done something about it.

Remus thumped his hand on Janus’ back, awkwardly trying to soothe the other side out of whatever turmoil he was going through. “I…” Remus felt like his tongue was trying to stick to the roof of his mouth. “Before I revealed myself to Thomas, Logan was trying to explain what I was to Thomas. And Virgil… he was… angry.” Remus wanted to groan and thump his head against the coffee table, but kind and gentle in both words and touch was most certainly not his thing. “None of the other sides really wanted to intervene, because well… it was Virgil. And Virgil was still freaking out from the thoughts I’d thought up for Thomas, and he… threatened Logan.”

Janus’ head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Remus’ with a blazing fury that made Remus’ skin itch and crawl, as if he’d released a herd of bugs into it. That look made him want to inch away and put something between them, so that whatever Janus did… the damage would be minimal.

“What did he say?”

Remus blinked in surprise at the sheer calmness of Janus’ voice, “Huh?” He dumbly asked.

“What…” He whispered in a soft growl, “Did. He. Say?”

Janus had straightened up, readjusting his gloves and caplet as he did. He looked like the moment he found out his answer he was going to go right out there and give Virgil a good walloping. Regardless of how slow he wanted to take things or how he wanted to win the others over, he knew that Janus would make good on that. Threats weren’t exactly something that Janus took very lightly, especially being a side of lies and protection for others. Those threats always struck very differently with him when he could tell the truth behind the words that always came spewing out, and one way or another…

There was always a little bit of truth behind the falsest threat.

Remus honestly wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell him if that’s what was going to happen, and especially if that was going to be the case with Janus’ clenched fists that promised some kind of violence. He didn’t want to be the one who would have to hold Janus back from giving Virgil a different kind of dark circles, and he honestly didn’t trust himself enough to not just let it happen and for it to ruin all of Janus’ future plans that he’d been working so hard on. If he did tell Janus... and if he let him walk out that door without looking back… there was no telling what would happen. His shifting Logan’s dream to be Virgil’s had been dicey and troublesome enough as it was, but for Janus to go out there and give Virgil a punch or two… it would just serve to bring back the dark days for them.

Everything would be ruined, and they’d be stuck in the dark forever this time.

There would be no chance at light.

Remus shuddered at the mere thought of being trapped in that kind of darkness again, he didn’t want that. The screaming, the broken voices, and blindly feeling around trying to find the others so that he could know that he wasn’t alone. Janus shivering alone in the darkness, with Remus and Virgil trying as desperately as he could to warm him up so that he wouldn’t go under like all of the other darks that they had lost along the way.

No.

It wouldn’t matter to Janus if Virgil had apologized, the fact that he’d made that kind of threat to begin with was enough.

For both of them.

“You can’t.” He finally said, trying desperately to keep the soft and squishy emotion out of his voice. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give two shits, and I’d tell you anything you wanted to hear, especially if it pertained to Virgil getting his shit rocked. But… No matter how angry you are, you can’t do anything. We have to keep going according to plan.”

Janus’ gloves gave a faint squeak the more the clenched his fists, it was hard for Janus, once he got riled up it was so hard to get him settled back down until something had been done about it. But regardless, the dishonest side forced himself to take in several deep breaths, his jaw was so tense that Remus could see the muscles bulging out with the concentration that it took to not do anything rash. His leg bounced in place, desperate to burn off whatever energy that was trapped inside of him.

Remus’ hand remained on his back, “We have to keep according to plan,” He softly spoke again, giving the other side something to focus on at least. He hated this, he hated being the voice of reason. But someone had to do it, especially if Janus was the one flying off in a rage towards someone they had promised not to touch. “You’ll take Virgil’s place after the wedding, when Thomas is all in a tizzy and-”

“No.” Janus spoke for the first time in several long and agonizing minutes, his voice was cold and dangerous. It sent shivers up and down Remus’ spine, as Janus’ seething eyes locked onto his. “I won’t be doing that.”

In a grand flourish Janus stood, and for a tense moment Remus was sure that he was going to have to body slam Janus to the floor so that he didn’t go after Virgil right then and there. Instead however, Janus spun around his caplet flowing behind him as he booked it for his bedroom, the door remaining open behind him as the other side disappeared into the darkness of his own room. He was gone for several long minutes, where Remus could hear him rifling through something, oftentimes accompanied by a few soft curses that even he was initially surprised by. It was at the ten minute mark that Janus finally left his room, sprinting out with a handful of papers and his pocket stuffed with several red pens.

The rage that had once radiated off of Janus seemed to be dying down, as if having those precious moments to think in his room had cooled him off a little.

Remus was dearly thankful for it.  

“I won’t be taking Virgil’s place this time,” Janus hurriedly blurted out scattering the papers all over the coffee table so that Remus could lean over and see what changes he was making to his plan. “I’ll take Logan’s place, it’ll save him from being ignored from the others and myself like last time. And given the fact that I’ve been watching him long enough to properly know his mannerisms, and with Roman’s most helpful notes I’m sure that I can successfully take his place, At least without the others catching on for too long, or until it’s time for the final reveal.” Janus’ hand moved in a blur as he crossed out several things, and scribbled a few more on the many papers he had.

There was a look of zeal in his eyes, a look that Remus much rather preferred compared to the look of pure rage he’d once had.

“What about Virgil?” Remus almost hesitated to ask, for fear of making that anger resurface once again. But Virgil would be the most suspicious out of all of them, all things considered, especially given how clingy he had been to Logan that night after the nightmare he’d suffered. He’d notice almost immediately that something was up with the logical side, especially if Janus had taken his place and acted even the slightest bit off from how Logan normally was. “He’s gonna know, he’s got like… a nose for you and everything.”

That much was almost certainly true.

Janus went silently for a moment, as he chewed the end of his pen. His eyes scoured the papers he’d laid down for some kind of hint as to what he should do about the biggest problem to his answers.

And then his eyes shifted over to Remus, and lit up like lights on a Christmas tree.

“You!” Janus shifted his entire body to face Remus. “You distract him, keep him with Logan and distract the both of them for however long that you can. Tease him about his eye shadow, or just about anything. So long as he and Logan don’t distract Thomas for a good couple of hours, then we’ll be in the clear.” A brilliantly devilish look lit up Janus’ face as he squeezed his pen so hard that Remus was sure that it’d crack any second now. “I’m going to make sure that something like what happened to Logan never happens again… The more that we’re in the picture the more that we can shut that kind of thing down for good.”

That and finally being listened to by Thomas always had its perks as well.

But having Logan as an ally… that would be invaluable to what they needed to do for Thomas to start on a more mentally healthy lifestyle. They would need Logan and his research, and… they’d listen to Logan at least too.

No threats.  

Remus could sense the truth in Janus’ voice, the pure and utter conviction that he had to make sure that Logan wouldn’t be hurt by Virgil…… let alone any of the other sides.

“Yeah.” Remus nodded, placing his hand on Janus’ shoulder to give it a firm squeeze. “It’s not going to happen again…”

With that being said, their plan was in motion and their hope for the future as well.

[stolen-pen-name23]

Can you do 15 with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan? Thanks!

Hello Anon! Of course, I can! Thank you for the prompt // from these prompts. Prompts are open for now, but it will take me a while to get to all of them since I have about 20 sitting in my inbox at the moment oops.

Once again, I lack self-control. Here's 2.4k words on Ao3 or you can read the whole thing below the cut! Here ya go:

---

Please just shut up.

The stray thought was locked behind Obi-Wan’s shields, but he still felt bad for having it. It was not the senator’s fault that Obi-Wan’s head felt like it was being beaten rhythmically by a hammer.

Still, the senator droned on and on and his baritone voice reverberated through Obi-Wan’s head. He just wanted this mission to be over already.

He straightened and ignored the sideways glance Qui-Gon was aiming at him.

Obi-Wan tried to pay attention to the peace talks. He really did. But the fluorescent lights were blinding and even keeping his eyes open was a torturous experience.

Qui-Gon nudged against his shields — a question without the tangible form of words, but after the past few years of working with him, Obi-Wan knew exactly what he was asking.

He gave an imperceptible nod, assuring his Master that he’s alright. Or he will be. At least, he’ll be alright for now. He can complete the mission, which was all that really mattered anyway.

Obi-Wan told himself all of these things, though he was not finding himself all the convincing.

The words that were volleyed back and forth throughout the talks might as well have been in a different language for all Obi-Wan was able to glean from them. So lost was he, that he didn’t realize the senators were clearing out until Qui-Gon was gently squeezing his shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Obi-Wan?” he asked quietly.

“Are we done here?” Obi-Wan asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“No, not quite. The senators are taking a break before the final vote.”

“Oh.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Qui-Gon asked. Concern was evident in the furrow of his brow.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said.

“You’re not. But if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, I’m not going to argue with you.”

Irritation cast itself from Qui-Gon’s side of their bond. Obi-Wan felt the pinpricks of shame color his cheeks. “I’m fine…” he murmured. “Just a little dizzy.”

The irritation vanished and was replaced with worry.

“I’ll fetch a healer.”

“No!” Obi-Wan said, his voice echoing loudly through the conference room. He tried to ignore the stares of the senators that lingered in the room. “No,” he whispered. “It’s not bad. It’s just a migraine. I can handle it.”

Qui-Gon hummed, his eyes scanning Obi-Wan’s body, looking for any indication that he was lying, or hiding parts of the truth. Seemingly finding nothing else amiss, he nodded. “Why don’t you go back to our room and rest? I’ll be there soon.”

“I can stay!” Obi-Wan insisted. “I can complete the mission.”

“The mission is already complete Padawan,” Qui-Gon said gently. “All we have left is the vote, which you do not have to be present for.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said again. He weighed his desire to be the dutiful Padawan against his desire to go lie down in a dark, silent room.

“Go,” Qui-Gon urged as if he could sense Obi-Wan weighing his options. “Get some rest, Obi-Wan.”

Decision made, Obi-Wan nodded. He regretted the motion as it sent his head spinning, but he steadied himself and made his way for the exit with his head held high and his shoulders straight.

As soon as he was in the empty hallway, he let the guise fall away. His shoulders slumped and his paces became uneven and unsure. He certainly hoped he was walking towards the guest rooms, but he could not be sure.

Ornate statues and billowing tapestries decorated every winding hallway he turned down. He would have liked to have stopped and admired the art were it not for the splitting headache and all-consuming dizziness. Every footstep he took seemed to reverberate through his whole body and pain echoed through every nerve ending.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t see. His vision was tunneling and his stomach was turning and then he was falling, falling, falling down to the cold, marble floor.

The air fled his lungs at the shock of the impact and he gasped pathetically on the floor.

Get up.

His body did not obey his commands. Even if he did get up, Obi-Wan was forced to admit to himself that he was completely and thoroughly lost. He had no idea if he was going in the right direction or if he was even in the correct wing.

He did not know where he was.

It was quite embarrassing for a Jedi to be lost, Obi-Wan thought to himself. Normally, he would just follow his intuition, but his intuition was drowned underneath every wave of agony that crashed into him.

Get up.

Placing a palm on the cool tile, Obi-Wan tried to force himself to his feet, but everything was spinning. His shaky arms gave out and he fell hard back onto the floor.

He lay there, defeated. He couldn’t get up. He couldn’t do anything except feel everything.

A familiar voice, though it sounded more concerned than usual, was calling his name. The voice echoed from hallways away.

“Master,” Obi-Wan responded weakly. His voice did not carry like Qui-Gon’s, and the calling continued.

“Obi-Wan!” A pause, like he was awaiting a response. “Obi-Wan!”

“Master?” Obi-Wan called out again, his voice gaining a small amount of strength at the prospect of being found.

Footsteps thundered towards him and he curled up into a tight ball, covering his ears with his hands. The footsteps slowed and quieted.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said breathlessly. Warm hands were pulling at his own, pulling them away from his face, and Obi-Wan blinked up at Qui-Gon.

“Master? Where are we?”

“We’re in the western wing. What are you doing out here anyway? I told you to go to the room.”

“Tried to go to the room,” Obi-Wan said. “Couldn’t find it.”

“Yes, it seems you took a wrong turn somewhere, Padawan.”

“Didn’t know what way.”

“Clearly,” Qui-Gon said. “When I went to the room and you weren’t there…. Well, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Guilt only added to the nausea roiling in Obi-Wan’s stomach. “‘m sorry,” he said.

“It’s alright, I’ve found you.”

“Don’t feel good.”

This time, Qui-Gon was the one to look guilty. “Come on, Padawan. Let’s get you to bed.”

Before Obi-Wan could respond or even try to get up on his own again, he was being lifted into the air. He squeezed his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the spinning. “Don’t… don’t feel good,” he repeated, sounding like a youngling to his own ears, but no longer caring.

“I know, Padawan,” Qui-Gon soothed. “We’re almost there. You’ll be okay.”

“Hurts. My… my head...”

“I know. We’re almost there,” Qui-Gon repeated.

“Too old,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Are you actually calling me old right now?” Qui-Gon asked incredulously.

“No, no. Me. I’m too old. Fifteen. Too old to be carried around.”

“Hush. You are a padawan, my padawan, and you are ill. I will carry you as long as you need to be carried.”

“Still too old,” Obi-Wan muttered.

When they made it to their room, Qui-Gon gave him the dignity of standing on his own two feet while he unlocked the door.

Obi-Wan staggered into the room, Qui-Gon close to his side.

“What do you need, Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I need…” Obi-Wan cut himself off as the nausea he’d been ignoring made itself known. He put a hand over his mouth and stumbled to the refresher. Collapsing to his knees, he leaned over the toilet and threw up the contents of his stomach.

Qui-Gon hovered over him like a shadow, unable to do anything except be there. Obi-Wan was grateful for that at least.

When he was done, Obi-Wan slumped over on the tile. He was getting quite sick of tile floors, though the cool temperature did feel nice on his forehead.

He felt Qui-Gon’s presence get farther away and he chanced a glance over to where he had been. “Master?”

Obi-Wan lay there, weakened and helpless, on the ground. Obi-Wan didn’t know how long he waited for but he closed his eyes and then opened them to see Qui-Gon crouched down by him, holding a change of clothes in hand.

“Here,” Qui-Gon said. “Get into something more comfortable and then you can get some sleep.”

“A’right,” Obi-Wan slurred, taking the soft sleep tunics in hand.

Qui-Gon left him alone again and Obi-Wan slowly, painfully eased his way into the fresh tunics. He shuffled out of the fresher, where Qui-Gon was waiting for him before he could fall over again.

He didn’t realize he had been picked up again until he was being set down in the plush bed.

“Thanks, Master,” Obi-Wan mumbled as his body finally let him get the healing rest it so badly needed.

****

Obi-Wan awoke to a dim room with a cool, wet rag on his forehead. He blinked tiredly and rubbed his eyes.

“You’re awake,” Qui-Gon observed plainly.

“How… how long was I asleep?”

“About 16 hours.”

“What?!” Obi-Wan exclaimed, sitting up quickly in bed. The wet rag dropped into his lap. His head spun at the quick movement, but after a moment, he realized the pain was not as intense as before.

“Easy, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, gently pushing him back down. “You have not missed anything important.”

“We… we were supposed to go home,” Obi-Wan said.

“Yes, well, I didn’t want to put you through more travel, given the state you were in, and the government of this planet was kind enough to give us another two days in their senate guest quarters.”

“Oh, well I can go now. I’m feeling better. We don’t have to—”

“We can wait a little longer, Padawan. You may not feel as bad as you did, but you are still unwell. I can sense it.”

“I’m okay,” Obi-Wan said but there was no fight behind the words.

“I know. But there’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to rest when we need one.”

Obi-Wan’s cheeks flushed and he broke eye contact with Qui-Gon. They sat together in silence — Obi-Wan staring out into space and Qui-Gon messing with the sleeve of his robe.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Qui-Gon mused, looking back up at Obi-Wan.

“Have I?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yes, you have. Heavier too. You’re much harder to carry around these days.”

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan said sheepishly. “I could have walked.”

“Oh really? Is that why I found you laying on the ground then?”

“I just needed a moment,” Obi-Wan said, feeling defensive.

“You needed more than that, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands. He nervously ran his fingers along the seam of the blanket. It was blue and soft, and from the looks of it, expensive. Though it was made of a fine textile, it lacked the comfort and familiarity of his own bed with his own blankets, but it served its purpose well enough. Still, Obi-Wan wanted to go home more than he wanted almost anything else.

“This was a bad one wasn’t it?” Qui-Gon asked, breaking the silence between them.

Obi-Wan nodded slightly.

“They’ve been getting worse,” Qui-Gon observed.

It was true. Obi-Wan’s migraines had gone from random occurrences to routine events. They were always unpleasant, but this one was particularly debilitating.

“I… I think it’s because… well…” Obi-Wan trailed off.

“Because of what?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip. He didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real. Putting words to the images that plague his mind would lend validity to them — empower them. Obi-Wan just wanted to bury them.

“Tell me, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said.

“I’ve been having dreams… visions I think.”

Qui-Gon straightened. “Visions?”

“I… I don’t know. I think so.”

“Tell me about them,” Qui-Gon urged. “We can work through them together.”

Tears pricked Obi-Wan’s eyes but he blinked them away.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon said. “Please, maybe I can help you.”

“Can you make them stop?” Obi-Wan asked. It was a childish ask, he knew, but he had to ask.

“No,” Qui-Gon said. “But I can help you try to understand them. I can help you meditate through them.”

This was not the answer Obi-Wan was looking for. He tried to rein his disappointment in behind his shields. He wanted them to just go away. But nothing was ever that simple for Obi-Wan.

“I see such terrible things,” Obi-Wan whispered, his voice cracking on the words. “Awful, terrible things.”

“Visions can be misleading, Padawan. Don’t put your faith in them.”

“What am I supposed to put my faith in?”

“The Force.”

“The Force is what gives me these visions,” Obi-Wan argued.

“And if your visions come to pass, you have to have faith that the Force will guide you through them.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to go through them at all.”

“And perhaps you won’t,” Qui-Gon said. “The future is in motion. You need to focus on what is around you — not that which is ahead.” He was so sure — so sure that the Force would help him chart his course, that his convictions began to ease Obi-Wan’s tired mind ever so slightly.

Even still, he clung to some of his doubts.

“It’s hard.” It was a lame response, Obi-Wan knew, but it was the only one he had.

“No one ever said the path of a Jedi was a simple one.” The familiar glint in Qui-Gon’s eye appeared — shining with the strength of his faith.

Obi-Wan tried to smile at that, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Guess not.”

“You don’t have to tell me what happens in your visions,” Qui-Gon said after a pause. “But if you ever want to, I promise I will do my best to help you through them. As a Jedi, you are never alone.”

“Of course, Master,” Obi-Wan said, swallowing thickly.

Obi-Wan didn’t like keeping things from his Master, but there was no way he was going to tell him about all the dark and terrible things he has been seeing flash behind his eyes. He was not going to tell him about the way he wakes up sweating and panting in the dead of night as though he had just been running for his life. He was not going to tell him the way he had mastered silent cries of despair so as not to pull Qui-Gon from his sleep. He was not going to tell him that in his visions, he is older, yes, but not old enough.

No. Much too young.

How could Obi-Wan tell him? How could he tell him about the visions that, if they were to come true, would mean that Qui-Gon would not have much longer to keep his promise?

He can’t tell him. He can’t.

If Obi-Wan kept his visions to himself, if he did not speak them into existence, then maybe, just maybe, his darkest dreams would remain just that: dreams.

[yunhowhoitiss]

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫!𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨 𝐱 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐟𝐞𝐦)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k+

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, student au(?), strangers to lovers sorta

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after a particularly mediocre routine for the past two years, all it took was a sweet, pink haired boy to brighten your day. every day.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: a teeny tiny bit of swearing 

𝐚/𝐧: I just hit 100 followers!! I didn’t know how to celebate so here’s a fic I wrote in a couple of hours (-_-;) i hope you enjoy it!

masterlist

You woke up to a room full of sunshine, and the early autumn air left drops of moisture outside your window. Upon hearing your roommate already out and about in the living room, you dragged yourself out of bed, flinching when your toes hit the cold floor tiles. Trudging out of your bedroom, you gravitated towards the apartment kitchenette. You sleepily scanned the living room to find that your roomie had moved all the furniture around to make space.

“Bobbi, I don’t mind you doing yoga every morning, but if you forget to put everything back one more time I’m cutting your mat to pieces,” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“Well hello sunshine,” she laughed, “I made juice this morning, it’s in the fridge.” You hummed in response.

“Sure. Could you put some in a tumbler? I have to leave in 10 minutes and I’m not even dressed yet. I’ll miss my train if I diddle-daddle.”

“Of course!”

You and Bobbi had been roommates for a little over a year now after you decided to move off-campus. She was a friend of a friend who was looking for a roommate to split the rent, so figured you’d give it a chance. There are plenty of benefits to living off-campus: it saves money, you have more living space, you can gain some life experience, and Bobbi is a sweetheart– even if she refuses to be more than half-dressed around the house and never puts all the furniture back after her morning yoga. Your only issue when you first started renting the cosy two-bedroom apartment was finding a way to class without a car. Your best choice was to buy yourself a metro card and stick to taking the subway. The apartment wasn’t that far from campus, but you could afford to pay for the card and you had little-to-no motivation to walk or cycle to school nearly every day. At this point, you valued your time spent on the train listening to nothing but your favourite playlist as your me-time; every other minute of your day was spent studying, working, or sleeping. Somehow, this year didn’t feel significantly different from your first two years of school except for different classes, even more fees to pay, and an impossibly alluring boy that sat across from you on the subway.

You don’t remember the day the boy started taking the same train, but it wasn’t hard for you to start noticing him. He always sat idly in the seat across from you, backpack in his lap, head gently bouncing to whatever tunes played through his earphones and smiling when a good song came up on shuffle. Cute. When you first spotted him stepping off the platform into the train you couldn’t help but observe his relaxed style, soft features, and an aura that radiated kindness and comfort. On chilly mornings he even had the reddest of ears, matching your own ruby-kissed cheeks; but you weren’t cold at all. It quickly became a habit of yours to throw shy glances at him when he wasn’t looking, hoping that he’d remain oblivious to you very obviously checking him out. Jokes on you, he’d noticed you eyeing him long before you ever noticed yourself doing so.

You were so intrigued by his presence that you even started to consider putting away your headphones and sparking up a conversation, but he just looked so peaceful humming along contently to an unfamiliar song that you couldn’t find it in yourself to interrupt. You found yourself simply exploring his features, your eyes flitting from his slender fingers to the soft slope of his nose, to his chestnut irises who always seemed to sparkle like– wait. His eyes. They’re looking back at me. He’s looking back at me. In a panic, you whipped your head back towards the phone settled in your lap, feeling your cheeks, nose, and ears heat up out of embarrassment. Nice one, y/n. Despite your mortification, a shy smile swept over your face.

After multiple futile attempts to drown out the sound of Bobbi’s horrendous singing blaring from the kitchen, you groaned into your pillow one last time before tiredly swinging your legs over the side of the bed and checking your phone. Your eyes widened almost comically when the screen read 7:30 am.

“I slept through my alarm?” you muttered to yourself and let it sink in, “I slept through my alarm!” You dashed towards your closet, grateful that you’d prepared an outfit the night before. You hopped towards the bathroom while simultaneously wrestling with the zipper of your skirt. After half-assedly brushing your teeth and not even bothering with your hair, you darted through the living room searching for your bookbag. “G'morning, Ms I’ve-been-hit-by-a-tornado!” you winced at your roommate’s unbearably cheerful tone, “Want some eggs?”

“I’m late, Bobs, no time!”

“Well, I have some slightly burnt bacon if you want it,” she suggested, “and a couple of Eggo waffles…”

On your way out of the door, Bobbi stuffed something in your bag and sent you out with a friendly pat on your butt. You couldn’t help but smile at her kindness and made a mental note to repay it. Just a couple minutes later you were already running to your train in hopes you wouldn’t miss it. Reducing your pace to a speed-walk, you dug through every one of your pockets to pull out your phone which read 7:53 am. “Shit, I have two minutes!”

You slammed your card into the scanning machine– not that it helped you go any faster– and scuttled towards the train who’s doors were slowly sliding shut. Sprinting your way to the doors, you managed to slip through just before they closed, and looked around. Every seat was taken, and an abundance of people stood around, leaving nearly no space for you to situate yourself. With a heavy sigh, you tried to make your way through the mess of arms and shoulders, only to find yourself stuck between even more people. You figured you shouldn’t let your chaotic morning ruin your day and some good music would lift your spirits, so you searched your bag for your earphones; to no avail. I must’ve left them in my bedroom. Another defeated sigh escaped your already chapped lips, and you just dropped your gaze to your feet, lazily tracing shapes on the ground. You were unaware of the sympathetic gaze resting on you trying working out what had you so frustrated. You were still watching your feet when a large hand interrupted your focus, holding a white earbud. You lifted your head to be met with gentle eyes and a kind smile. Pretty boy?

“You look- uh, do you- I thought-” he muttered. You struggled to contain an amused smile. He looked like a lost puppy. The boy paused and bit his lip, “you wanna share?” He looked a lot taller from where you stood in front of him, much less than arms-length away. Thoughts of him flooded your mind, and you stared blankly into his eyes. He tilted his head in confusion, and you noticed his hand still holding the earbud in front of you. As you broke out of your daze a swirl of excitement and relief set off butterflies in your chest. You smiled giddily, unconscious to how obvious your excitement was.

“I’d love to!” You blurted loudly. The deep chuckle that followed your exclamation nearly sent your brain into overdrive. The boy lifted his hand and gently settled the earbud in your ear. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as soon as an unfamiliar song played in your ear, and you nearly forgot you were on the subway. The train must’ve stopped at a station because you were suddenly jerked forward and lost your balance; only to be met with a hard chest. You looked up at the pretty boy’s face, and he seemed just as surprised you were. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, but being in his arms was just so comfortable you didn’t really care anymore. A giggle erupted from his smiling lips. A giggle. You spent so much time thinking about how comfy the boy was that you hadn’t stepped back; you were still resting up against him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You took a small step back and bit the inside of your cheek in embarrassment. The young man remained frozen in his spot, and his eyes danced over your features, as if deep in thought. He offered you a boyish half-smile then proceeded to do what you had hoped he would do for months.

“My name’s Yunho, it’s nice to meet you…” he trailed off, realizing he hadn’t asked you for your name.

“Y/n.” You answered.

“Y/n…” he mumbled, “that’s a pretty name.” His half-smile turned even further upwards, forming a comforting grin that turned his eyes to half-moons.

He couldn’t be any more beautiful.

[in-tua-deep]

Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion. 

But Five doesn’t know that. 

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane! 

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory. 

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist. 

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong. 

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing. 

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks. 

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is. 

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major. 

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood. 

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned. 

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails. 

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being. 

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and - 

“Five?” 

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and - 

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for - 

(Five didn’t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever. 

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut. 

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It’s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long. 

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and - 

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up. 

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble. 

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments. 

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin - 

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona. 

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake. 

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

[our-wargame]

when you say nothing at all

Summary: Dazai isn't called a genius for nothing. No one can self-sabotage better than he can.

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Minor Characters, Sakaguchi Ango (Bungou Stray Dogs) Rating: M (to be safe. In reality it’s T except for the swearing and references to sexual stuff but there’s no actual sexual content) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Dazai Osamu is a Mess (Bungou Stray Dogs), Developing Relationship, Trust Issues, Slice of Life, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, Self-Worth Issues, References of Sexual Content, As in 0 sex happening, although not for lack of trying on Dazai's part, That's Also His Biggest Mistake, I HATE THAT TAG BUT THAT IS THE FIC, Dazai's pretty trash but his greatest accomplishment, was getting Odasaku to love him Word Count: 2500 Notes:

co-written with SwordintheThrone (they have some ridiculously good shit, check em out.).

can be read on ao3

reblogs are appreciated ty

---

It's a shame that he has commitment issues, Dazai muses to himself. Because Odasaku isn't just the best fuck of his life, Odasaku is good to him.

Too good to him.

That's most of the problem. Odasaku will look at him, expression so gentle, so brilliantly sweet and patient and trusting, as if he doesn't think Dazai will rip him apart at the first sign he sees that as necessary. (Still, sometimes Dazai can stand it. Sometimes he even gives into it and the peace that comes with it hurts like a hell he could learn to adore.)

Is this self-sabotage? He doesn't know. And he's still fucking trash for pushing the issue away and ignoring it as he sends Odasaku a text to ask him if he's still not busy tonight.

Odasaku replies within the hour. I'm not, he confirms. Can I come over?

Dazai tries not to laugh, self-deprecatingly amused rather than annoyed at Odasaku's attempt to save him face. He's not that proud, he really isn't. 

He imagines if Odasaku were here, he'd tell Dazai that it has nothing to do with that. That Odasaku really does just want to spend time with him, and that's why during their last encounter, Odasaku casually, lightly mentioned the fact that he was free for the next week. Should they want to do anything. 

It is self-sabotage, Dazai comes to decide. Because no matter what Odasaku's intents were, Odasaku is going to end up in Dazai's bed, because Dazai desires it. And then Dazai won't be able to fool himself into either deciding the reason for this outcome is because Odasaku thinks Dazai knows himself well enough to make the right decision, or that Odasaku wants to give Dazai the choice to make bad ones.

Both options are better than thinking Odasaku just wants to fuck him. If he minded, which he doesn't, it'd be his own fault too. Everyone knows that you start texts with can we talk and not are you busy unless you want to bang.

Dazai closes his eyes, already tired of himself, even without having to pretend around Odasaku. He thinks about calling it off but that's rude and it'd make him look weak and it's all a lot more troublesome than going through with what he has so far. It's freezing but somehow, the heater is the one thing he doesn't have the energy to bother with as heg gets off his ass to fix up the apartment. He turns the TV on, keeps the volume nice and low on that channel that only replays old movies. Neither of them are wine people but that's what you're supposed to have for these kinds of occasions, aren't you? So he leaves a half empty bottle of sake on the coffee table. Lounges on the couch as he sips from his glass.

How classy is he.

A knock at the door. Odasaku knows it's already open and only does it to alert Dazai. But he still waits outside until Dazai calls, "Come in." It's so unnecessarily considerate of him, Dazai shivers. And hates Odasaku a little bit, even as he thinks about pushing Odasaku against the door and kissing the gentleman right out of him.

"Hey," Odasaku says as he closes the door behind him gently. He smells like takeout. Looks as rugged and handsome as ever. Dazai wants him so badly.

He moves his eyes to the TV as he puts down his glass so he can refill it. His hands are shaking, fuck. "Day go okay?"

"Yeah." Dazai listens for the sound of fabric shifting, Odasaku hanging his coat up on the hat rack. Soft steps signal Odasaku having taken off his shoes and switched them for slippers, walking light out of habit so they don't clack against the tiled floor. "And yours?" 

Dazai's half-distracted with trying to remember the last time they had sex for fun instead of thinking he needed Oda's body to make his own shut up. "It went okay," he replies to Odasaku, and it's a miracle he doesn't add, 'it's about to get better, I think.'

That would just be tacky.

He shifts on the couch, still a little chilly, but trying to signal Odasaku should come closer. 

"I brought you curry. And soup in case it's too spicy. Can I put it in the microwave?" 

Dazai blinks. His mouth starts curving up. "Odasaku, has anyone told you you're too polite."

"You probably haven't eaten." Odasaku easily ignores his teasing jab, placing the takeout on the kitchen counter but not quite walking behind it. "It's crab soup."

He hasn't eaten and yeah, he's a little hungry, and of course Odasaku knows all of this and brought him his favorite. But he doesn't like to eat before sex. It just makes him feel bloated and a little repulsed by himself.

Crab doesn't go with sake, he could try, only it does. He could try 'not in the mood for curry or crab', only Odasaku will probably ask him if it's okay to take a look at his fridge and make him something.

"I'm not hungry." He sips at his glass again. Isn't alcohol supposed to make you feel warmer? "Can I have a kiss?" He wants Oda's tongue burning up his mouth, wants Oda pinning him down and chasing the darkness out of him. It's a stupid thought. He humors it and waits for a reaction from underneath his lashes.

Odasaku's surprise is practically audible in the silence. Dazai starts to move over so the length of his gangly body stretches across the couch, then puts his elbows on the armrest and props his head up to watch Odasaku. Please?

Odasaku closes in slowly, but Dazai finds himself holding his breath, nervous anyways. He can feel his heart in his throat, feels it pulse when Odasaku bends down, warm hand sliding up Dazai's face, cupping his chin. Dazai tilts it up as his eyes fall closed.

And then his breath catches, when Odasaku kisses his forehead instead.

He blinks and Odasaku's already straightening. Retreating to give Dazai space.

"Odasaku...." That's not what he wanted, but-

Odasaku prods his elbow and Dazai takes the cue, pulling his limbs back and sitting up straight. Odasaku takes a seat besides him, their shoulders a couple of inches from touching. Looks at the TV as he says, "Can I hold you for a bit?"

He has to think about this one. Says, "okay," even as he thinks about how he doesn't really want to be touched, at least not if it isn't Odasaku pushing Dazai onto his back.

Odasaku shifts his weight forwards so he's sitting on the edge of the couch and able to comfortably reach for the coffee table. He pushes Dazai's  glass inwards- farther from Dazai- and then picks up the remote. When he readjusts his sitting position again, he's still sitting a few meaningful inches away from Dazai. And now he's left his arm stretching over the top of the couch.

It's such a date move, except it's them. Odasaku is doing this for Dazai.

He hates Odasaku a little more in the moment. He hates feeling inconvenient, because it's a reminder he cares about what Odasaku thinks. The desperation of his attachment- he's so fucking weak, it's pathetic. God, he disgusts himself. 

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Odasaku asks. Dazai is still leaning away from his arm, but he's not breathing as hard and so he supposes, this is good.

"No." He hasn't. Before they started their arrangement, Dazai would have answered that with a smirk, an 'is Odasaku coming on to me or am I still daydreaming?' 

The stunt actors throwing themselves across the TV screen are alright. If this were also back then, Dazai would poke Odasaku, tease and bet that he could do it better. Oda would consider it in his seriousness and Ango would scold them both into the next year. Everything's different now and he's not sure if he likes it or loathes it, even though having to ask himself which one it is, is pretty determining. 

Five minutes is how long it takes for him to finally calm down, enough to shift and holds himself against Odasaku's side. Odasaku radiates warmth. The rise and fall of his chest is steady. Dazai tries to ignore it. His neck prickles.

Some more minutes trickle by before Odasaku murmurs, "Can I take you to bed?"

"No," Dazai blurts out immediately, because he understands what Oda is saying, but the answer is no because it'd stress him out, be even worse than the little fiasco going on right now. He'd have to try and force himself to sleep around someone who should be a source of comfort and failing that would just be gloriously useless of him-

"Okay." Odasaku says, gentle. "No worries." A pause. "Would it help to invite Ango over?"

Dazai breathes. It would. He can put on a front if it's for people, if it's for friends. It's harder to put on a show if it's for individual people; he has to make sure their gears mesh together but they're so damn complicated. Odasaku more so, than most. 

"We should drag him out of the house a little more."

Dazai opens his mouth. It's not you, he wants to say, urgent, needy for someone else to know what he does. Odasaku, you're not the one making me uncomfortable, it's me.

"Maybe you can teach us how to make hot pot?" 

Dazai wants to yell. Fall apart out loud for a change. They're monsters, not shadow puppets on the wall, and they don't go away when the sun comes up or what their parents say it's bedtime, for real this time. Oda's trying too hard, and it aggravates him. 

Odasaku can't wrap his arms around him and make him okay. That's never going to be him. He's afraid that Odasaku still doesn't know that, and he doesn't know what Odasaku will do when he really, really understands this. Even if Odasaku doesn't leave, Dazai can't stand the thought of Odasaku suddenly thinking less of him. It'll be just like losing him.

"Dazai?"

He shakes himself out of it. "Yeah. Call him." He pauses. "Can I have the crab soup after all?" He's still not completely ready to hug it out with the idea of eating, but it'll give him something to do.

Oda rises. Dazai stares at the grace, the strength in the lovely curve of his back. He feels cold all over again.

Oda glances over and holds his hand out. Dazai stares at it for a second before he lets Oda lead them away, carrying the two empty glasses with him in his free hand. Dazai pulls away to work on transferring the takeout into bowls to send them off to the microwave while Oda runs the glasses under tap water, swishing the residue round and round before drinking it down and then washing them clean.

The smell of reheated curry overpowers the room. Oda watches Dazai drop into a chair and then watches Dazai plop spoonfuls of curry rice into his soup, stirring this way and that.

"Did you know," Odasaku says, and Dazai looks up at him. "You have happy-cat face."

Dazai sputters. "I'm sorry, I have what?"

"Happy-cat face."

"Odasaku," He purses his lips, but he can't stop his shoulders from shaking. "Odasaku, that's not a thing."

Odasaku keeps his gaze, the slightest rise of his eyebrow explaining yes it is because you have it.

"You're so silly. Did you know that?"

Odasaku hums. When he dials Ango, he places his phone on the dinner table. Dazai's eyes gleam as he shouts like he's from the next city over.

"Oh my god," Ango's voice is very grumbly. "Odasaku-san, please remove me, I think he broke my ear."

Oda turns off loudspeaker and brings the phone against his ear. "So when are you coming over?"

"Ugh, give a man twenty-minutes. I still have work to do."

Dazai throws himself into Oda's side, squashing his face against Oda's other cheek as he chirps, "Tell him all work and no play makes Ango grouchy. And that he has old-man energy."

"Tell Dazai-kun, I think his Brat Card should have an expiration date."

"Tell Ango, there isn't an expiration date on fun~"

"Tell Dazai-kun-"

Oda disentangles himself from his executive, passing him the phone and letting them go at it. Dazai sits back down, adjusting himself so he can bring his knees up to his chest and leave his feet on the chair seat. Even as he chatters away, he keeps his eyes on Oda, who moves to wash out the takeout containers. He reuses everything because he's an environmental dork. Dazai would be more of one if he wasn't interested in dying before the planet. Still, watching Oda so patient, quietly determined to withstand the overpowering...it makes Dazai soften.

"Hey, is Odasaku-san still there?"

"Nope." Dazai says, popping the p. "Odasaku is busy. Being perfect."

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you two just get married already? Make it official and everything."

He doesn't recover as quickly as he'd have liked. "Ango, weddings are not good places to pick-up women. They're all crazy. And non-sober. And crazy. We'll find you your little lady elsewhere, don't you worry." He watches Odasaku shake off the excess water into the sink, wiping the counter dry and putting the containers to the side. Then he dries his hands, he drifts over to the living room and picks up the remote.

"Ha. Not that I wouldn't reject your delightful request to be your best-man, but are two groomsmen allowed to be each other's best man? I think so." 

"Has anyone ever tell you not to drink on the job, Ango?"

"Speaking of which, you'll have alcohol waiting for me, right? I had to train a new accountant today. If it was there, you would have fainted from the painfulness."

"Delightful. So. How much longer?" He'd really like for there to be someone other than Odasaku around him.

"That depends. I don't want to walk in on you two fucking."

Dazai sighs into the receiver. "It's not my fault. Odasaku has a really nice dick."

He can practically hear Ango roll his eyes. "Don't expect me anytime soon then."

"So. Fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, alright. See you dumbasses then."

There's no immediate beep! Ango is waiting, letting him end the call. Dazai shakes his head. His friends are really something.

Odasaku keeps flicking through the TV channels, only looking up when Dazai leans over the couch from behind, gently resting his chin on the top of Odasaku's head.

"Hi."

"Odasaku's hair is really soft."

"Thank you."

"Odasaku smells very nice. Like mango-watermelon. And curry."

"Thank you." Oda sits very still so he can hand Dazai the remote without jolting him. "What do you want to watch?" 

Dazai breathes. In, out. "Anything is fine."

[hopelikethemoon]

First Words (Javier x Readr) {MTMF}

Tile: First Words Rating: PG Length: 2100 Warnings: Fluff Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in 1993 after A Dance Owed.  Summary: Reader and Javier spend their last day in Laredo and it’s one of firsts.

@grapemama​ @seawhisperer​​​​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​​​​ @beccaplaying​​​​​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​​​​​ @ham4arrow​​​​​​​ @plexflexico​​​​​​​ @readsalot73​​​​​​​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​​​​​​​ @randomness501​​​​​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​​​​​  @roxypeanut​​​​​​​ @snivellusim​​​​​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​​​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​​​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​​​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @ah-callie​​​​​​​ @swhiskeys​​​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​​​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​​​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​​ @himbopoes​​​​​​​ @findhimfives​​ @pedrosdoll​​​​​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​​​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​​​​​  @cinewhore​​​​​​​ @random066​​​​​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​​​​​ @heather-lynn​​​​​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​​​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​​​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​​​​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​​​​​ @yabby-girl​​​​​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​​​​​ @punkass-potato​​ @coredrive​​​​​​​ @pascalesque​​​​​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​��​​​​ @queenquazar​​​​​​​ @sabinemorans​​​​​​​ @buckstaposition​​​​ @holkaskrosnou​​​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​​​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​​​​​ @jaime1110​​​​​​​ @katlikeme​​

“She’s gonna say abuelo before she gets either of our names right.” Javier said lightly as he walked in from the back patio, sliding the screen door shut behind him. “Wrapped around his finger.”

“Josie’s fond of her Peña men.” You retorted, glancing up at him for a second before turning your attention back to the tomatillos you had boiling on the stove. “I can’t say I blame her, however—“ 

Javier arched a brow at you as he walked further into the kitchen, “However?”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m being a little set up here.” You told him, reaching for the spoon and giving the pot a stir. 

“I told you I’d help.” He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth as he gave you a look. “But I know you know how to make it.” 

“I do know how to make verde. It’s simple.” You retorted, setting the spoon back onto the stone holder on the counter. “But I’ve made this for the two of us, not your extended family.”

You knew Chucho and Javier were just trying to make you feel like part of the family — because you were, but at the same time they’d inadvertently set you up for failure. 

“Hey,” Javier said lowly, hooking his finger into the belt loop of your jeans as he drew you away from the boiling pot. “They’ll love it.” He assured you, smoothing his hand down your hip. “You made a good impression at the wedding.”

“I figured the only impression I made was — that poor girl Javier accidentally got knocked up.” You taunted, cocking your head to the side as you looked up at him. “I’ve never had to do the extended family thing.”

“Me neither.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

You gave him a skeptical look, “You almost married a woman, Javier. You never met Lorraine’s grandparents? Her aunt? A weird uncle?”

He scratched at the back of his neck and glanced downwards, “Touché.” 

“That’s what I figured.” You grabbed the dish towel off the counter and swatted him in the thigh with it. “If you’re going to stay in here, get the blender out.”

You’d had a handful of serious relationships in your life, and every time they got remotely close to really serious you’d quickly found a reason to skirt out of it unscathed. 

Maybe you didn’t want to admit it aloud, but that was exactly what had happened with Lance too. Except it was paired with the sobering realization that you wanted Javier — who had seemed unattainable. 

Who never once gave you the impression that underneath his bachelor veneer, that he could be something like a family man. When you first met him you never would’ve imagined yourself standing in Texas in his father’s kitchen, making salsa verde because his tia was coming over to visit before you went home to Miami. 

“Baby, did you remember cilantro?” Javier questioned as he hauled out the blender and plugged it in on the counter by the microwave. 

“There are so many knives in this kitchen.” You shot him a look over your shoulder. “And don’t the neighbors have pigs?”

“Ouch.” He feigned injuring, clutching at his chest. “I might have to take my offer to take ownership of the verde off the table.”

“Ha. Ha.” You laughed humorlessly, shutting off the stovetop. 

Javier leaned against the counter opposite of you, arms folded across his chest as he watched you work. You could feel his eyes on you as you blended down the sauce in small increments, before pouring them into a bowl to cool. 

“You know, they all adored you.” He told you, once you shut off the blender. “Pretty sure they couldn’t figure out what you were doing with me, but that didn’t change that they adored you.” 

You smiled at him as you cleaned up the mess you had made, tucking the dirty dishes into the sink, “They’ve all made me feel so welcome. Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.” 

You recognized that some of the kindness was probably pity. You weren’t stupid — you were fully aware of the optics of the situation. 

Javier had a history of burnt bridges; a history that his entire family and the whole goddamn town knew about. You and Josie probably looked pretty flammable to them. If only they knew you’d been made flame resistant from all the bridges you’d set alight while standing on them. 

They hadn’t seen him in Colombia after Josie was born. They hadn’t been there through the years that mattered. 

Chucho was probably the only one who actually believed that you’d still be around next Christmas.

“Just one more night, baby.” Javier reminded you as he crowded in close to you at the sink. “Then we’ll be in Miami.”

You sank back against him and sighed heavily, “I’m looking forward to it being just the three of us again.” You curled your fingers around his arm as he curled them around your waist. “I haven’t spoken to my own brother in years. You can imagine how navigating your extended family feels.”

“You do it so well,” He pressed a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Couldn’t even tell you were nervous.”

You elbowed him in the gut, making him swear as you twisted around in his hold. “Fuck off.” You taunted, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips before slipping away from him. “I’m gonna go see what Josie and Chucho are up to.” You gestured to the cooling dish. “Finish our verde.” 

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded, “I’ll be out there in a bit.” He told you as you slid the back door open and stepped outside onto the patio. 

Laredo was a nice change of pace from Colombia. Wide open spaces and a little peace and quiet. You almost regretted that the three of you would be moving back into an apartment in a few days. 

You tried to picture what a younger Javier looked like working on the ranch alongside his father. You’d seen the pictures in frames on the walls, the old high school graduation picture stuck on the side of the fridge alongside the pictures of his cousins and their kids. 

It was hard to picture him without the mustache, the worry lines, and the weight of life on his shoulders. 

You shielded your eyes from the sun, looking across the yard towards one of the horse paddocks where Chucho had Josie. 

You couldn’t picture Javier as a younger man, but you could picture Josie growing up here. Christmases, birthdays, family reunions. Snapshots of life that you couldn’t relate to. 

All you wanted was for Josie to have a normal childhood. A happy childhood. Two parents who loved each other, a stable home life, extended family members who cared. You wanted her to have everything you didn’t have growing up. 

You never wanted her to worry. 

“How are you doing, chica?” Chucho called out as he started back across the yard towards the patio. “You get that verde finished?”

“Javier’s finishing it up.” You answered, hugging your sweater around your middle as you moved to sit down in one of the chairs around the stone fire pit. “How’s Miss Josie?”

“Having the time of her little life.” Chucho bounced her in his arms and she giggled and squealed. “Give it two years and I’ll have her out there on one of my best mares.” 

You laughed, holding your arms out to take her as she tried to squirm out of Chucho’s hold to get to you. You could tell she was tired — but she was trying to soldier through it. 

“She’ll never want to leave then!” You kissed the top of her head as she flopped against your chest. “You’re going to need a nap before dinner.” You brushed your fingers through her curly hair as she sighed dramatically. 

“Javier was a natural in the saddle,” Chucho recalled as he sank down into a chair across from you. He gestured out towards pasture. “Not even two and I had him in the saddle with me, going out to check on the fence line after a storm.”

“You could probably convince me to let her ride when she’s three.” You offered with a short laugh, rocking her in your arms. 

“Deal.” He chuckled, adjusting his hat on his head as he sank back in the chair. “You looking forward to the big move?”

You shrugged, “I’m looking forward to being settled. It’ll be good to see our friends again. To get back into a rhythm.” 

“Never thought I’d see Javier settled.” Chucho told you, shaking his head slowly. “But it’s a good look on him.” 

“He’s a really good father.” You smiled warmly, looking towards the back door, you could just barely see Javier through the glass as he moved across the kitchen. “I know the situation isn’t ideal—“

“No.” Chucho cut you off. “Things happen for a reason. They always do. There’s no such thing as ideal or not. The two of you are good together.”

“Yeah, we are.” You agreed, kissing the top of Josie’s head again. “It’s all just very new for me.” You admitted. “The wedding was a lot.”

“Would’ve gone better if Javier had given his old man a head’s up.”

You felt your cheeks warm, “I know.” 

“Everyone was real impressed with you.” Chucho told you, “Javier was worried.”

You frowned, “He was worried?”

“That they wouldn’t welcome you with open arms.” 

“Oh.” You had assumed he meant that Javier has been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. But he’d been worried for you. “I really appreciated being included. I mean, I did show up unannounced.”

He waved a hand, “You know what you need?”

“A stiff drink?” You laughed. 

“A joint.”

“Excuse me?”

Chucho gave you a look, “You didn’t strike me as a tight ass like Javier.”

“I’m not.” Your brows furrowed together. “Just so we’re clear — you mean a joint joint, right?”

“Is there any other kind?” He questioned as he stood up slowly. “Old age takes its toll on you and I’ve found a bit of marijuana helps take the edge off.”

“I would agree but,” You gestured to Josie. “I’m still breastfeeding her. As tempting as the offer is.” You glanced back towards the house, “Does Javi know?”

Chucho shook his head, “Let’s keep this between the two of us.”

You grinned, “Now I really do feel like part of the family.” 

The back door slid open and Javier stepped out onto the patio. “The verde is finished and the blender’s washed and put back up.”

“Look at that,” Chucho clicked his tongue against his teeth. “He cleans too.”

“Funny, pops.” Javier retorted as he strolled over to where you were sitting. “Real funny.”

Josie perked up the second she heard Javier’s voice, scrambling to get out of your arms. “Da-da!”

Javier stopped dead in his tracks, looking between you and Josie. “Did she just—?”

“Can you say it again?” You questioned, smoothing out her curls as you turned her in your arms so that she was reclining back against your chest and facing Javier. “Can you say daddy?”

Javier knelt down in front of you, grinning from ear-to-ear at Josie. “Come on, princesa. You know you want to say it.”

She clapped her hands together, rocking back against your chest. “D-d-d!” 

“Say daddy.” You kissed the top of her head. 

“Are you going to say daddy, JoJo?” Javier questioned, tapping his finger against her nose as he leaned in to kiss her cheeks. “Say daddy.” 

Josie let out a shrill squeal, “Dada!” 

You grinned down at him, “Javi!”

“Ha ha ha!” Josie cooed, tilting her head back against your chest to look up at you. “Da da da!”

Javier gave your knee a squeeze as he met your eyes, “Baby, you’re gonna have to pinch me.” He glanced back at his father then, “You hear that pops?”

“I sure did.” Chucho smiled at both of you. “You know, I think I’m gonna take the truck out and check on some work I sent the boys to sort out this week. I’ll be back before they show up.”

“You need any help?”

Chucho shook his head, “You stay right here, Javier.” He gave you a knowing look, before heading back in the house. 

“Are we sure she said daddy?” Javier questioned as he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as she babbled nonsensically. 

“I am certain.” You assured him, your heart aching from just how happy you felt. The joy on Javier’s face made everything worth it. The nerves, the worry, the anxiety, the uncertainty. Those two people made it all worth it. 

This was the Javier that no one else saw. The Javier that was madly in love with the tiny baby girl that the two of you had brought into the world. The Javier that was looking forward to being a stay-at-home dad. 

“Now we’ve got to get you saying mommy.” Javier murmured to Josie as he bounced her in his arms. 

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.9k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

For the very first time when stepping onto the Hogwarts Express, Robin felt old. The majority of students was younger than her, and it made her painfully aware of how this was the second to last time she would ever feel the happiness of returning to Hogwarts. Luckily that only did little to taint her current excitement, and she mentally patted herself on the shoulder for being at the station so early. Most of the train was still empty, and thus Robin picked a cabin that promised the least walking traffic. Gosh, she couldn't wait to be back at school… as pathetically nerdy as that was.

"Robin!!!" Cas beamed the very second she opened the sliding door, and already had Robin wrapped in a tight hug before she could say hi in return. It was only then that Robin noticed just how much she had missed a simple hug. The luxury of a comforting touch was hard to come by these days, especially since the one person whose touch she craved the most stayed at a constant distance. But hugging Cas was lovely in its own right, and no less overwhelming in the sudden affection. Robin's eyes watered in an instant, but not enough to form real tears. God, hugs were nice…

"Hey Cas." She finally said, once the girl had let her go and now took the window seat that wasn't already occupied by Robin herself. For a few minutes they chatted about the postcard Cas had sent her, and then the entire process of being hugged was repeated as Jorien joined them in their compartment. Robin didn't mind in the least, she baked in every bit of affection she got.

"Your hair has gotten so long!" Jorien remarked, addressing Robin once they had gotten comfortable in their spaces for the long ride. Soon enough, the landscape flew by outside the window, and the sun blinded Robin enough to be a bother.

"I forgot to have it cut over summer the year." She shrugged in return, crossing her legs on the seat. "Perhaps I will do it myself at some point, I'm quite good with a knife by now."

"Don't you dare!" Cas intervened immediately. "It looks amazing just like that! All lush and bouncy and messy… You really don't know a thing about what looks good on you and what doesn't, huh?"

"Thanks." Robin replied flatly and rolled her eyes, which only made Cas groan in return.

"Come on, I didn't mean it as an insult! Your style is perfectly alright; it suits you well with all that… chromatic elegant grungy-ness. But you could use some help with the implementation of that style."

"I didn't even know I had a style in the first place." Robin shrugged and wrapped a loose curl around her finger only to release it again a few seconds later. Her hair almost went down to her waist at this point indeed, but if Cas thought it looked good… oh well. She could still cut it later in the year if it started bothering her. "I just wear whatever I like, usually."

"Which is perfectly alright." Jorien added in with a pointed look at Cas. "Not everyone thinks that school is a fashion show."

"Duh…" Cas rolled her eyes with a huff, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I'm just trying to help. Maybe get Robin a little more male attention this term."

"Yeah, no, we are not having this conversation." Robin said before they could go any further into that direction. "So tell me… what did you guys do over the summer? Anything exciting?"

"What's even more interesting is what you did over the summer." Jorien smirked at Robin with just a little too much mischief in her eyes, but at least she was going along with the change of topic. "Melissa told me that she saw you in the newspaper!"

"Who's Melissa?"

"A classmate of ours." Cas sighed, finally letting go of her feigned pout. "She's become somewhat of a friend recently."

"Good!" Robin smiled, looking at the two girls sitting opposite to her with a hopefully encouraging expression. "I'm glad you're making friends other than me at last! Perhaps your peers are finally grown up enough to be real friend material."

"Don't distract from the question." Jorien cut in, and Robin sighed. She'd taught her too well. "Were you in the Daily Prophet or not?"

"I was indeed."

The two girls' eyes lit up in an instant. "Tell us all about it! What did you do, win some prize for your presumably amazing OWLs? Get arrested for thinking too fast? Cure some deadly disease?"

"Close." Robin laughed, and before she could think better of it, she pulled her locket out from under her shirt to summon up the rolled up picture she had put in there when she'd first cut it out of the newspaper. With a soft smile, she looked down at it for a moment, then handed the photograph to the two girls.

"Now that is a lovely outfit you're wearing here! But… wait a second… Is that Professor Snape standing behind you?!" Cas asked incredulously after a few seconds of staring at the picture. "Did you meet there by coincidence or something? Because in comparison to all the old men, you and him actually stand out quite a bit."

Robin bit her lip to keep from laughing. They indeed were by far the youngest in the picture; and it was close to impossible to miss them even in a group of over forty people.

"The picture was taken at a conference about potions, which we attended together this year." Robin explained, and went to store the picture back in her locket once Jorien had done her fair share of staring as well. "No coincidence about any of that. We went together on purpose."

"Boring…" Cas sighed, and leaned back in her seat. "I wouldn't dream of spending time with a teacher outside of school, nor to spend more time on potions than I have to. But I know you're crazy enough to enjoy both, so nevermind. Anyway, what else did you do during the holidays?"

"I had coffee with a friend, occasionally." Robin smiled to herself, thinking back to Friday. How they'd made the best pasta she's ever had, without any magic at all. How they'd just sat in the open window in the dark living room, listening to the rain drumming on the stone tiles of her patio while a chilly wind contrasted the warmth of the tea in her hands. How when he had left, it had been late enough to say until tomorrow.

"Uuhh…" Cas wiggled her eyebrows in the most ridiculous manner. "That kind of friend, yes? Your smile is such a tell."

"Not even close to it, Cas." Robin quirked an eyebrow at her in return, with an expression entirely humored and entirely feigned; no need to turn into a blushing mess in front of them. And except for the overall existence of such, her and Snape's Friday meetings had been painfully appropriate indeed. Still, they had a silent agreement that it would be best not to mention them to anyone. "We are not even on a hugging kind of level in our friendship, which is perfectly fine though. We talk about books a lot."

"Was it the same friend who gave you the bracelet?" Jorien inquired pointedly innocently, motioning to the three pieces of jewelry Robin still wore around her wrist every day.

"The very same. I don't have friends other than you and him."

"Why do you never talk about him if he's your only real friend? Besides us, I mean… but we're different." Cas frowned. "Will you at least tell us who he is?"

"It wouldn't help you even if I did… You don't know him at all." Robin said, thanking the English language for allowing her this equivocation.

"Is he in Slytherin too?" Jorien tried inquiring in a careful tone, with a curious expression she couldn't quite hide.

"Yes. No. Not exactly." Robin replied and rolled her eyes at herself. She should just shut the questions down immediately; this was coming dangerously close to a place in her mind she didn't want to speak of. But they would never stop asking if she shut them down now. Not like this.

"Not exactly? What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It means that he isn't a student at Hogwarts anymore." She said truthfully. "He graduated long before your first year even started."

"Darn it…" Cas groaned and rolled her eyes. "So that's why you never hang with him during the school year."

"Wait a second, if he graduated before we ever came to Hogwarts, how did he know that I was the right person to give you that bracelet last year?" Jorien frowned, giving Robin a highly questioning look. The girl really was too smart for her own good.

"I talked to him about you, silly!" Robin replied easily enough, as if it was the most obvious thing in existence. Always telling the truth was only difficult if one didn't practice it. "You've been my roomies for a while now, did you seriously expect me not to mention you?"

"Right… that makes sense." Jorien sighed, and her desire to question Robin disappeared along with her frown. "Anyway, what else is new?"

"Got me some new robes. Just because the school says we need black robes doesn't mean we all have to have the same boring students' robes they sell in Diagon Alley, eh? Also got dress robes for the new year's ball at last… you'll be positively surprised by those." Robin shrugged with a smirk, and now the sun finally bothered her enough to make her summon the small round sunglasses she had recently acquired out of the backpack next to her. As soon as she'd pushed them up her nose, the layer of darkness brought an immediate relief to her sore eyes. Who cares if it would get her some weird looks; not everyone could be a worshipper of the sun. "That's about it for me and my summer. What's new with you guys?"

_______________

The best thing about being in sixth year now was that Robin only had to take the subjects she actually cared about. No more history of magic, no more astronomy, no more divination… school was way more fun without those redundant classes. With the list of courses she wished to attend already being fixed, it had been ridiculously easy to set up her schedule on the first day of classes, and the week had started off relatively smoothly.

Professor Morgan's jaw had dropped quite literally when Robin had sauntered into his classroom on the first day of defense against the dark arts class, sitting down in her usual spot and looking indifferent to him as ever. Honestly, she couldn't have cared less if he was upset that she was continuing his class. She was here to learn, and if he couldn't be professional beyond his hatred for her, then she would just have to do the same thing she'd done since first year: study for herself and ignore Morgan as much as possible.

Other than that, Robin loved the courses she was taking; N.E.W.T. level classes were a lot more demanding in their magic and assignments, but still no real challenge to Robin no matter how much she'd hoped they would be. They were fun though, and the assignments were actually enjoyable to complete most of the time.

Outside of classes, she continued working on her handbook whenever she could, adding details and new information on a daily basis, and somehow she'd also ended up adding little drawings or clippings she'd been able to get her hands on to the correlating pages. By the middle of October, Robin felt like her project had finally reached a presentable state, and while she wasn't nearly done in her own eyes, the thick journal she had used was almost completely filled up by now. It was only then, on a lovely bleak Saturday, that she finally decided it was time to show her work to Snape at long last.

Saturday meant that Robin first of all spent a good while after breakfast tutoring Cas, Jorien, and Melissa (who somehow always tagged along with the two of them now) in transfiguration. When they moved on to potions after that, a few other third years overheard that Robin was very much knowledgeable in the subject, and they reluctantly asked if they could join the class. The shy request made Robin smile to herself, and she graciously agreed to accept them as her students for the day. In the end, they needed to move to a bigger room, for Robin ended up with sixteen students of various houses who wanted to listen to her going over the last month worth of third year potions class.

So really it was only after lunch when Robin finally had the time to find Snape in his office. Just out of a spree, she actually knocked before she entered for once, then however continued on in as usual, without waiting for a reply.

"Hey…" She smiled at him while she moved over to the side table to drop her backpack on her chair. "What are you doing?"

"Inflicting terror and remorse, one idiot at a time." Snape sighed in a pointed tone, and Robin had to chuckle. It shouldn't amuse her so much that he was so annoyed with his students… but after three hours of tutoring, she was simply amused by the fact that he looked just like she felt.

"Ah, same old then." She grinned, and was just about to grab her secret project out of her backpack to proudly present it to him as a hopefully welcome distraction, when he muttered something under his breath, subconsciously, followed by a quiet sigh that was almost plaintive even. Perhaps… this wasn't a good time. Robin let her notebook drop back into her backpack and turned around to look at him instead, sitting down on the edge of the small table.

Snape was bent over some parchment on his own desk with a deep frown on his face, looking partially annoyed, mostly frustrated and entirely done with whatever it was he had to do. Robin could practically feel the stress radiating off him, and it strongly supported her decision to lay off with her plans of showing him her project for now. Presenting him with more research and books surely wasn't something that would better the situation, which in return was all Robin could currently think of doing.

"Can I do anything to help you?" She asked first of all, raising her eyebrows in a hopeful expression when he looked up at her for a few short seconds.

"Not unless you want to suffer the same slow death by utter nonsense that was forced upon me with these second year essays." He replied in an annoyed tone, frowning back down at the desk and aggressively scribbling an overly large Dreadful on the parchment in front of him. Robin found that she pitied Snape just as much as his students in that moment, and she knew that for everyone's sake, she would have to come up with something other than chocolate cake.

"Alright, come on." She said determinedly, then pushed herself off the table and brushed imaginary dust off her black jeans. "There is something way more important to do than grading second year essays right now."

"And what would that be?" He raised an eyebrow at her in return, but already dropped his quill on the desk so abruptly that little sprinkles of ink dusted over the next essay paper as well as his hand.

"Going for a walk with me." Robin grinned as she summoned a jumper out of her backpack and then moved to put it on over her henley shirt. The second one she owned now, thanks to the positive remarks she had gotten for it. "I want to show you something."

Admittedly, that something probably wouldn't impress him nearly as much as her handbook would, and Robin had never really considered showing it to him in the first place, but somehow the little sprinkles of black ink on his pale skin had convinced her that it might be worth a try. What she wanted to show him was neither related to potions nor to anything else in that regard at all, it was practically useless but for its potential to delight with its mere existence. So really, all Robin hoped for was that he wouldn't be mad at her for dragging him outside for something as pathetic as that. And still, a part of her couldn't wait for him to see it. With a grin, she motioned for him to come along as she made towards the door.

Snape didn't even try to protest as he rose to his feet to go along with her plan, keeping his eyes on her with a subtly curious frown. Meanwhile Robin wondered when exactly she had reached a point with him where she could just burst into the room and suggested something like this, and he would drop what he was doing in an instant to go with her. Alright, she would do and had done the very same for him as well, but that was different! He just could've told her to scurry off and stop distracting him from his work. But he hadn't, and that made her heart swell in the most pleasant way as she sauntered out into the hallway, where he soon followed before locking the door.

Together they made their way through some of the most desolate corridors and passageways, avoiding as many people as possible until they arrived under the blindingly white sky at last. A chilly wind, swaying trees and the smell of impending rain greeted them, wrapping around Robin's senses like a silken sliver of liquid calm. A perfect day for a walk, and an even more perfect one for what she wanted him to see.

"Lead the way then." He said as they gained a distance to the walls of the castle. "Or is there no precise destination you wish to go?"

"Not really, no." Robin chuckled in return and crossed her arms over her chest for some warmth. It wasn't freezing, but her jumper was barely warm enough. "It's a spell I want to show you."

"A spell that requires us to leave the castle?"

"You'll see, believe me. But other than that, I simply wanted to take a walk and you looked like you could use some air as well."

He returned a quiet hum in acknowledgement, perhaps agreement even, and they continued to make their way down the hill in comfortable silence. It really had been a while since they had taken a walk like this, just for fun. A while long enough for Robin to forget if they had always been walking next to each other so… closely. It was quite distracting to feel his presence next to her on a constant basis, scorching her entire right side and making her skin crawl. But then again, the mere fact that he was here with her was quite delightful on its own.

For a while they aimlessly wandered through the landscape, sometimes following the paths and sometimes straying away on purpose, through the trees that were torn between an early winter's desolate death and a late autumn's colourful beauty. When they finally found themselves on the shore of the black lake, the place that seemed to hold an inevitable gravity on Robin, the October chill was already sitting deep in her bones. But so was the calm.

"Perhaps we should return to the castle before it starts to rain." Snape remarked, but made no attempt to turn around as he stood with Robin on the waterline, overlooking the mildly crinkling but ever vast surface of the lake. A black mirror.

"I still want to show you that spell." She replied easily, smiling to herself as her eyes lifted from the deep dark grey of the water to the almost blinding greyish white of the sky above them. "I merely had to wait for the right moment."

"And when would that be?" He inquired with a layer of curiosity in his tone, as a crashing thunder rippled through the bubble of serenity that surrounded them.

"Now." Robin replied with a soft smile, then she pulled her wand out of her sleeve and pointed it up at the sky. All she heard for a few seconds was her own breathing, her own heartbeat, and the faint lapping of water at the stones beneath her feet. Focus… Breathe. "Lux obscurius."

The white sky, blinding in its cold brightness. A black lightning, a bolt of utmost darkness, cutting through the white and splitting time for a broken second. Veiling the world in darkness. And then, light again, accompanied by absolute silence. The drowning out of every sound, every noise absent and gone for the duration of this negative of thunder. A heartbeat later, the wind whispered again, the water rolled over the pebbles, and Robin let out the quiet breath she had been holding. A perfect lightning of darkness, a perfect thunder of soundlessness.

"It's quite useless, is it not?" She chuckled nervously after a moment, turning to look at Snape with a small frown and a weak half smile. Damn his enigmatic expression, damn his silence; she had no idea what he thought. "I was just experimenting. Again. It really isn't anything special, it's just-..."

"It is a piece of art if I have ever seen one." He interrupted her, holding her gaze with the barest hint of sincere awe shining through the intricately woven layer of burning emotions Robin couldn't separate into graspable strings. A layer that she only now understood to be the very same as his facade of neutrality. "You should show it to someone who is capable of being moved by such delicate beauty."

"I believe I just did." She replied with a small smile, and his brows furrowed into a frown that was more defense than accusation. Robin understood that he didn't want her to know… but she wanted him to understand that she knew anyway. "You are bleeding emotions, you know… Out of invisible wounds that are unfathomable in their origin to me, but still I can feel you bleeding like you saw the crimson on your fingertips when I did."

For a moment he just stared at Robin, and she in return observed how his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. It was a calming sight, intimate and distant at once. They still stood on the shore, still tempting fate to open up the skies in an orchestration of water, sound and wind. But for the moment, time was frozen.

"You are so very receptive of some matters, and yet so very blind to others. Why, pray tell, do I fall into the former category?" He finally inquired without any spite, and Robin realized just how much she had hoped that he wouldn't just shut her out entirely. Relief drowned that spark of fear before it could root.

"Because I care to look, and you allow me to see." She replied easily, confidently almost, in the knowledge that it was true what she said.

"That's ridiculous... I most definitely do not!" He scoffed with a sullen look, but as Robin quirked an eyebrow at him in doubt, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Fine, perhaps I do. Unintentionally, I should say. What you are supposed to see is annoyance, and occasionally anger."

"Anger is the only emotion that doesn't make you vulnerable by showing it." She shrugged, offering him another small smile that hopefully portrayed understanding rather than disregard of what he was saying. "And the more vulnerable you feel, the more anger comes pouring out of you. Always lashing out, before anyone else has the chance to hurt you first. It's only self-preservation, really. I tend to do the same."

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Knowing."

"As I said, I care to look." Robin's smile widened a little, and she shrugged one shoulder. "And you let me see."

"Don't get me started on what you let me see." He huffed, but there was undoubtedly a spark of humor in his voice, now made room for by the vanishing defensiveness. He didn't deny her statement, not again. "For example, I can always tell when you so desperately try to hide your wish to disagree with me in class."

Robin's lips parted as they curled into a large smile, then she had to laugh after a second of surprise. "Well, at least I try not to be an insufferable know-it-all in front of the entire class!"

"You are quite insufferable as it is, but you do know a lot indeed. Next time you want to disagree with me, humor me by trying, will you?"

"You know I'll succeed anyway."

"We should have to see about that." He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, clasping his hands behind his back just as the first raindrops ruffled the surface of the lake.

The wind picked up as well, blowing Robin's hair into her face despite the ponytail she'd put it into, but she kept on smiling even as heavy pearls of water hit her lips, her neck, her lashes, each one a beautiful reminder of how intensely and desperately alive she felt in that moment. Sometimes the world ended with a bang, sometimes with a whisper. And perhaps it was reborn the same way.

A bright flash cut through her vision, lightning followed by a deafening thunder, and hell broke loose at last. In an instant the rain doubled in speed, faster and louder and stronger and colder, but Robin only closed her eyes as she smiled up at the sky to let the rain pearl down onto her face. The water soaked through the fabric of her jumper in an instant, stinging her skin in a sodden cold, but it held nothing against the pleasure of raw passion that tided through her at the same time.

When Robin opened her eyes at last, an entire legion of dark lightnings surged through the sky in a web of black ink, hitting the world in a display of brutal fragility. Soundlessness, inevitably drowning out the rain and the wind, as loud in its silence as a crash of thunder in its noise. Then it was just the rain again, putting everything into perspective as Robin finally lowered her gaze from the skies to look at Snape.

He still seemed to be mostly dry, standing under the faint glow of his umbrella spell, and he observed Robin with an expression that, for him, looked almost sincerely happy. The sight squeezed Robin's heart in pure adoration, and she couldn't help but smile while rain dropped down from her lashes and onto her lips.

"You are insufferable." He mused with a small smirk and the most obvious teasing expression.

Robin chuckled in return, shaking her head to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest to at least keep some of her warmth. By now, she was entirely drenched. "What did I do this time?"

"For one, you showed me one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen."

"The spell?"

"Passion." He said without the slightest hint of discomfort, as if it was just another easy fact, and that one mere word set Robin's skin ablaze and her heart under electricity. Damn…

"But…" He added before long, and Robin got the impression that he finally caught on to what he had said. "You are also entirely sodden, and I have to return you to the castle somehow before you turn into an icicle. So get yourself an umbrella before I take pity on you."

"Sure, as soon as you tell me the spell to do so." Robin smiled, giving him a small shrug while she leaned her head to the side. Really, they taught spells for turning animals into drinking cups at school, but not how to conjure up an umbrella. Education… Ironic.

"Perhaps another time." He replied with a hint of a smile as he took the one remaining step to stand next to her, then he wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders at last.

Robin let herself be pulled close more than gladly, under the dry space of the umbrella and into his side. A moment later the water melted off her skin, fading from her clothes into a thin mist that was blown into the wind and disappeared altogether within a few seconds, leaving her dry enough to bask in the warmth that radiated off him. Gods, he was warm indeed… and his touch still heavenly as ever. She smiled down at the path beneath her feet then, and leaned into his side just a little bit more than she had to as they made their way back towards the castle. If he noticed at all, he made no attempt to protest.

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles @istrugglewithphilosophy @meghan-maria

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @bluewneptune

[weaselle]

Sims 4 Build

OK. So. I started a new play through a while back and I wanted my sims to go out to eat and if you aren’t familiar with the Sims there are only bar/lounges and of course that ridiculous place in the faux Hollywood world. So I went to the Gallery and downloaded a couple of restaurants and...

Because I have worked for 25 years in the F&B service industry, I immediately became salty about a number of things.

And that’s why I built this restaurant, full of all the things people leave out of their restaurant builds.

See, it’s not a house. Stop building house shaped restaurants. And, nobody includes parking lots, but since I did, I made sure the handicap spots are the two closest to an entrance and have a loading zone adjacent.

I’m detail oriented in my sims builds.

If you’ve worked in restaurants, you’ll identify with all the commonalities I’ve found missing in most gallery builds that I’ve applied to this restaurant, even if you don’t play Sims.

If you haven’t worked in restaurants but you do build them in Sims 4, you could view this as a tutorial

FOH - The Floor

First of all, idk what people are looking at when they go out to eat, but evidently it isn’t the seating arrangements -- I kept finding restaurant after restaurant that seemed to have no ideal how to set up a dining area with tables. Like, the tables would be so crammed together the sims couldn’t actually walk between them, or they’d have a white cloth establishment with almost all 6 and/or 8 tops (a six-top is a table with six chairs) and almost no 2 or 4 tops; sometimes there would be like, mostly 10 or 12 tops!

Or they’d put chairs on every side of every table even though this makes everything cramped, or they’d jigsaw a bunch of different table sizes into a giant crowded square filling most of the restaurant. But mostly I saw people... doing all of these things at once they were all just doing all of this all the time omg. 

(Though I did see a couple builds where they had a huuge restaurant and then like, five small tables) Nobody seemed to know how many people a space should comfortably seat, or how many tables/seats a restaurant might need, or how to set them up

look

some things to notice: 

This seats 46. That’s good. When we move into the bar the bar tables and seating at the bar are going to bring it up to 63. Depending on your restaurant you’ll usually have between 40 and 80 seats, so I’m hitting my target perfectly. 

more than half the tables are 2 tops, but more than half the chairs are at larger tables; this isn’t like, a rule, but does mean there is probably close to the right mix of table sizes, especially for a white table cloth kinda place. There are only two “large” tables, which is about right.

The layout is easy to comprehend and section out. This floor easily lends itself to a two-server or four-server shift, and three servers isn’t hard to figure out. Like, I know exactly which tables each server would have as a four-server shift transitioned down to the closer over the evening.

It’s nearly symmetrical but not quite 100% which is what you usually see in a restaurant.

The lights are not placed randomly. You might think this doesn’t need to be pointed out. You’d be surprised.

There is plenty of room to move between the tables and have guests feel like they have their own area, with like, lanes to walk down, but there is no wasted space. It’s very full, but not at all crowded.

There’s a defined entrance, with a waiting area. The game tells you that you have to include this host station

which, yeah, some places just have a simple podium, but I built it out to help define the entrance, which has a menu stand and some seating for a wait list and the host stand has clutter like extra table tent menus and a condiment caddy. 

Similarly, the game says you need this server station

but I turned it into this

Now THAT’s a server station, with a drinks fridge, extra menus, plates, condiment shelves, and a coffee pot, which is orange for decaf because theres a regular coffee station that includes an espresso machine behind the bar. See?

Lastly, you can’t really tell from the pics so far, but the dining room and bar seating is only about half of the total space in the building, which is about right.

Here’s the bar tops

and the bar, which has a pass window right to the kitchen line, under the TV (don’t worry, there’s a proper pass for the servers and an expeditor through that door to the right) 

But once I addressed these issues with the Front of House, I realized: there is so much more missing from most restaurants on the gallery.

Like the back office.

BOH - Office

I didn’t find a single restaurant on the gallery that included one, but just about every restaurant has a shitty little back office crammed into what should be, like, a small closet. They all tend to look a little something like this

I had to hunt through debug for most of this clutter - it’s hard to tell in this pic, but that’s a couple stacks of money just sitting out on the desk to the right of the computer. That’s, shall we say, not super unusual to see in one of these crappy little paperwork prisons. And of course the mess of files and mail and shit.

You know what else every restaurant has but I never saw in any on the gallery?

Dish Pit

The game is not set up to allow you to make a proper dish pit. Like, there isn’t an industrial dishwasher or anything. Bu tI made one anyway. From the floor sinks, to the dish racks, to the horrible, heavy-ass red rubber mat that’s such a pain to clean at the end of the shift, I think you’ll recognize this room right away

I really had to fiddle to get this one -- those dish racks? they’re actually overlapped home counter racks that look like this

they were super hard to line up right. The “floor sinks” are actually a drain that’s supposed to go on the bottom of a pool, the dishwasher is actually three floor models raised to the right hight and overlapped facing different directions, and I added the little drain panels on either side by shrinking and raising floor vents to the height of the counters, which are actually overlapping tables. The floor I lucked out on, the Sims 4 has a tile floor pattern that comes in both grungy and clean, so I placed the clean ones on the outside edge of the dish pit floor in half-tiles along an irregular pattern with the edges matched to the lines of grout and added a couple of my own floor smudges so there wouldn’t be a straight line of dirty versus clean tile. Then I put some water stains over the whole thing to mask it better, overlapping some of the water stains to create the illusion of a flow of water going down the floor drain. 

Speaking of the dish pit, most restaurants have this cousin to the dish pit, that I don’t know what to call except maybe a 

Mop Closet

The Sims doesn’t have one of the yellow industrial mop buckets with the squeezy thing attachment, but I did pretty good here. Wish I could have erased the shower head, but I for sure needed the wall spigot handles and the hose. Managed to size up a bucket with water to the right dimensions and trick the game into letting me stick in a mop that’s supposed to hang on a wall. Added some cleaning supplies and stuff to the shelves.

Speaking of shelves, nobody ever includes dry storage when they do a Sims 4 restaurant. You know, with the empty beer kegs and those metal rack shelves full of, like, rows of little bottles and the restock items like six packs of soda and sacks of dry ingredients and way up on the top is the shit that never ever gets used but somehow you have to get up there every other week anyway?

See that door, the one with a light over it and a light next to it and a little temperature gauge? Yeah, you know what else I never see in gallery restaurants builds? 

Walk In

this was a pain, not only did I have to meticulously place every bottle on top of that fridge unit, but those kegs are actually tiny soda cans with no labels that I had to pull out of the vast un-tagged and un organized debug menu. I don’t even think they got placed by the devs anywhere in game, I think they are some kind of frame that gets a label/skin before it gets placed, usually. And see that fan up top in the middle of the wall? That’s actually two separate pieces of nonsense -- like, the center part isn’t a fan at all, its a stone wall decoration. But the design looks like a fan, so I shrank it and shoved it most of the way back into the wall til it was nearly flat and found that other thing that had a circle the right size in the middle. and viola. Oh, and it and those other vents next to it don’t just go to nothing, oh no, they match up perfectly on the outside to these

Okay, now, everybody building restaurants in the Sims DOES include a

Kitchen

And they often do a fine job, so I’m not going to spend much time here, but they do tend to skimp on prep space

(hey, see those shelves on the top right? Those are shelves full of dishes. I never see shelves full of dishes in gallery restaurant builds, but like, you need a bunch of shelves full of dishes. And off in the corner to the far left of the top wall? Prep sink tucked away back there.) 

Dude, let me just say... that prep counter?I placed every vegetable on that counter individually, AND I had to trick the game into letting me put more than the like, three items each counter space usually has slots for. What a pain. Worth it tho. It’s hard to tell, but there’s a knife next to the cutting board.

And lastly, no restaurant would be complete without 

“out back”

okay this post is long enough, but I just want to point out the stack of empty pallets, the discolored liquid and debris under the dumpsters along with a rat trap, and a little smoke break area with shitty chairs and a garbage table with some kind of bowl or something being used as an ashtray.

There’s more to this restaurant, employee lockers, bathrooms, etc, but this post is long enough, and I covered the most important stuff. 

In conclusion, I’m getting pretty good at sims builds, and other builders should ask me for tips on restaurant builds or read this post, because I swear none of them have ever worked in food service

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01|02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, fluff, angst

Word Count:3,945

Warnings: swearing, mentions of an injury (nothing serious), I didn’t proof read (surprise!)

A/N: here’s the long awaited (by some) part 4 of Windflower! I’m getting really excited about this as we’re reaching somewhat of a turning point. I cannot wait to see your reactions to the twists in the coming chapters hehe. Anyway I hope you enjoy & leave feedback if you want to!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

If you had thought the humidity the day you arrived in town was bad, you definitely were not ready for the sweltering heat that permeated the air today. You had awoken surprisingly early and found that the sun was shining in vibrant rays into your room. In your drowsy state you had enjoyed the heat, even curling deeper under your covers as your body surfaced back into reality. If you listened close enough, you could hear birds chirping outside through the closed windows and you briefly wondered if you should spend the whole day cuddled up with your pillow. The silk sheets could only shield you from the radiating heat for so long, though. Soon enough, the gentle heat that had caressed you awake settled into your skin and made you feel suffocated. Flinging your sheets off only gave you a bit of relief as you realized that there was almost no cool air in your room. Upon peeking outside, you noticed no evidence of the gentle summer breeze you had come to love. Every single plant in the yard stood still as the sun beat down on them. Sweat was beading on your forehead and the back of your neck in uncomfortable patches as you headed for the bathroom. Thankfully, the tiles were cold under your feet, and the small relief washed through your entire body.

You started the water for a cold shower, hoping to drive away the heat that the day had already provided as early as 8am. As small droplets of water splashed onto your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the kind of weather you should come to expect from the tiny town. You decided you’d have to ask Soobin once he got up. 

After the shower expelled the sweat off of your skin, you dressed and bounded down the steps toward the kitchen. At this point, you had been living and working with Soobin for several weeks. The two of you had a comfortable routine that included a healthy mix of time spent both together and alone. You rose before him almost every morning and took it upon yourself to make him an omelet after watering all of the houseplants littered around the living spaces. Many times he had insisted that there was no reason for you to make him breakfast; and this morning was no exception. Just as you finished watering an impressively sized aloe plant, Soobin had begun his grumbling.

“Y/N! How many times do I have to tell you that you have no obligation to make me breakfast every day?” His voice was still thick with sleep and upon examining him you noticed he still had some gunk in the corner of his eyes. The corners of your mouth twitched upwards at his helplessly soft nature.

“You can tell me every day, Soobin. I don’t care,” you pulled a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and poured both of you a glass, “it’s the least I can do. Plus, I know you love breakfast but you’d burn it all if you tried to do it yourself.” He grumbled at that through a mouthful of food but didn’t protest as he knew you were right. As Soobin sipped at his drink, he hummed thoughtfully as if he suddenly remembered something. 

“I think we need to water the flowers today. We aren’t supposed to get rain for a long time and it’s getting to be really hot. I don’t want any of them to die.” For some reason, the thought of manually caring for Soobin’s beloved garden put fear in your stomach. Of course you had done some work on the garden but nothing more than adding some mulch and chasing away the occasional bunny looking for a place to burrow. But caring for the house and garden was why you were here to begin with, so you nodded in agreement.

Soobin stood to his full height, stretching his arms above his body to work out all of the aches from his sleep. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the strip of smooth skin that became exposed in the process. You hoped he hadn’t noticed your staring or the light pink dusting on your cheeks as he passed by you to drop his dishes into the sink. With your mind whirling, you desperately tried to steer your thoughts away from the way they were running with the imagine of Soobin’s exposed stomach. 

“I’m going to go,” you coughed awkwardly when Soobin whirled around with his plate still in hand to make eye contact with you, “upstairs to change and then we can go out to work on the garden.” You took his moment of comprehension to haul yourself up the creaking maplewood staircase and into the safety of your room as your palms began to sweat. 

----

As soon as the two of you stepped onto the back porch you felt like you had walked into a brick wall. The heat was so oppressive that you felt physical weight on your shoulders as you groaned. Soobin bounded ahead of you as if he hadn’t even registered the unmovable force of heat encasing your whole being. You audibly gagged, earning a snorted laugh from Soobin as he made his way toward the sea of flowers. Their colors seemed to shine even brighter underneath the intense sunlight and you swore you could almost see some of them sparkling with an otherworldly quality. Upon further inspection you noticed just how dry the soil was and felt concern digging at your heart. Soobin seemed similarly worried as he stooped over a section of jasmine plants, cooing over a weed he had found in the ground alongside them. You shook your head at his antics and caught wind of him apologizing to the plant as you retrieved the hose coiled up alongside the house. 

For a while the two of you worked in a comfortable harmony. Soobin had put himself in charge of weeding while you were responsible for making sure the soil was thoroughly wet to avoid any damage to the coveted flowers. As far as jobs go, this one wasn’t half bad. Despite the massive area of the garden, the hose reached as far as you ever would need it to. After you finished watering a rather large patch of roses you could no longer resist the urge to stick your entire head underneath the hose. With all of the sun beating down you began to understand how Soobin had achieved his impeccable tan so early into the summer. 

“Soobin,” you whined his name to tear his attention away from the pesky weeds that had rooted themselves within his beloved garden. 

“Yeah?” his answer was punctuated by a grunt of exertion that you could only assume was his attempt at yanking out the weed. You grimaced at the knowledge that he wasn’t wearing any gardening gloves and worried for the sensitive skin of his palms.

“I’m too hot. It’s disgusting out here,” you pulled the fabric of your shirt away from your stomach before waving it back and forth to prove just how sweaty the combination of heat and manual labor had made you. Soobin said nothing for a second but you could hear the sound of roots ripping out of the ground before he finally replied. 

“I forget that you’re not from here,” he laughed as if the oppressive heat was something you should have expected the day you rode in on the winding road with your whole life packed in the back seat. “Why don’t you just go inside for a bit? I’ll be fine dealing with this alone for a while. Plus, I can’t afford to take you to the hospital if you pass out. And imagine how much damage you’d do to the flowers!” He gasped as if absolutely scandalized at the idea of your body crashing into the delicate fauna. 

You grumbled under your breath, making sure to turn away so there was no chance he could see the quirking corners of your mouth. “Fine,” you sighed, equally as dramatic as he had just been, “I’ll stay inside and watch you from the living room like a widow.” 

Upon entering the house, you knew something was off. Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you stood just inside of the closed doorway. Why the fuck was it just as hot inside as it was outside? Heat still crawled over every inch of your body, making strands of hair stick disgustingly to the back of your neck. You wandered through the living room, kitchen and library in the hope that the heat you felt upon entering was just due to your location. Unfortunately, every section of the grand home was equally as steamy as the direct sunshine outside. The dream of taking a break in the wonderful air conditioning was crushed. 

Stomping like a toddler, you made your way back down to the garden. Soobin had taken over your watering job and he seemed shocked to see you back so early. His shirt showed small hints of sweat building on his lower back and around the collar, but it was nothing compared to the absolute mess you had become. If it wasn’t for how much you liked him, you would have been annoyed at his tolerance. 

“Back already? Did you miss me that much, bub?” Your heart stuttered at the use of your occasional nickname. 

“No. You give yourself too much credit. The AC is broken,” the steady stream of water sprouting from the hose ceased as Soobin loosened his grip on the handle. 

“The house AC?” He asked dumbly, blinking at you in disbelief. His lips were parted wide as you rolled your eyes. 

“No, the AC for the shower. Yes, the house AC!” Knowing you had no easy escape from the heat made your nerves fray even more. 

“Oh. Well,” he turns the hose back on, “I can call the mechanic.” You stared at him blankly for a while before he felt your burning gaze. 

“What?” Rounded eyes opened even wider than you thought were possible as he stared you down. 

“It’s Sunday. What are we going to do until the mechanic gets here tomorrow?” The point makes his eyebrows scrunch together as the hose clicks off again. It hangs loosely in his hand for a few moments before he springs back into action. 

“Okay, you’re right. I’ll go into town and see if I can find one of those portable ones? That way we can at least keep one room cooler.” He nodded to himself as if he were speaking to his reflection and handed you the hose. Cold water dripped from his fingertips onto your arm and you shivered at the feeling. You chose to believe the water was the only reason for your reaction. Soobin ran into the house, lean body disappearing for a few seconds before he reemerged with his car keys. He said his goodbyes and left to find a solution for your personal hell. 

For a bit, you went back to watering the flowers. And then you turned the hose on yourself and let the frigid water run down your back. Although it was a shock to your system, you knew it was the only way you could keep yourself from actually melting into a gummy pile before Soobin got back. The idea of simply staying outside until he came back bounced around your mind until an even better one cropped up. Maybe you could fix the AC on your own! That way you wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of waiting for a mechanic. You were sure that you could locate the unit and find a tutorial to fix the thing. Maybe a special switch just needed flipped. With renewed vigor you shuffled back into the house, making a strategic pit stop at the kitchen to fill a metal water bottle with ice cold water. Your clothing dripped loudly against the wooden floors but you ignored it. You figured it was so hot that the water would probably evaporate immediately.

Although you had a clear mission in mind you had to admit that you were totally unsure of where the AC unit would be. Soobin had never pointed it out to you and the stately home boasted so many doors that you weren’t sure you would have remembered if he showed you anyway. You wandered into the laundry room, wondering if you had missed something on the walls. When you had no success there, you moved on to opening almost every dark wooded sleek door you could find. By some kind of miracle, your body had finally adjusted to the pressing heat as you searched. Despite that, you could still feel sweat beading on your forehead as you rooted through a storage room in the hopes of finding something that you assumed would be the AC. 

Eventually, you had exhausted the entire first floor. Every heavy door only lead you to disappointment and some mild confusion over why the old home had so many unused rooms. Perhaps the house got much more use in the old days when the large family painted on the canvas just to the left of Soobin’s room was still alive. The thought of the haunting oil painting encouraged you to make the walk up the steps. Your legs felt heavy from the exhaustion that heat and your search had made settle into your bones. 

A heavy sigh left your parted lips as you finally rounded the corner of the staircase and were faced with the familiar upper landing. You skipped past yours and Soobin’s room immediately. The AC unit was obviously not residing in your room, and while you had never fully been inside of Soobin’s room, you doubted that the house was designed that oddly. Three more identical doors stood further down the hallway. Weeks ago when you had taken your initial tour of the home, Soobin had glossed right over them in favor of showing off your new home for the summer. 

Something about his easy dismissal of the rooms unsettled you. You trusted Soobin, but there was no way to ignore the disparity between the way he had so eagerly toured you through the house against the way he barely even acknowledged these doors. You’re being ridiculous, you thought. What could Soobin possibly be hiding behind these three non descript doors? Shaking off the unsettling knot in your stomach you pushed the door closest to your room open. It creaked loudly from disuse and you cringed as you felt along the wall for a lightswitch. When you finally found one, a light crackled on in the center of the room and shone a brilliant vibrance all around. It was so intense that you had to squint your eyes until they no longer hurt. The room was oddly clean compared to the rooms you scoured downstairs. There was no layer of dust that you would have expected and a faint scent of lemon cleaner permeated the air. Innocuous dressers and bookshelves were pushed up against all of the walls. None of them quite matched but you recalled in the back of your mind that Soobin’s cousin was an interior designer; which would explain the disconnection of styles. This must have been the place he stored old projects and pieces he shuffled through the home. 

Feeling a bit more at ease, you continued to look around for any hint of the unit you were hunting for. Circling the round table serving as a centerpiece of the room changed your perspective and you caught a glimpse of something peaking out from behind what seemed to be a bunch of heavy furniture. The edge you could see looked promisingly similar to the AC unit that had been within your home growing up. With renewed vigor you began to push at a small dresser that felt much heavier than it looked. A grunt of exertion slipped from your lips as you finally pushed the furniture over far enough to get to the table located behind it. While it was much easier to move, it was also much louder than the dresser had been. The legs screeched against the floors and you shrieked in concern at the idea of the probably original hardwood being scratched in the midst of your desperation for cool air. As you crouched down to examine the floor, you heard stomping footsteps enter the room behind you. 

Reflexively you jumped back at the sound and subsequently bounced your head off of the underside of the table. 

“Ouch, fuck!” you clutched at the back of your head as you bit into your tongue to try and manage the throbbing pain. Your vision was blurry but you could vaguely make out Soobin’s figure and his distinct scent as he crouched down beside you. Gentle hands grasped at you, one cupping your head and the other resting firmly on your forearm as he ushered you out from under the table. Your head was still spinning; the combination of heat and pain making you feel sick to your stomach as Soobin guided you all the way out of the room. 

“What were you doing?” Soobin’s voice was assertive and laced with a concern you hadn’t quite expected. 

“I was-” you cut yourself off with a whine as a flash of pain shot behind your eyes and felt large hands grab at you once again. The next time you opened your eyes was when you felt the silky texture of your bedsheets underneath your knees. While Soobin rushed away from the bed, you fought to open your eyes as you grasped at the flesh of your knees to ground yourself. Although your vision was less shaky, there was no denying the extreme headache that originated from the back of your head. 

“Here,” you saw Soobin’s form coming your way before he pushed a cold washcloth onto your forehead. Although that wasn’t the origin of your pain, the cool sensation helped the throbbing in your mind calm down. Soobin shuffled nervously between his feet as he waited for some kind of sign that you were alright. Eventually, you were able to actually focus on the way his eyes were crinkled with concern, lips downturned in a serious frown that you hadn’t even seen him wear when he found he was overwatering his ivy plant. The persistent sunlight of the summer day shone in through your windows and casted him in a glow that made him look as if he had just descended from Heaven to check on you. Golden strips of light casted over his t-shirt in such a way that you were almost envious of the way the rays were able to wrap around his body. 

And then you remembered it was the same damn sun that got you into this mess. 

“I was trying to find the AC unit,” your voice was gravely and quiet but Soobin still heard you. 

“What were you thinking? You can’t just wander around the house like that! You could’ve-” he waved his hands toward where you pressed the washcloth to your forehead, “well you did! You got hurt! There’s a reason I didn’t bother to tell you what was in that room. There’s no reason for you to be poking around like that in a house that isn’t yours!” 

The corners of your eyes burned with unshed tears as you registered the raw emotion in his tone. Although some of his words made you feel like a child being berated, you understood where he was coming from. You could easily recognize the genuine concern for your wellbeing. 

“I’m sorry, Soobin,” he plopped down on the bed next to you, “you’re right. This isn’t my house. It’s my fault that I got hurt, really. I was just trying to help with the AC issue and I couldn’t find the unit anywhere else so I started looking in rooms I’d never been in before,” you stole a quick glance his way only to see his intense gaze locked onto your form. “Please don’t feel bad about me getting hurt. And I’m sorry about the room, I can help you move all the furniture back!” Something deep inside of you felt the need to do as much as you can to make up for the hurt you seem to have caused Soobin. He grinned at you softly before reaching up and encircling your wrist with his slender fingers. The feeling of his fingertips grazing the soft skin of your wrist made your insides ignite in a nervous fire. Gently, he coaxed your hand away from your forehead and you instinctively dropped the now room temperature washcloth into your lap. It landed with a wet plop but you didn’t have time to pay it any mind as Soobin slowly laced his fingers right between yours. 

He gave you all the time in the world to pull away from his touch but instead you just stared dumbly at your hand while he finally latched onto you fully. Your breath hitched violently in your throat at the warm contact and you were sure Soobin had heard it. For a second you worried that he would pull away or make fun of you for your reactions but he simply gave your hand a short squeeze. 

“It’s okay, don’t worry about the room,” his voice was so smooth and quiet that you could almost fall asleep right there. An instinct you didn’t know you had caused you to lean closer into his side. “Just don’t go in there again, okay? I mean it. There’s nothing worth looking at in there,” his voice hardened unexpectedly and you couldn’t help but laugh at him a bit. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll stay away, but you do know that I just bumped into the table, right? It didn’t hurt me on purpose.” The teasing seemed to lift a small weight from his shoulders as he visibly brightened. There was no way you could miss the firm weight of his hand pressing further into yours as he leaned into your side the same way you were on him. Using his free hand, he tentatively cupped the back of your head where you had originally hurt yourself. The pain had begun to subside, but a new type of anxiety ran through your body as you noticed just how close your faces had become. You could nearly count every single eyelash framing his rich brown eyes. 

“Please,” his warm breath fanned over your already clammy skin, “don’t ever go in that room again. I’m already beside myself that you got hurt and it’s not even a bad injury. If you do anything for me, at least do this.” 

“Of course, Soobin.” You finally mustered the courage to return one of his reassuring squeezes; causing his dimples pop out from the smooth plains of his cheeks. Your heart stuttered in your chest before a dull, persistent pain permeated through it. You swallowed it down, successfully tricking Soobin into thinking you were fine as he rattled on about the fans and portable AC units he managed to buy at the local hardware store. 

The inside of your mouth went dry. You hoped that you were horribly off base, but you knew that ache. You’d felt it before. A part of you wanted to ignore the obvious and pretend that you were simply overreacting to a pulled muscle. Unfortunately, a larger, more rational part of you knew exactly what the feeling was. You were growing flowers. Again.